30 April, 2009

peristalsis and pampers (this one is about pooping, feel free to skip it if you tend to be delicate about that kind of stuff)

first of all - i haven't blogged this much in a single month since i started this thing, and back then i was living in a dump in niagara falls, sitting around in my sweaty underoos, typing away to muffle the awareness of my greasy surroundings. take what you will from that.

second of all - i am beginning to fear old age. i am not even 40 yet (for a good bit and a bit) and already my innards are giving me grief. i have said before that we eat a lot of vegetables and thus have no...ahem...regularity issues at our house. you could say (and i distinctly recall having done so in this very blog) that at our house, pooping is fun. unfortunately for moi, my body is failing to give me much notice of the blessed event about to take place.

it is normal, for a normal person, to (normally) feel that twinge in the intestinal area, letting him know that peristalsis is taking place and that, given a wee bit of time, there will at some point in the near but not necessarily immediate future come  a need to void. soon. but no hurry. enough time to saunter home, pick up the paper on the way, put the kettle on, pet the dog, ask the spouse about her day and slowly make one's way to the bathroom.

not me, folks. it's wham, bam, NOW ma'am!

there were moments in chicago when i thought it'd be me, by the side of the (eternally busy) interstate, ass hanging out, devil may care in the face of the Need That Dare Not Be Denied. it never did come to this, but it was close. they don't have restrooms in gas stations there, we soon found out, on account of the possibility of crack deals and armed weaponry and such. poor poor moi.

pretty soon i had all of chicago mapped by accessible public restrooms. you want to take a leak on the gold coast? let me tell you where. old town? sure! magnificent mile? i know a place or three, just ask.

mister monkey has by necessity been lassoed into a position of official BM enabler. when i give the signal (usually the same area 3-5 blocks away from our house, funny that), he starts to run. by the time i waddle home (sphincters clenched, cold sweat on my brow, body wracked by feverish  spasms) he has the storm and main doors open, furniture moved out of the way, the light on, and our independent weekly placed conveniently by the side of the toilet,* so that i can shed shoes and coats on my frenzied dash inside. good man.

and i figure if it's this bad in my thirties, what will my sixties have in store for me? first it's short notice, then it's no notice, and before you know it i will have soiled myself before even becoming aware of the need to do so. adult incontinence products - here i come!

*this is really rather useless because by the time i open it to the page of my choice i am done. none of that lingering over a novel, cutting the circulation from my legs. nope - it's guerilla pooping: get in, get it done, get out. 

spam, spam, spam, spam

recent spam: "a genuine male in bed is always ready"

aside from a slight grammatical off-ness (shouldn't he be always ready in bed?), i find this misleading or at least confusing. what is this male ready for? why is he in bed? should i call the police? get a restraining order? do i know him? 

or is it a misspelled "mail-in bed"? so that the minute i send my cheque or money order they're gonna mail me a bed. i think i like this better. 

breakfast time!

edit note:
another hour, another version, even more grammatically creative but just as baffling - ready for what, exactly?
"a true male in bed is all the time ready"

29 April, 2009

this thing called brain

lately i have been seeing movement in my peripheral vision. it happens quite often and my initial reaction is, "oh, it's just the cat" until i realise that i don't have a cat. 

either i need to give up drinking or take it up with a vengeance. 

or get a cat...

paint and other street drugs

the second bedroom has for a long time now been the repository of all manner of stuff. therein lie our books (which i love), our collection of mr. monkey's many duffel bags (which i don't), and other sundry items of lesser or greater importance. it has become the room that allows the rest of our house to look good and i think this has been taking a toll on its psychic energy. yesterday i lugged all the stuff out (thereby making the rest of the house look like a dump) and got ready to paint.

to be environmentally friendly i decided to use up all the leftover paint bits and pieces and make up a brand new colour.

2 parts baby blue paint (don't ask - it was supposed to be spa blue. it's not.)
1 part dirty yellow paint
1 part white paint
1/2 part indeterminate sand colour paint

imagine an elf princess fed on moonbeams and young birch leaves. the poop she would poop is roughly the new colour of the spare bedroom and i think i like it.

(i might also be high on the kind of special paint fumes you get when you randomly hurl various brands of paint together in one bucket and stir.)

also, in response to the buy handmade movement and to counteract the cheap made-in-china, ready-for-the-dump mentality of north american consumerism, mr. monkey and i splurged on a gorgeous sleek modern walnut dresser handmade in edmonton by a couple of great guys whose business i definitely want to support. it cost more than i have ever spent on a piece of furniture AND it was reduced. but in this case, well worth it. if you come over i might let you touch it, but you'll have to wash your hands.

28 April, 2009

mmmmm, elbow grease

is there such a thing? 

mr. monkey has chronically dry elbows; he sure could use some elbow grease. i tend to have a chronically self-lubricating dermis, and yet, alas, even my elbows lack grease. 

anyone out there have greasy elbows? want to share your story? this is the place.

ptooie! and other mortal wounds

i used to look up the weather so that i would, you know, know what the weather would be like. i now routinely check the environment canada weather website for sheer entertainment value. they have managed to maintain a 100% failure rate for roughly 98.3% of the last 3-4 weeks. 

today's forecast: sunny, 9C

actual weather: extreme cloudiness with fleeting miniscule unmentionably tiny little pathetic periods of what could optimistically be called the sun, 6C

this would not have passed muster in the good old days where farmer joe would stand scratching his overall-clad groin, looking up at the sky, muttering to hisself, "well, i reckon what with the birds over der yonder, and dem der bugs over around de clouds, i reckon we're in for a rainy night." chances are, he'd be right.

in a toss-up between environment canada and farmer joe, my money's on joe.

more with the stuff about the things

more! annoyances! because it's 6:40 and i am cold! yay!

1. signaling is not optional.* i can't read your mind: it's small print so signal. let me know. 

2. enough with the ellipses. please, i am begging. learn to use commas already, it's not that hard. using ellipses does not make you seem deep, it makes you seem like an emphysematic "special" person slowly searching for the right word through the very small print of his tiny brain.

3. driving in the middle lane on the highway doesn't make you fast. going fast makes you fast. if you're driving slowly in the middle lane, you're still driving slowly, plus, you're an idiot. that's what the right lane is for. 

4. simple grammar lesson: you are = you're, it is = it's.  easy, right? you'd think so.

*unless, of course, you're a dodge ram driver, in which case you probably have a note from your lobotomist.

26 April, 2009

off the hook and into the fire

i've said it before and i'll say it again: wolf blass yellow label is NOT a good wine. 

i've said it before and i'll obviously keep saying it until they wheel me into palliative care: i like having a drink or three.

is it a good thing or a bad thing to be the person invited in order to keep the conversation going? like a buffoon for hire? a street word juggler? some kind of dancing bear? toss her a glass of wine every now and again and she'll keep us entertained for hours - HOURS!


24 April, 2009

dance, midget boytoy, dance!

here i thought mr. monkey would arrive and, in the best interest of his increasing poundage, i would immediately go all salad and celery sticks on his ass. indeed, this did not occur. 

halfway into our third(ish) glass of wine we decided to pause in the paperwork (getting papers together for le accountant, because we are now far too cool to do our own taxes - of course the amount of work we are doing to organize the papers, we might as well do the taxes ourselves) in order to walk to save-on foods and pick up one of their spectacular slab cakes, namely the tuxedo. have you had? you should. 

as someone raised on fantastic polish made-from-scratchery, i tend to look at grocery store cakes as something akin to an industrial accident in a key of pink (all that lard, sugar and the tooth-pastey looking icing spelling out "happy berthday doris"). not this, gentle readers, not this. the tuxedo cake (and yay, verily, all of their slab cakes - except maybe the orange one which tastes a bit like frozen concentrated orange juice, which, come to think of it, is still better than the taste of an industrial accident) is pure unadulterated yum.

get thee hence, buy one and consume. 

we brought the puppy home, set it on the counter and, being all environmental and all, ate it right off the tray. classy, classy bunch, mister monkey and i.

that's all i'm telling you for now. 

so: have a drinkie-poo, get some sleep, wake up nice and early tomorrow and get out there and save the world. 

23 April, 2009

her name was lola, she was a showgirl, blah blah blah, feathers something, something something, lah lah lah

must be that time of the month coming up, because if you bring me your baby, i will dip its toes in butter and eat it raw. if you don't have no baby, no worries, i'll still find something to chew on. i am systematically emptying out the cupboards here, and when i get down to the crappy crap that magically made its crappy way into our home (yes, jar of pickled pears of questionable provenance, i'm looking at you!) and actually consider consumption, well, there might be some deep underlying psychological issues here.

let's not get into it*.

mister monkey is now home, sitting on the toilet engaging in his favourite toilet activity which is reading gigantic boring history books. 

there is white stuff on the ground outside (good job, environment canada, off by 3 days but you finally managed to predict something). 

the house is quiet and there are apple pears on the fruit platter. 

in a word: good night.

*this is not a tease, there is no story, i am PMSing and want to eat the world. the end.

22 April, 2009

rachmaninoff ate my lunch

3 days later and am i any smarter? any more self aware? 

instead of answering, let's all give a hearty shout out to all the sweaty motivational speakers out there who tell us that all it takes to succeed is to Believe In Oneself. sweaty goat balls to all the third world starvation artists who obviously just don't Believe In Themselves enough to eat. or feed their families. or survive in this super fantastic world that can be manipulated by the mind alone. jesus.

numerical perusal of things:

1. loud annoying dumb men can turn out to be loud funny good hearted men who love dogs. that prejudging thing keeps backfiring on me time and time again but i seem unable to step away from my eye-rolling, deep-sighing, "idiot"-muttering lifestyle until it is too late and i realise again that all my brains don't make up for a frozen little nugget of a heart. amen.

2. complete strangers can be amazingly supportive of each other, for no reason other than being stuck in the same room for three days, being forced to watch a video (yes! that quaint old-fashioned dirigible!) of above-mentioned sweaty motivational speaker.

3. i have had an easy life. eeeeasy. i do not stop and thank the universe enough.

4. apparently i straddle the sharp and pointy fence between introvertism and extrovertism and before you emit a raging howl of protest, apparently it's not just a question of mouthy drunken loudness, it is predominantly a question of where one recharges her batteries and, as much as i like you, my little chickens, my batteries get recharged when i am alone. sorry...i guess i did learn something new after all.

5. sunchips with an expiry date of yesterday will not kill you,* they will however be sold at a discount. this is a good thing.

*insofar as any fried snack product will not kill you, i.e. it will do so slowly.

20 April, 2009

back to the loch with you, nessie!

i tried to tell you something meaningful and then i realised that in this particular case meaningful meant boring. i wrote an email to g telling her all about it and used up all my witticisms on her. hey, g! can i have my witticisms back? g took all my witticisms, j remembers not my cookies, t is not responding to my emails, and environment canada keeps getting the forecasts dead wrong. but you know what? that's ok. 

i shall read for a while, finish my drinkie-poo (is it alcoholism if you drink alone? i did wait till after 5 (largely because i didn't make it home until then))

let's try to sum it up regardless: the planets seem to be aligning in such a way that thus it is written (or "wrote" as the dumb ones up north are wont to utter) that yay, verily, i must become a post secondary teacher of one thing or another. i could so stomach the 2-4 month holidays, but the sight of those faces, blank and yearning for knowledge, would turn my delicate guts. so i think i shall stick to my original plan - grizzly bear poop-scooping in bc's parks. 

what do you wanna be when you grow up?

18 April, 2009

tequila polish brain

i was bored and re-reading my blog entries from christmas 2007. shit. i used to be funny then. and witty. and have people over. what happened? what took place in the last two years that caused me to turn from a cookie-baking, smartly-erudite, charmingly-plastered chick to a monosyllabic drunk  ?

three words: fort mac.

two (count'em: deux!) glasses of wine and i am ready to write, write, write or What I Want Out Of Life

1. to have one home that is a home, that feels like a home, that i plan on keeping as a home, that i invite people to with such astounding regularity that they will know where the wine is (hint: everywhere!) and that there is always a scrumptious variety of pickled items in the fridge. 

2. good authentic mexican food close by. i mean what is it with that thing that julio's barrio calls chilaquiles? have they even looked at a plate of chilaquiles? i think not. it'd be like making a vodka marinated steak and calling it cabbage rolls. words count, yes, but reality is still reality (at least until i have that third glass of wine).

3. to move to vancouver now. my good friend g (hi g!) just got her dream job over there and will be moving this summer. i, too, have a dream job in vancouver: it involves cleaning bear poop off the trails, pays peanuts and involves no insides of people (unless said people have been devoured, digested and voided by said bear). mr. monkey also has a dream job. his dream job involves being far far away from fort mac and not managing any people whatsoever (unless said people ditto). come to think of it, he could be my lovely assistant and hold the dustpan.

4. abs

5. random superpowers not involving fire, ice or turning green

6. a cambridge audio sonata ar30 - come on already!!! i am sick of the static. sick of it! SICK!

7. a pony

8. magic sparkly shoes that will eat dust and common household allergens while making me look 15 pounds thinner and 10 years younger

9. a third glass of wine?

17 April, 2009

onward and upward, youth of today!

this then is the midlife shift, wherein it becomes apparent that it is not we who will accomplish all the wondrous stuff of our dreams, but our children or, in the case of us penguin-making failures, our friends' children. good stuff. makes me breathe a wee bit easier. the pressure is gone. i will have a glass of wine now. carry on, then! as you were, youth of today.

while picking up a couple of old bikes for a friend to dismember and revitalize:

lawyer dude with garage full of bike bits: i'm articling just now.

moi: so what kind of lawyer do you want to be when you're done?

ldwgfobb: aboriginal or environmental law...

moi: ah! you're in it for the money!

ich bin ein frankfurter now

whoooeeee! do i ever like drinking! honestly, i know you might not have noticed, but getting to this point in the evening, this lovely gently reverberating point, this totally zen point, the point when you REALLY GET the music, this point where it doesn't much matter that you have just chewed off every single last one of your fingernails, this, babies, is magic.

thank god for wine, that's all i have to say. and for all you religious nut-bars out there* - jesus was totally into wine. it's in the bible. 

*like i have religious nut-bars in my audience.**

**like i have an audience.***

*** i do, however, have facebook friends who engage in exchanges relating to their admiration for the latest hannah montana oeuvre, which makes me want to bash my face repeatedly into my deliciously user-friendly mac keyboard. with friends like these, who needs CNN?

ich bin ein berliner

6:04, friday night, drunk on 1.5 glasses of aussie shiraz that seems to have miraculously appeared in our booze cabinet (one of two) (booze cabinets not aussie shirazes). 

friday feels good. filled to the brim with artichoke ravioli with pesto and freshly grated pecorino romano. emiliana torrini on the speakers. reading "riding with rilke," a lovely book written by an edmonton u 0f a english professor whose teeth i cleaned and who told me how great it was to finally meet a literate hygienists. i told him most of us were literate, but most used their literacy for evil not good (how else would you describe the dental profession's predilection for danielle steele and her ill-begotten ilk?).

i have that good feeling that comes with having completed a day's work. which i did. today. first time in a while. last time for a couple of weeks. i don't want to overdo it.

i think right now that i could live in texas. anywhere, really, where people are friendly and snow is a rarity. maybe it's because i'm tired. maybe it's the tough night i had, filled with nightmares about purse-shopping. and really, don't ask, because i actually consider purse shopping a glorious communing with the gods, not the stuff of nightmares. but you can't argue with night-brain. night-brain takes the stuff of nightmares (escaping from homicidal deranged lunatics armed with chain-saws) and turns it into adventure but makes purse shopping monstrously disturbing.  

so: tired, tipsy, alone, enjoying the music/literture/wine combo. missing mr. m, sure, but must say this whole only child thing, it's coming in handy.

so - what are you doing this weekend?

16 April, 2009

what're you gonna do?

i've been finding that the older i get, the less energy i have left for lying, and i used to be damn good at it. now i understand the idea of a bitterly honest cranky old thing, seeing as i'm well on my way to becoming one.

now ask me if those pants make your ass look big.

15 April, 2009


last night i had italian food with a korean friend. today i had korean food alone. followed by mexican tequila brought to my canadian home by my polish cousin. it's a small world after all.

solar eclipse with a side of bacon: or stream of consciousness in a fictional format

stellar, really stellar, says bob, there is this small light "ding" sound every time, followed by the gentlest of tremors in the earth's tectonic plates, and then...then we sit down and have a drink. no matter what. what do we drink? we drink campari and soda, with a splash of tonic and a twist of lime. we're very civilized. 

we're superheroes. we wear polyester capes and tights. we fly through the air and cause light tectonic shifts whenever we land. we save little old ladies from premature demise, we haul toddlers out of holes and rescue damsels in distress. we can do nothing about the polar bears because those fuckers get pretty cranky when you try to do mouth to mouth on them. believe me, we tried. lost a few good men (no woman was dumb enough to try). and then we sit down for a drink and talk about it.

look, says bob, there's not much else to say. it's a stellar career with great benefits. the dental alone would be worth it, and the massage: i go see this guy downtown - he can really get at the kinks in my back.

14 April, 2009

re: clothes i need, require, yearn for

feathers. something with rhinestones and feathers. preferably around the neck. 

i'd channel some 40's film noir sex kitten and you'd love me so much more.

also, i need a drink, but i will wait for company. jools, ou est-tu?

so - the feathers: yes? no?

airport musings part 3: SFO

overheard at the food court:

guy on cell phone: hey, how big is your place? i mean how small?

gocp: no! how BIG is your place?!? how small!?!?



gocp: did that guy pay you?

gocp: did he? pay you?!! that guy?!!!



gocp: so, are there still all those wanna-be rappers around there?

so even if you're deaf, living in a small place, and not getting any money from that guy, at least you're surrounded by some serious bling.

airport musings part 2: SFO

frisco - for those too busy to say san francisco. and really, these days? who isn't?

i think i'll go find an air canada employee and be mean to them...it's only fair.

smells like butter=i like it. 

formaldehyde: make it laaaaast longer.

animal prints - just say no.

where is the starbucks?

hey! pretty boy! you're not that pretty!

you know what i want? a big 'fro ponytail.

the look i was going for was more bohemian chic, less street person. you know: boho over hobo. i'm not sure i managed to pull it off.

don't give me that look, lady! i wasn't the one flossing in public, now was i?

deep fried dough with sugar? put me down!

ok, seriously, where is the starbucks? isn't this the west coast?

mmmm...jack daniels....

hey! skinny girl! i like your shirt! i too wish i had no breasts!

that far off jumbo jet - does it really say "crown prince chico" on the side? i guess i'll never know.

tuberculosis: keep it to yourself.

no really, where is the starbucks?

french fries: god's way of saying "i love you"

hey! big hair girl in the washroom! your hair? it's SO BIG!!! the 80's are over...but maybe you're from the south...

peeing with my ipod made me realise that that's precisely what's been missing from my peeing experience up till now.

i left my heart in san francisco, my liver in whitecourt and my brain in fort mac. 

i think i'm done now.

airport musings part 1: YEG

a lot of ugly people in the world...or at least at the airport.

do emo kids know how stupid they look? hey, emo kid! you look stupid! did you know?

hey, chubby hairy girl! you might have a hormone imbalance! look into it!

emo kids - stupid. truly.

residual winter smells like ass

i came back from arizona where they have atmospheric conditions that warrant the name of weather. here in alberta, what we have is snow. early snow, late snow, it's-fucking-spring-but-what-the-hell-let's-have-some-more-snow snow, first snow, slushy snow, fluffy snow, crunchy snow, yellow snow and all sorts of other snow. the only kind of snow we apparently don't seem to have in alberta is LAST snow. 

and nothing beats waking up before 5 am so you can drive your husband to his airplane to hell, and then drive back in snow and slush and howling gale force winds to your lonely house with the peeling ceiling paint. 

poor little moi.

did you miss me?