28 August, 2009

i'm off

to nanaimo tonight, to see my mister monkey, to dip my toes in the ocean and to eat any fish that comes within eating distance of me.

house, i still command you to sell, motherfucker! i might be gone, but don't think you can get away with any of that "i'm just gonna sit here and NOT sell" shit, you hear?

i have decided i am going to miss my family tremendously, especially since they are already making the possibly-will-never-come-visit-you-in-the-land-of-god noises, lazy bastards all!


25 August, 2009

bivalve mollusks beat rhovane, crowd goes wild

my mantra for last night: peaceful and clam
worked like a charm - i managed to fall asleep within a reasonable amount of time sans pharmaceuticals. bivalve mollusks will henceforth be my go-to mantra for tough ADD brain-rodent nights.

my dinner last night: glass of sauvignon blanc, a bowl of baci gelato and a peach so ripe its juices ran down my arm and into the sink

my stress levels: meh.

the whole breathing thing: meh.

other stuff of varying importance: bit through the fear and paranoia and bought aeroplane tickets to nanaimo for this friday, right after having thrown a rather embarrassing freaky fit to mister monkey on the phone about how stressful it is for me to go online and pick dates and such and get on a plane to see him. i'm embarrassed to even write this. talk about rich white girl's entitlement blues. but i persevered, i did. others die for their convictions, me? i buy aeroplane tickets to a beautiful island location to see my husband. ijit? u-huh.

randomnessity: stole a brand new chatelaine magazine from work. yah! 

24 August, 2009

why, old people, why?!?!?!?

why are you trying to kill me, motherfuckers? you're obviously doing well, what with the brand new shiny automobile that you choose to use as a dirigible of death, as you suddenly and for no apparent reason swerve into my lane, the lane that i am currently occupying, meaning no one any harm, just driving calmly in my goddamn motherfucking lane until you decide in your old decrepit brain that your lane is a far inferior lane and must henceforth be changed to my lane, the lane, in case you didn't get it the first time, that I AM CURRENTLY IN.

and if my laying on the horn scared you, then i must admit i do not currently give a shit because you almost killed me there and then and THAT would have made me oh so mad. 

old people, you are bad drivers; you are blind and deaf and frightened. old people, take a motherfucking cab, so i can live to move to b.c., ok?  ok.

that thing with the lungs and the air is broken again

spent the last couple of nights medicating the crap out of the maddened rodent that keeps the brain wheels turning. the last two nights it refused to stop or even slow down, despite my increasingly frantic chanting of "peaceful and calm*" as i lay in bed bombarded by all the things that could go wrong (we'll never sell this house/we priced it too high/we'll never make back the money we put into the house/why in the name of all fuck did we just spend two fucking years renovating a house that we are now trying to sell/will i ever sleep again ?/i think i am dying/i cannot breathe, oh god, i cannot breathe and so on).

since then, several people (including a zara employee with improbably thick gorgeous glossy hair) have promised to send positive thoughts my way and it must be working because i feel marginally better. but. but i do not deal well with stress (what? you noticed? is it THAT obvious?). this must end.

house - i command you to sell! you have one week, motherfucker!

today i shall exercise (it forces the lung and air thing to work better) and then go to work. it seems now that booking three days of work this week might not be a bad thing since it will force me to focus on calcified mouth matter instead of my house woes, which, come to think, might not be that much of a step up, but i am far less likely to give a shit about your periodontal problems than my own real estate issues. 

the day i start hyperventilating because someone refuses to floss is the day i pay someone handsomely to have myself shot.


*i mistyped "clam" and thought it might make a wicked mantra. i mean, have you ever seen a pissed off, stressed out clam? me neither!

21 August, 2009

melons! melons, i say!

i went to see the new southgate mall expansion - yowza! it's like a real growed up mall in a real world class city, y'all! they don't even have a hitching post anymore and there is barely any straw on the brand new marblelicious floorage! no, really! (although there is a store that caters exclusively to that mouth-breathing segment of the population that considers pimped out baseball caps the height of self-expression to go along with their gangsta jeans)

so, what does the new southgate offer? zara, sephora, ecco, coach (a.k.a. highly overpriced not particularly attractive baggage) and other assorted consumerist wet dreams. 

and since we are on the topic of spectacular man-made edifices, i saw a woman there whose spray-on tan, perfect belly button and platinum hair had nothing, and i mean nothing, on her perkalicious, utterly globular, perfectly hemispherical silicone breasts. now i have met women with implants before, but typically they look like...well, breasts. this particular pair was straight from a low budget porn directed, no doubt, by her bronzed, gold-bedecked muscular boyfriend with the über sexy highlights. 

to my everlasting chagrin, mister monkey and i will never be that hott or that sexxy.

18 August, 2009

beware of words!

district 9 write-up on imdb:

"rated R for bloody violence and pervasive language."

does this mean that language use should at most be sporadic, sprinkled judiciously here and there? that the excessive use of language will somehow corrupt our youth? are we returning to the silent film era? or a new wave of cinema mime?

would the film be rated PG if the violence was not bloody? what if there were no puncture wounds or eviscerations but merely a thorough 2 hour beating administered using a phone book? would that be ok? 

good to know i have an R-rated career, though. 

the monkey's back in town

mister monkey finally came home yesterday but did it in classic mister monkey fashion. 

he told me he'd leave round 8. instead it was 10:30 before he managed to pack the vehicle and eat breakfast and say his goodbyes. he found himself tired on the road so he pulled over to take a (3 hour?) nap. 

my increasingly frantic calls from work remained unanswered until 6:30 pm, when he called the receptionist to tell her he was alive and well and would be arriving in an hour. 

it takes mister monkey to travel 500 km in 9h. 

perhaps it was aliens.

17 August, 2009

rodent renos

the beast in the wall is at it again. it sounds like he's either rewiring the place, dragging furniture, or working on the plumbing. i do hope he gets some sweet digs out of the deal. then again, once mister monkey arrives, we plan on shutting the one visible access to the attic, so screw him and his mid century modern pad with its little eames rockers and saarinen table

up yours, beast in the wall, up yours!

just keep it down when people come to look at the place, ok?

15 August, 2009

the french certainly know how to do it

movies, that is! what did you think i meant? you dirty minded poultries!

i just got back from summer hours with my aunt and cousin-in-law. this is a movie that would implode if hollywood got within ten feet of it. a movie in which nothing much happens which brings to a sharp focus the kind of movie watching i am used to because each time a character gets behind the wheel of a vehicle, i expect a fiery crash. each time two characters rummage through their newly deceased mother's étagère, i expect them to uncover evidence of unspeakable acts or the mummified ear of a missing relative. none of this happens. they disagree, they discuss their disagreements, they come to terms with them, they move on. life moves on.

the 72 year old actress who plays the mother makes me wonder what it is that french women know that lets them age so gracefully: she is gorgeous and not in that horrifyingly plastic tight-as-a-drum joan rivers way. let me tell you, if i can manage to look like that at 72, i will have all the pool boys i want. in fact, given the toll that stress has been taking on my skin lately, i'd settle for looking like her when i hit 40. 

lovely movie. you might want to check it out.

that's not a skunk! that's me!

ok, so maybe i panicked a little bit last night (you would too if you had a beast in the wall) but there was no skunk smell. i blame my aveda chakra I balancing mist. last night it seriously unbalanced me.

things that go bump in the night and potatoes (which mostly don't)

one of the problems with the beast in the wall is that it causes me to have nightmares involving the beast in the wall. i had a bad night last night: cold, alone, pursued by nighttime demons, listening to the beast in the wall, and suddenly finding myself thinking furiously about the farmers' market baby potatoes that are languishing in my fridge.

that's when i got mad.

i had to give myself a stern talking to. i mean imagine, with the renos, house sale, packing and moving on my mind, do i really need to be worrying about the state of my potatoes? i think not. 

throw in beast in the wall and global climate change into the equation and i think i have plenty to worry about without even considering root vegetables.

sometimes i really do annoy myself.

then i look at how fab my legs and butt are starting to look with the thrice weekly run and i sort of get over the potato paranoia and chronic insomnia. who cares about mental instability when your ass looks good?

14 August, 2009

more exciting news in the world of weather! and then a skunk happened!

this april felt like february.
this may felt like march.
this june felt like april.
this july had at most 2 weeks of actual july weather.
this august, outside of 2-3 days, has so far felt like october.

also, am i imagining the smell of skunk? is the beast in the wall a skunk? please dear lord baby jebus in whom i do not believe, please, pretty please, let it not be a skunk who decided to skunkify in response to my repeated wall banging.

also, while we're talking, dear lord baby jebus, could we have some summer, please?

thank you.

the beast in the wall

several weeks ago i woke up to what sounded like a small saint bernard running around up in the attic. then nothing. i figured it was birds or stupid squirrels (how can anyone like that least charming of all rodents is beyond even my power of imagination) or something on the roof.

last weekend we had a friend stay in his sexy orange VW camper van in our driveway and as i was falling asleep i thought i heard him come in to use the facilities. after several minutes of strange scrambling noises and the occasional knock, i figured he might need some medical attention, or at least to be swiftly distracted from my minibar. i got up, wrapped myself in my increasingly threadbare pink robe and looked out. no antoine. but the mysterious noises continued. 

my next thought was that our tenants had somehow over the course of the weekend come into the (hopefully temporary) possession of a dog and it was in the hallway in some kind of kennel. i looked down: no dog. but the mysterious noises continued.

i self-medicated and went to sleep. fuck the wall beast, i had the folk fest to attend and needed to be rested.

last night i heard it again and called up our tenants to back me up. it is easy to start questioning one's grasp on reality when confronted with repeated scratchings in the wall. they heard it too. 

today the beast returned and i am contemplating murder. for a rodent (what else could it possibly be?) it is extremely loud, sounds like it's swinging from the electrical wires like some furry little tarzan with continuously growing incisors, and refuses to be frightened of the sustained banging i keep administering to the wall.

knowing myself, if it eats its way through the wall and ends up in either my spare room closet or the backstairs one, i will chase it and beat it to a pulp with my bare hands. 

no, i do not like squirrels.

13 August, 2009

i got some 'splainin' to do

for the last few weeks/months i've been working my ass off making our little house a total gem. just so we could sell it. this is not the first time we've pulled a stunt like that and i just hope that one day, one day soon, we will work our asses off on a home that we'll actually plan to live in. 

as a consequence of the above stress (plus not knowing until literally last week if/when/where we are going to go next) i have been cranky. and i have been really trying hard not to be THAT person: the one you start to avoid after a while because she's just a cranky old bitch who has nothing good to say about anything.

so maybe i should just shut up since people do tend to pick out only the negatives i spout (and you'll all agree (all 3 of you) that i spout a lot) and i am not only tired of being negative but also tired of being seen as only negative, especially since a) i've really been trying and b) i do not believe that to be the case. i like to think of myself as more of an opinionated realist with a side of tentative optimism.

yes, i hate hummers. but i also love my mister monkey, my friends, my life overall, my (soon to be ex) city, my family, music, books, my (soon to be ex) province, good food and wine and even some little children. i'm not a total ogre and i am finding it less and less funny to be called one, even if it's for a laugh: oh that monkey woman, she's always bitching. well, i'm not. at least i'm trying not to.

yes, my life has been stressful. yes, we are selling our lovely house. yes, we are moving to the glorious vancouver island. yes, i've been spending days inhaling paint/grout/epoxy fumes. please, be a little patient with me. i'm trying to be nicer because truly, i'm so incredibly thankful for my life, even if at times it drives me nuts, that i wouldn't want anyone (least of all a higher power if such a beast exists) to not realise that. 

the end.

23

the number of hipster girls wearing tank tops with high waisted skirts and wide belts i counted at the folk fest on saturday alone. they also all had the same hairstyle. every last one.

the question is: why?

hi

just thought i'd let you know that the whole "mayan riviera" thing is nothing more than a marketing ploy. when i ask you where you're going and you give me that particular answer, guess what, you might as well say "mexico" because that's all i get out of it. there IS no mayan riviera, you gullible fools! but hey, i just spent 2.5 years living in the northern alberta paris, so i might be a wee bit out of the loop.


dat paper iz fer ijits

why does the sun* insist on front pages with screaming headlines of carnage pasted on completely unrelated pictures? 

a recent headline hollered something about a rapist while the picture (of a slightly creepy looking man standing in the shadows) turned out to be the police spokesman. 

today's headline proclaimed something about the heartbreak of a father and daughter killed in a horrific car crash. the picture? two extremely flexible girls doing acrobatic stunts on top of each other. if that's a car crash i know a few guys who want in. 


* edmonton's go-to newspaper for the semi-illiterate: 78% car ads, 20% pictures of semi-nude young honeys, 2% text.

12 August, 2009

everything

tastes like chicken. why is that?

11 August, 2009

grout grout grout

my supper tonight was a big bowl of homegrown salad with homemade vinaigrette and a bowl of sunchips, washed down with red wine.

i had a huge hankering for bi bim bap but the two i hollered at to arrange a sociable bi bim bap consumption failed to respond. bi bim bap seems like a friendly food so instead of heading to bul-go-gi house alone and burying my nose in a book like the pathetic loner that i am, i had the nutritionally balanced meal i mentioned above. 

then (at 10:30 ish or so) i entered the tub and began to grout. then i exited the tub and began to blog.

good lord, my life is the stuff fairy tales are made of: complete lack of any social interaction, marked failure to consume korean food and excessive grouting. why go anywhere else when you can get it all right here?

locust sammich

so i survived yet another folk fest, along with its corollary social activities. we had our annual folk fest BBQ (this year's theme was The BBQ-less BBQ, on account of us not having a BBQ) which was attended by the usual suspects and failed to be attended by those whose attendance is, at best, spotty. i went to workshops, got a sunburn and even spent a good hour or two in the beer gardens. the music was fine although this year failed to produce the sort of wows and awe that characterized last year.

good friends, good times, good music: all good. i must be getting old, though, because i am glad it is now over and i can go back to my normal hermit-like existence (eating locusts in the back yard, wearing nothing but the loincloth i fashioned out of dead squirrels).

and now? it's off to grout i go.

03 August, 2009

said the little mouse to the arrhinoceratops

i am tired. i have been tired for what feels like hours. instead of going to bed, however, i keep pounding away at the goddamn keyboard, playing disturbingly long rounds of tetris, checking and rechecking facebook furiously, hoping, against all hope and reason, that someone somewhere has done something interesting (which they had not, damn you all to hell, my boring "friends"!!!).

the question that instantly forms on one's lips is why the hell don't i just go to bed? why don't i, huh? 

the answer is so bloody embarrassing that it embarrasses me to even mention it, on account of it making me all embarrassed with the embarrassment of it. 

ok, here it is: i am too bloody lazy to wash the make-up off my face, to floss and brush my teeth, and to take my clothes off, and since it is a part of my unspoken contract with myself that i do not go to bed with make-up on, with a crusty dentition and with clothes on, so i linger on the couch, hoping against all hope that somehow, somewhere, someone will twist the fabric of space time in such a way that i will suddenly find myself clean-faced, squeaky-toothed and nekkid, in my goddamn bed. 

a girl can dream. 

this happens a lot with me, and while i give mister monkey shit for failing to go to bed at a reasonable hour given his 4 am wake-up, i keep putting off the rituals that precede my own bedtime which then put me to bed past my natural sleepy time and i get overtired and cranky and insomniac and then  bitch about it here. 

LIFE IS SO BLOODY UNFAIR!!! WAAAAAAH!!!

hurray for stupid!!!

i was sitting on my front steps in my ultra sexy painting get up, waiting for a friend.
my phone rang and it was her:

"i'm right in front of your house."
"um, no, you're not. because i'm right in front of my house and i don't see you."
"oh. good thing i didn't ring the doorbell. what's your address again?"
i gave her my address and asked her what car she drove so i could keep an eye out for her.
"a little smart car."

so i went back to my steps, had another sip of wine and lo, what's this? is this a smart car i see coming up the street? why yes!

i proceeded to run to the front of my yard, waving my arms frantically and jumping up and down (just a little).

there were two strange men in that smart car and they gave me the nervous smile reserved for that crazy street person on the corner. the smile you hope is calming, the smile you hope will tell the demons to relax, the smile you hope will let you walk away alive, unscathed. yes, that smile.

i deflated and sheepishly walked back to my stoop. seconds later she arrived in her smart car.

oops.

02 August, 2009

punctuation punks

alright, you all know how much i hate it when people use ellipses instead of commas. what i am looking for is a little input regarding a phenomenon i have been witnessing on facebook, that communal repository of wit and wisdom, in the last little while. it is a sort of hybrid punctuation that goes something like this:

"were you at the ex today...? cool...i was there too...!!!!"

why the delayed question mark? why the delayed exclamation marks? what is the psychological and/or philosophical basis for this? 

is the writer a little slow on the uptake (YES!) and thus forced to take his time processing the query or the excitement? now i have met some slower-paced people who actually speak with ellipses, but what i wouldn't give to hear someone say the sentence above.

do something for me, my little poultries, tell a friend what a comma is and how it differs entirely from ellipses. have your friend pass this on to others. in time, we might eradicate the true pandemic that is sweeping the world - grammatical ignorance. thank you.


one more for the "graceful and shit" file

i was hanging curtains in the kitchen today. i took what i thought was a half a step back and found myself completely off the chair i had been standing on seconds earlier. because i knew that the kitchen floor behind me was littered with paint cans, screwdrivers and other pointy miscellanea, i attempted to flop my way backwards onto the far safer (?) tile. i had forgotten about the laundry basket thankfully filled with clean laundry and the one bottle of red wine i had tossed in there as i came up from the basement. 

i managed to upend the basket, spilling a rainbow shower of mister monkey's underoos as well as the bottle of wine. i also scraped my elbow something fierce.

i figured the bottle of wine was fine until i tried uncorking it several hours later. the entire neck was broken but hey, i'm nothing if not resourceful, at least when it comes to alcohol, so i managed to gently uncork it and then pour it into the decanter using a funnel and fine sieve to get the glassy chunks out. 

and if you're worried you'll be drinking glass-filled wine, worry not. by the time you come over, it'll be a whole new bottle, and i will have been graceful in many fun and creative ways. hey, i may even be dead!

01 August, 2009

one more drunk post? why thank you, i believe i shall.

you know how you're not supposed to drink and drive (at least not while you're pregnant) or drink and propose, or drink and...blog? anyhow, i often lose both my patience and my inhibitions after that third glass of wine and this time i decided to caulk. i caulked two bits of the bathtub that were threatening to turn into black mold right under my watchful gaze if not dealt with right this very second, and one bit of the fireplace surround, but i had to give that up because i was going a wee bit wobbly. 

still, it's not always a good thing to undertake home renovating projects while under the influence of The Grape. i (vaguely) remember putting an ikea coffee table together while tipsy. it's still together, although bits of it had to be reassembled once i a) sobered up and b) got an actual flathead screwdriver instead of a butter knife.

the more interesting thing happened when i put together a storage shelving unit. that was not the problem: i assembled it flawlessly. the problem was putting the storage shelving unit inside the storage room. something in the space time continuum refused to add up and i ended up (drunk), with a shelving unit jammed crossways into the storage room, levitating in an off kilter sort of way, refusing to budge in either direction. mister monkey had a good laugh. 

no wonder, though, that he refuses to let me play with electrical outlets and such: he knows my propensity to play drunken holmes on homes, and isn't yet in the mood to go shopping for a new wife.

good night.