30 April, 2008

baby cows have arrived!!!

yesterday my PMS got home from work and wanted chocolate. i run a junk-free household so the nastiest thing my PMS could do was hoover a bag of dried cherries and yell at mister monkey for not getting off the bus at the convenience store, filling up on crap and then hobbling home the two kilometres or so in his cast. of course, had he done just such a thing, i would have yelled at him for bringing home junk food. and hobbling around on broken legs.

today my PMS walked into safeway and cleared out the bakery department along with one tub of breyer's double churned chocolate ice cream, cause who wants to eat that single-churned shit? not my PMS, that's certain! my PMS then drove home erratically while inhaling a bag of single bite brownies, cause who wants to actually waste time chewing? again, not my PMS! once home, my PMS poured itself a glass of wine and got on the computer. no shower, nothing. and what do you wanna bet that all the calorie-laden snackies will leave their mark on me, not on the dreaded PMS?

i will now break free from my PMS, drag my fat bloated carcass to the shower and wash off the feeling of guilt that seems to have been baked right into the bloody brownies.

27 April, 2008

classy iz as classy duz

so yeah, not to get all negative and stuff, but hey, north america! can you do me a favour and learn how to eat with a knife and fork SIMULTANEOUSLY without looking like an ape wielding a sledge hammer? it ain't hard. and really, when you daintily place that napkin in your lap and then proceed to chop up your food into little tiny bite size pieces, then put the knife away and shovel it all in with a fork, dainty napkin placement notwithstanding, you are nowhere near classy. unless you are three.

cause even at quote unquote classy events, i usually find myself in the alarmingly smallish minority (sometimes of one) of people who can use a knife and fork properly. my god, i knew how to navigate the cutlery duo (simultaneously!) by the time i was in kindergarten, as did most other polish children.

so teach your kids. please. that way when they go on that highschool trip to europe, the locals won't point and laugh (as much).

just sayin'.

and hey, guess who got a titanium post screwed into her jaw on friday! consider yourself told, so if i tell you i got an implant and you look at my boobs, you will be punished. unless you look at them, squint, and tell me i still look lopsided, then i'll laugh.

23 April, 2008

straight from the earth's own i-pod

we're currently watching the bbc's planet earth, a gorgeously shot, endlessly fascinating show about nature. as flocks of wild birds swoop, so does the symphonic music played by the bbc's own symphony orchestra.

and i think to myself: how cool is that? the bbc has its own goddamn philharmonic orchestra.

and then i got to thinking that if the bbc has its own orchestra, what does fox have? a dude playing the kazoo, when he ain't too busy pickin' his nose or fucking a goat? what about cnn? the ku klux klan barbershop quartet?


rock on, baby jebus, rock on

today, as i drove to the recycling depot to drop off the weekly accumulation of cardboard from our office,* i stopped behind a minivan with a flaming skull decal. this was pretty hilarious, cause, sister, no matter what you put up on that window, you're still driving a minivan. but good on ya for trying. rock on!

yesterday was snow day which mister monkey and i celebrated uproariously by finishing our taxes. woohoo! being a grown-up rocks! maybe i'll get myself a flaming skull decal that says "rocker bitch does taxes on time! fucken eh!"

yesterday was also earth day and i truly do not blame the earth for giving us a gigantic meteorological finger. i'd be pretty pissed too, if i were her: "yeah, yeah, earth day. what have you done for me lately, you over-consuming little maggots, huh? FUCK YOU! eat snow, assholes!"

* i am getting pretty goddamn tired of co-workers giving me the thumbs up when i do this, or telling me what a good person** i am. you know what? i am doing this for your idiot children. one of these days, instead of a pat on the back, how about you offer to take it every once in a while?

**i get very nervous when people tell me i am a good person. the last guy to tell me that with any regularity was my crazy ex-boyfriend terry, and he was crazy. in a thoroughly non-metaphoric sort of way. why did i date a non-metaphorically crazy guy you ask? it's a long story of youth, stupidity and "love at first sight," another concept that as a consequence of that particular period of time i find deeply alarming.

19 April, 2008

ooo! regular feature! drunken post! now in new semi-legible format!

sad but true - got home from girls' night out before 11 pm. sad? yes. pisshed? certainly. mister monkey helped unpant me, and i lay me down on the sofa, listening to the soothing sounds of antony & the johnsons, drooling slightly, thinking that a) i had a lovely time as per usual with les chicks, and b) i loved coming home to le man, who was all patient and kind and gentle with the drool-removing rag and all.

moi (lying on couch, slack-jawed, drooling, semi-coherent, make-up smeared all sexy-like under my eyeballs): am i ugly?

mr. monkey: no, monkey!

is that love or what?

also, is that old age, the whole coming home before even 11!!!? hardly past 10 in fact! having already consumed a whole bottle of wine. and a free one at that, seeing as the roughly seventeen items in a row that i tried to order were inexplicably unavailable and/or discontinued and/or gone so that our poor frightened waiter was forced to send a manager to our table to quell the growing rebellion and offer us a free bottle of wine which, as anyone who knows me, is one certain way to calm me the fuck down. so i did. drank the mother down, halfsies with s., whose ability to put away wine puts me to shame.

i am apparently in dire need of the occasional estrogen-fuelled (no idea at this point if this is a double-l word, or one of those single-l ones) outing, no offence to my multiple and decidedly lovely male friends. we talk about vaginal lips and speculums (speculae?) and use the word "fuck" with joyful abandon (ok, that might just be moi). we share lipgloss and even occasionally touch each other's boobies. we do, however, draw the line at pillow fights in our underwear so get your minds out of the gutter immediately!

anyhoo, gravol being mysteriously missing from our seemingly well-stocked medicine cabinet, i shall pop a few milk thistles and get me to sleep. perhaps tomorrow i shall sleep in till 8! hooray!

vacuuming IS hazardous to your health

this morning i woke up with a massive hangover which is odd considering i haven't had a drink in several days. i choose to take it as a blessing from the lord god almighty hisself to indulge all i want with the girls tonight, having already paid my penance.

i also did yoga, several loads of laundry and then i vacuumed, swept and washed the floors, followed by a frightening weak spell, clearly another message from the heavens, this one prohibiting me from excessive housekeeping fervour, which is fine by me, seeing as the last time i vacuumed here shall remain shrouded in mystery on account of me wanting you to remain friends with me instead of calling the health department's emergency services and sterilizing any and every thing i might have ever come in contact with at your house.

ah so...the smell of cooking ham* wafting gently through the newly gleaming house, soft jazz on the i-pod and the prospect of going out with da girlz and drinking large quantities of liquor...a good weekend, quoth i. may yours be similarly blessed.

*mr.m's, not mine, i am not above performing occasional unpleasant wifely duties on account of loving the dude.

also, the last battlestar galactica episode sucks. i am not happy at all.

17 April, 2008

solitary swedish monkeys shall cavort

we were working on mr. monkey's resume, hoping for a ticket outta here. we had a little tidbit of important but solitary information and needed a heading for it.

moi: "hey! use Nota Bene! you'll impress the hell out of them with your brilliant knowledge of-"

mr.m: "-SWEDISH!"

the sad truth of our life here is that by half past 8 we were so tired from our long and frootful day of raping the earth and toothal scraping that we were barely able to read. do you know how hard it is to polish a cover letter when you forget what the difference between a noun and a verb is? we fell over each other giggling a lot and then i brushed my teeth and fell into a coma. mr. m had to finish on his own. brave man!

07 April, 2008

a little dirty in the middle

"are you religious?"
"god, no!"

i just realised i dreamt last night about cupcakes. could we go back to my james bond dreams please? i would rather smuggle arms to africa and get shot at by bad guys than waste my precious subconscious snoozefest on fucking cupcakes. unless the cupcakes are sexy naked men, then fucking is definitely allowed.

today i did yoga. oh sure, only about 20 minutes of it, but i did it. my belly flab jiggled like jelly, my arms shook like a son of a biscuit, and i hyperventilated all the way through my downward dog, but progress was made. get thee in shape, wench! then you shall have a hot skinny body to go with your time ravaged face.

05 April, 2008

bangers and mash

last night yet another person told me she thought i was older than i am. i should have been insulted or horrified and depressed but 1) i was drunk and 2) the speaker was a raspy-voiced leather-faced woman of the type you would not want to insult in a bar for fear of getting kicked in the face, so i figure her estimation of my beauty and its corollaries is warped by what must be a deep seated resentment towards the more attractive of the species.

on the other hand i am now sober and i say: what the fuck? do i look like shit? why doesn't anyone tell me this? when you see me, do you puke a little in your mouth? do you gaze with horror at my ashen furrowed brow? do you mournfully shake your head at my dilapidated visage and saggy bosoms? do you shiver at the sight of my rachitic frame and befuddled pre-senile mind? does my graying hair worry you?

if that's the case, why the living fucknuts have you not said anything? told me to get more sleep, lay off the booze, quit haunting the docks looking for young sailor-boys to warm my withered flesh? huh? cause i would have done that for you.

so now i have had two honest if mistaken and rather painful assesments of my age delivered to me by 1) a religious proselytizer with multiple children, seriously bad hair and a truly deplorable moral compass (i'll tell you about her bunny-adoption idea some time!) and
2) a frightening hatchet-faced big mouth biker bitch. perhaps i am not doing too badly after all.

still: i am open for comments (built-in amnesty for everyone who manages to tell me nicely that i look like shit)

head. aches. never. drink. again.

i went to a retirement party last night and because i am who i am i decided to subvert my alcoholic impulse and play a little trick on myself: knowing that i can polish off a whole bottle of red vino to unpleasant effects, i brought a bottle of white vino, since i can usually only have a glass or two of said beverage. this way, i thought, my eyes glinting maliciously as i cackled quietly to myself, i would be limited to two glasses of wine! how novel! bring a beverage you aren't crazy about* and you will surely not end up dancing naked on the pool table singing in what you are almost certain is ancient hebrew.

except that:

except that caring friends at the party decided that my empty glass was an invitation and thus i sampled multiple types of wine in both attractive hues and although i managed to remain fully clothed and non-hebraic, i am now nursing what must be one of the decade's worst headaches, heroically resistant to medication.

fool, moi. fool!!! FOOOOL!!!!!!!!!!!!

*mr. monkey used to order a glass of guiness in order to nurse it through the night, being none too fond of the brew, thus hoping to limit his intake. it seemed to work for him, why oh why did it not for me? fool!

03 April, 2008


i don't believe in either electricity or the internet.

oh, sure, i use them much like one uses a magic genie, pressing a button and hoping something will happen, and nine times out of ten it does, but i don't believe in them on anything other than a purely practical level.

several people have tried to explain to me the way it all works but you've gotta be crazy to believe that a bunch of subatomic bits (don't believe in those either!) running around in a negative mood can create this thing we call electricity. and a bundle of 1's and 0's allowing me to download the latest picture of daniel craig's bare bits? riiiight...like i said: magic.

don't know whether to weep or shoot someone

the high today will be -8C. it's snowing. it's bloody april and it's snowing. i shall go to work, gather some floss, and go hang myself. don't try to dissuade me; i have had enough. no reasonable person can be expected to deal with this outrage. i do not live in the arctic circle. fuck.