25 February, 2008

several unrelated but not entirely uninteresting facts and factoids

1. i miss new orleans lately. that place sure gets under your skin. the crawfish might have something to do with it - anybody got a pound or two to spare?

2. did you know that mr. m routinely swipes cutlery or glassware or napkins from airplanes? not in large quantities but we have over the years amassed a bit of a collection. and you wonder why the prices keep going up...me, on the other hand? my nerves are far too fragile to contemplate anything like that. theft is not in my nature, last thing i stole were 2 crayons in kindergarten (a lovely brown and a fleshtone, i still remember their allure, they practically begged me to take them home and have my way with them). i have no recollection of the consequences, so they must have been dire.

3. we're going to vancouver tomorrow, to where they have actual leaves and flowers and green and growing things. we're getting the condo ready for our old folk renters. i hope it isn't true what they say about octogenarians, what with their loud and drunken ways, tossing beer bottles from the balcony, spraypainting the hallways, harassing the other tenants...

4. while in vancouver, we shall eat many yummy things. i contemplated for a moment actually going into the cupcakeria and purchasing an actual cupcake and then actually eating it, but i fear that the cupcake reality will be nothing like the cupcake fantasy and my hopes and dreams will be shattered. better not. better keep the cupcakes in the fantasy realm.

23 February, 2008

do NOT tell me that online dictionaries prove me wrong

to our american neighbours - i was feeding my addiction to home decorating shows recently and was so traumatized by something that i decided to speak out.

"foyer" does not rhyme with "lawyer," ok? the "r" is silent. it is not an english word, it is a french word. it is either pronounced "foh-yay" (or a variation of this, like "fwa-yay" etc. ) or not at all.

hey, don't be sad. look at all the other great words you could use and actually pronounce correctly! words like "hallway" or "entryway" or "lobby." so how about it, huh?

or is this some kind of vengeance against all things french, like freedom fries?

anyhow, i'm not the only one who agonizes over this. ha! i'm vindicated (albeit by a group of similarly minded glossophiles and like nerdish creatures)

20 February, 2008

microbiology for morons

i've been watching the lord of the rings trilogy extended edition again. it's a self-comforting thing, like rocking or head banging for autistic children. except using a remote control and orcs.

it's odd watching a movie so much that all you suddenly start to see is continuity errors (mostly featuring eowyn's hair). i no longer see the film for what it is but for what our comments have made it ("he needs elvis medicine" - godfrey, "i choo choo choose a mortal life" - me).

still, i enjoy it. each and every time. there is something about a dirty uncombed man on a dirty uncombed horse that appeals to me. clean him up and make him king and i'm all whatever. except for the elf, of course.

oh. and the test results for my spastic heart came back and apparently i will live. it will not be much of a life, but i will live. no medication required. possibly ease off the caffeinated drinks, and relax the fuck up (not my doctor's exact words).

15 February, 2008

bake for one hour on high

do you believe in angels? 'cause if you do, you're not alone. apparently a disturbingly large number of americans believe in angels.

if we get right down to the nitty gritty of it, the winged cupid is more mythological than biblical, and i don't recall much mention of nightgowned fliers in the bible. but i love the way people will believe in the disneyfied vision of the universe. hey, i think i'll take up believing in mermaids! they beat angels hands down, because they have perky boobies and red hair!

personally, i find the thought of a winged celestial being watching my every move decidedly disconcerting. for one, i often have gas.

and what if you are allergic to feathers?

12 February, 2008

the hair affair

5 minutes ago i cut mr. monkey's hair.

it was the usual routine - first he got me drunk (or rather, because he twisted his ankle at work today so badly he actually passed out and spent the majority of the day getting taken to and from the on-site doctor's office who actually came out of the office to the truck to see him, ain't that cool? even if it is a pre-emptive anti-litigatory sorta thing, so he kept sending me for more alcohol that he then sort-of-but-not-really forced into me).

then, after the getting drunk bit, he hopped into the bathroom from which we had removed the pink wool rug (sounds odd, in the bathroom, but it's cute and i got it cheap at crate & barrel and, damn it, why is calgary getting crate & barrel before we do? bastard fucks!) so that the little hairs would not penetrate it and make it creepy.

then, i brought in the hi-tech extension cord and plugged in the hair cutting device whose name presently escapes me probably on account of the alcohol i consumed in order to even agree to do this, which i did. agree, that is. my sentences are too long for a tipsy person to decipher.

then i panicked.

this is normal. i always panic and mr. m has to talk me through this.

then, when i finally picked up the hair-cutting-thingie mr. m began to swing his neck around like a pissed off cow (he was on all fours on the floor at this point to facilitate the hair removal project on account of the cord being too short). this was designed to piss me off and make me threaten to walk out, which i always do (the threatening, not the walking out because if i walk out, he'll do it himself and then i'll be really in trouble since i at least see what i am doing, whereas he blindly plows all over his head removing random lengths of hair from random bits of head and the result is nothing if not alarming, though entertaining is a term that could also be used).

then, squealing girlishly, i cut his mullet off while he talked me through it. there was a lot of cursing, a lot of giggling, and a lot of hair and then it was done and he picked up the hair, tossed it in the garbage and got up all good looking and such.

i rock.

as a wife, and as a human being.

i rock.

the heart is a bloody organ

it's that time of the year again when a young man's terrified gaze turns to the jewellery store, and a young woman digs out her red-feather-trimmed nylon peignoir - that's right, it's coming up valentine's day. a day where marketing again trumps common sense, a day where countless couples stand in line to their favourite restaurant in order to have a Romantic Evening, whether they feel like it or not.

frankly, all this nauseates me, as do the endless starry eyed questions "what did you do for valentine's day?"

once, just once, i shall answer that we had a blow out fight, verbally pummeled the crap out of each other and then retired to our separate bedrooms each with a box of crackers, a jar of velveeta and a bottle of russian prince vodka. satisfied?

i know you will call me the grinch because my attitude is similar towards christmas (well, the marketing/consumer aspect of christmas to be precise) but i find it an insult to my intelligence to be told exactly when and how i am to celebrate my love for my man.

we have romantic moments here and there. we go out to quiet dinners every once in a while. and he buys me flowers for no reason whatsoever just when i start to think he has given up the practice. but to force him to fight the crowds for the obligatory (and oh so bloody boring) dozen red rozes, or to receive a heart-shaped box of stale chocolates? YAWN.

you see them all the time - these wild-eyed guys running into the drugstore on their way home from work, desperately scanning the shelves for something that will give her the illusion of a thoughtful choice, grabbing the second last heart-shaped box (is that dora the explorer on the front?), running off to the till, and, oh look! they have roses! slightly wilted and definitely overpackaged, but it's $4.99 and the trip is done! now THAT'S love.

so if you love valentine's day (and i know at least a couple of you who do), go ahead, celebrate to your heart's content! but it should be a choice, not mandated from above, "because the tv told me so."

on interesting afflictions of the gastro-intestinal tract

every morning at work, i turn my television to the home and garden network (normally it's preset anyways, but some days some raving and frankly uncouth maniac sets it to country music television and then i have to wipe the vomit off my mouth before i change channels, because really!). as i work, i glance at the remodelling and redecorating that goes on, picking up ideas along the way, and, because i have no choice, i listen to the commercials that grace the airwaves every 2 minutes or so.

what gets me is that judging by the commercials, this is daytime television geared to the incontinent, the spastic-of-colon, the sphincterally-challenged. sure, you can also cure your dog's bad breath with specially designed kibble (gee, can i give it to my patients?), you can polish your table to a high gloss, and you can dye your hair to match (the table, not the dog), but for the most part, there is an inordinately high amount of airtime dedicated to incontinence, diarrhoa, gas, bloating and "those embarassing little leaks."

frankly i find it disturbing digging in someone's mouth while a shameless tone-deaf middle-aged idol wannabe warbles about "upset stomach, diarrhoea, oooooh pepto bismol" to the tune of the macarena. have we no shame?

still, it's all worth it for the decorating before and after!

10 February, 2008

breakfast as an allegory for life

it is white. every morning it is white. for the past two weeks the temperature has not risen above -20C, and most nights it has dipped well below -40C. but all is not lost, the days are getting longer.

i like winter. i take pride in the fact that i don't bitch about the weather while continuing to live here. to me it makes little sense unless the weather doesn't do what it is supposed to. right now it's supposed to be like this. it'd be like a hawaiian complaining that there is just too much damn water and sand.

still, the idea of living in vancouver and having winter half an hour's drive away WHENEVER I WANT IT, no more no less, appeals to me more and more. cross-country skiing in the morning, supper out on the patio. nice.

09 February, 2008

have a gander at my dander

i have absolutely nothing to communicate, no interesting tidbit to share. nothing. i made myself some pancakes this morning, i am sorting mail and resisting the urge to feel guilty about the lack of a similar urge to exercise.

i just finished a book by p.d. james that had been made into a movie a couple of years back: "the children of men". the movie, though good, had little in common with the book aside from its basic premise that mankind is no longer able to procreate along with all the socio-political implications of that fact.

she is a prodigious and gifted writer (though the natural editor in me has found her penchant for repeating favourite turns of phrase from novel to novel rather annoying) but good god, what a depressing view of life. in the past few months i have read over half a dozen of her predominantly mystery novels and find that few characters in her books know or understand love, few have had loving homes and the majority feel nothing if not outright hatred for their parents. so either she is a pessimistic if unusual product of a miserable childhood, or england is filled to the brim with emotionally stunted borderline sociopaths with no sense of humour whatsoever. having never been there i can't make the call, but good lord, could a whole nation be so messed up?

then again north america is a continent filled to the brim with pampered darlings with an overinflated sense of self-worth and entitlement and a stunted sense of intellectual curiosity and social responsibility, so perhaps it's true after all.

hmmm....generalisations on a national scale are fun!!! where are YOU from and what does that make you?

07 February, 2008

"the trophy can now be in your pants"

why is it that ALL my spam is trying to make my penis larger? good god, do they not realise that had i actually a penis i would have long ago succumbed to the seduction of their very intelligent, literary and highly stylish marketing campaign and gotten myself a MEGADIK?

what happened to african bankers trying to set me up with an offshore account full of millions? i hear about this all the time and, damnit, i want in!

what about "authentik" designer watches?

i am certain there must be more to spam than larger privates, but if there is, i ain't seen hide nor hair of it and frankly i am a little upset.

tell me, men, is your mailbox cluttered with ads for feminine hygiene products and nipple cream?

06 February, 2008

my delete button is sticky

which is true, but irrelevant.

i think that the failure of north american culture can be summed up in one word: "doorknob"

why doorknobs, when handles work so much better? anyone who has ever attempted to enter or exit shortly after placing lotion on their hands knows how futile the exercise is. i assume that the same applies to the arthritic, the ill, and the merely uncoordinated.

in the meantime, the door handle can be handled. easily. by everyone.

join me next week, when i look with withering disdain at the flat sheet, in opposition to the duvet cover. hint: statistical probability of asphixiation will be discussed in detail, featuring full colour graphs and personal anecdotes.




good god. i'm only kidding.




not about the doorknob, though. about the graphs. everyone knows i don't know a thing about graphs!