31 January, 2008

truck payments and booze

apparently it was only a two day emotional extravaganza.
i am fine now. no more cranky than my usual sweet tempered self. hah!

we are driving to edmonton tomorrow, so if i die (statistically likely what with the conditions, the road and the lack of winter tires which we plan to remedy if we make it in one piece), let me tell you now, it's been an awesome relationship, quite typical really, what with me doing all the talking, and you, gazing off into the middle distance, trying to stifle a yawn and wishing i'd bloody well pour you a glass of wine instead of keeping the bottle to myself. but a good relationship nevertheless.


30 January, 2008

music fits my mood

i have spent today and yesterday mentally and emotionally incapacitated by the worst bout of PMS to hit me in years. i think it might have something to do with

a) the -40C temperatures, although i don't consciously mind the cold

b) the ice fog that turns my morning drive to work into a hitchcockian/stephen kingesque nightmare of dislocation, slippage of reality and fear, albeit a really pretty nightmare of dislocation, slippage of reality and fear

c) typical hormonal thing possibly increased by my slow but sure movement toward the hump of march after which my thirties will officially be in the decline and i will begin sliding downwards, followed shortly by my breasts and uterus, into midlife with its attendant hot flashes and increased emotional instability, though good god, how much more unstable can one get before U-turning right back into stability? i bet derrida would know!

d) the fact that my days seem to be filled with patients who require TLC and a tender ministering to their psychoses, when, hot dogdamnit all to hell, nobody seems to be ministering tenderly to my own goddamn and far more interesting psychoses, thankyouveryuch, and, the aforementioned patients respond beautifully to my tender ministering and want to see me, and only me, the very next time they overcome their fears, self-medicate, and drag their periodontally involved underbrushed painful little wobbly jaws into the dental office.

i'm not even going to re-read that last sentence to see if it's a sentence at all. except that i will. fuck.

e) the whole office politics thing

f) and finally the whole stress of buying real estate even though it has been almost entirely mister monkey's doing, all the papers, faxes, phonecalls, scanning, emailing and all, while i lay expiring daintily on the couch with a goddamn bottle of wine at my elbow.

so there you have it. cranky doesn't begin to cover it. i want to unzip my skin, go rolling in the snow, and run the hell away to a place where they know how to make a really good mojito, like the ones jools taught me to make

26 January, 2008

knee deep in noodles

it's after midnight and i am doing some light housekeeping on my blog (check out the new picture: if you get past the nose, there are some cupcakes in the background - on every visit to vancouver i walk by the cupcake shop on denman and wa-wa-wa-want one, but my health conscious self vetoes that pronto. of course my health conscious self has no problem at all with a lemon meringue pie from capers, 'cause it's ORGANIC!) and i've found that the post that got the most responses was my "god is dead" post. so, i want some midnight action, some blogular interaction, therefore i'm tossing it out into ether again:

i've become very comfortable with the idea of god not existing, to the point of starting to see all religion as not only silly but positively medieval. i mean, come on! we're all rational thinking beings (well, a couple percent of us are, anyhow), what are we doing sitting in a big drafty room, chanting monotonously at a guy in a dress, who's drinking on stage? does that not sound like the worst rock concert ever? and then all the pictures of all the miserable blond people, bleeding from various bits all over the place? and did i mention the sheep? enough with the sheep already! we laugh at kids for believeing in santa claus, and what is god if not another bearded feller who does not exist? peace on earth? only when we grow up and accept the responsibility.

i'm opening the floor up for comments.

potaytoh, potahto

i'm pretty sure my ass doesn't send out emails.

'course, it could be doing it behind my back.

if you've received an email from my ass, please let me know.

...i wonder what its name is...

25 January, 2008

rhymes with bob

i am flabbergasted. the nazi condo board of the place we almost just bought in vancouver actually presumes to tell people what kind of window treatments are acceptable. now i fully understand and wholeheartedly support the idea that tin-foil, bed sheets, blankets with eagles on them and confederate flags are not acceptable window treatments, but any suggestions above and beyond that behoove me to think "police state." i told mr. m, while perusing the condo documents, that if they force me to have blinds, i will formally withdraw my offer because i would sooner eat the little black tail on a pepper than put blinds in my windows, because blinds? feh!

our realtor (with whose ass i have again been in touch) tells me that these are fairly standard condo rules within the area. this is to ensure a "uniform appearance" for the building. riiiight... because anyone looking at a 20 story apartment building has no idea that it is occupied by hundreds of individuals with varying tastes.

what next? only attractive people need apply? weight and height restrictions? only tall blonde blue eyed types with a firm step and a predilection for small mustaches allowed? underarm hair inspections? scanning for warts? frankly i think these people are insane.

i was bitching about this at work and one co-worker suggested that i might be the one to change this law, that i could bring it up at a condo council meeting, and that she was sure i would do it diplomatically.

i wonder if yelling, "i'll put whatever the fuck i goddamn well please on the fucking windows of my fucking overpriced condo, bitch!" counts as diplomatic.

21 January, 2008

ten to one, she's gonna blow

you know what i hate? the little tiny black tails on peppers. i have no reason, no reasonable one anyhow, i just will not eat a pepper with the little teeny tiny black tail attached. i am sure they have no taste at all. i am certain they are not poisonous. i am secure in the knowledge that, unlike the black squigglies in prawns, they are not full of shit. and yet i can't stand them. when i cut up a pepper for any number of reasons (most of them culinary, some religious, one or two sexual) i will dig and dig until i dig the little black tail out.

they used to say that the test of a psychopath was whether they looked at their bowel movement results. they had to ditch that particular test because the majority of the human race failed it with flying colours. i think the new test should be an obsessive concern with teeny tiny little black tails on peppers.

if you don't know what the hell i'm talking about YOU AREN'T LOOKING CLOSELY ENOUGH!!!

17 January, 2008

brain snax

seen in a restroom cubicle in a restaurant: "PLEASE FLASH TOILET AFTER USE."

this bothers me because a)i just did, having passed basic potty training several decades ago, thus understanding the basic pant-removal portion of the operation and b) would being flashed not top the job description for being a toilet? so why the redundance?

beg, borrow, and turnip

i have been exchanging regular emails with our realtor, p, so i was surprised recently to receive an answer to my question signed "candy, p's ass." as far as i know i have never corresponded with anyone's ass before, and i find this slightly strange. alas, this would explain the poor grammar and spelling mistakes. also, does everyone name their ass?

14 January, 2008

plumbing the depths of despair requires a very long plumber's snake

i am seriously tired of world news. if people feel a deep seated need to hack each other to death with machetes or blow themselves up with explosives strapped to their bodies, who am i to argue? officially, i no longer give a longsuffering fuck. as long as someone notifies me if there is a nuclear missile headed in my general direction, i really don't feel the need to know what else is going on. shall we take it on faith that we are a bloodthirsty cruel bunch of fucks and be done talking about it?

palestine and israel? whatever! kenya? feh! darfur? huh?

do i really need detailed news of distant pain and suffering when there is so much visibly close at hand? if we're going to shop domestic and eat domestic, how about a domestic news diet? then again, this would result in higher than healthy levels of stephen harper. no news, then! they always say that's GOOD news!

11 January, 2008


yesterday i found myself at work wearing two very different socks. well, there were some similarities: both were purchased at the same cheap store, both had some element of blue, both were striped, and both were one-way tubes with a hole at the end, but still. my co-worker asked if i had put them on in the dark and here's the disturbing bit: i had not. i sat on the bed, took out what i assumed to be a pair of identical socks, put one on (presumably looked at it at some point, while navigating toes and heels), switched feet and put the other one on, managing to forget in the intervening seconds what the previous sock had looked like. this frightens me somewhat. brain, be ye so little that ye cannot hold within thy confines the colour of my socks for more than a fraction of a second?

and moving along with the mismatched socks theme, have you noticed that mismatched socks have become the badge of individuality and coolness among certain young girls? so once again, we rebel along carefully prescribed lines, all in carefully orchestrated step with one another, because god knows, to truly stand out would not do. oh, go pierce something already! everyone else did!

10 January, 2008

an assortment of worms

happy new year, as long as we agree that the whole "new year" thing is entirely arbitrary, and, to be truthful, i am starting to feel a little odd about a chronological system based on the death and resurrection of a god offspring in whose divinity i am really not that believeful (that is SO a word*). plus i really do not like the number 8. i really really don't. and it has precious little to do with the 8 hour work day since once you add my psychotically self-imposed extra early starts, lunches, late patients and all, it ends up being closer to 9 or 10 hours. i just don't feel fond of the number 8. i love 7. i quite like 9. but try as i might, the chubby little fucker 8 just does nothing for me. but all that aside, happy new year, y'all.

christmas was lovely, despite a noticeable spike in my antisocial tendencies. i saw a lot of family (who are exempt) and suffered a lot of gastrointestinal discomfort, due in no small part to the typical polish christmas menu: sauerkraut in several formats, mushrooms of various kinds, onions, pickled herring, beans, beets and the usual excessive assortment of bakery items. in fact mr. m and i spent the entire week from christmas eve til new year's eve, feeling bloated, gassy, gurgly and full. too much information, you say? you're reading my blog, say i. so there.

new year:
despite my fears that the three days in banff would be mainly moi, grinding my teeth in frustration in the hotel bathroom while a whole horde of neanderthal youth caroused wildly in the living room preventing me from getting any sleep, we had a good time. for the general safety and well-being of the entire expedition, i was placed well away from wild hordes, in a nice quiet room where i would be able to eat, sleep and watch "planet of the apes" reruns in relative peace. my cousin and his wife joined us, and thus we had a continuation of the whole family theme. alas and alack, what was to be the highlight of the trip, i.e. the whole new year's eve parteh at the banff springs hotel, was a washout.

right away, when i heard "costume changes" i had a bad feeling. a good band does not require wigs. a good band plays good music. needless to say, i was right. the big band of last year's amazing event was replaced with the kind of band you'd expect to see at a third rate optometrists' convention. let's just say that when we purchased our chichi tickets, we did not think we'd be bringing in the new year with bon jovi's "living on a prayer." also, the wine sucked.

first, a great big enthusiastic congratulatory shout out to the janitors of the greater vancouver area for the correct usage of an apostrophe: we drove by "janitors' supplies" and my sad little heart rejoiced.
so hey, canada, did you know that while you are slogging through the white stuff in your salt-encrusted mukluks, vancouver's trees bloom? cause it's true. they don't want you to know this but it's true. flowers. on trees. and in ground. live flowers. i think all this bitching about rain is a way to keep all of us living in delusional happiness ("hey, at least we don't get rain all the time!") while they have flowers. in january. did i mention the flowers? fuckers.
we did not buy a place in van, but we are working on it diligently, firmly keeping in our minds the fact that they have bloomage in january. oh, and the palm trees. fuckers. whose ranks we hope to soon join.

like i said.

*is not.