27 August, 2010

yet another post in which i tell you absolutely nothing about the wild kayaking adventures i survived just last week

things i am proud of but probably shouldn't be, but hey, i'll take my "self-esteem" (heave, gag, choke, hurl*) from whatever dumpster i can scrape it:

1. my astonishing ability to signal correctly in a traffic circle. this puts me in the top 0.032% of the population. fact.**

2. my almost instantaneous ability to tell if a particular classical piece is in major or minor key, especially in light of the fact that my father, who 34 seconds into the piece will tell you who it's by, which year it was written, what particular era it is representative of, etc, cannot, for the life of him. ah, those small victories over our aging parents...

3. my previously celebrated ability to use a knife and fork simultaneously which makes me a doyenne of etiquette in north america. of course once in europe, i instantly morph into a boorish nose-picking yokel, so if i want to feel classy and shit, i'd best stay on this side of the atlantic.

4. my inability to burp.

5. my popeye-like muscular fore-arms. they is TOUGH!

6. my amazing ability to know that it is "for you and ME" and not "for you and I." i am not, however, at all proud of my complete inability to remain unmoved by this increasingly ubiquitous and annoying grammatical fuck-up. subject/object, people, SUBject/OBject!!!

7. my excessive and joyous use of adverbs and adjectives - BOOYAH!

*in case you missed it, i despise the whole concept of "self-esteem" and its attendant horrors (as in, "you cannot fail a stupid learning-challenged child because it will hurt its..." or "i exclusively date losers because i have low..." etc, etc.)

**nah, not really. i made it up, and if you hadn't already guessed that, i have a nigerian bank account overflowing with cash that only requires your banking password for me to shaaaaare.

26 August, 2010

that's love, and no mistake!

while discussing our long weekend plans (on the table - lounging around vancouver, or 15km walk-in camping in an isolated but beautiful spot):

mr. monkey: i want to go to vancouver. AND i want to go camping.

moi: well, you can't do both. you have to decide and soon.

mr. m: i think this will be the last weekend for camping. i think i should go camping.

moi: go! it'll be fun. just you and the boys.

mr. m: but...won't you come too? pleeeeeeeeaaaaaaase?

moi: ?


moi: you really want me to go so badly?

mr.m: you'll carry the tent!

moi: oh.

25 August, 2010

and then the police showed up...

i saw a glimpse of my naked bod as i was getting in the shower and started wondering when, exactly, i could give up the whole circus of caring about how i look.

used to be that post-baby women would be allowed to let themselves go. not anymore. now yoga-pant wearing hot mommies power push the urban assault vehicles containing little mackenzies and bens up and down steep hills, showing off their toned butts and besides, i ain't know nothin' about birthin' no babies, so that doesn't help.

used to be that 40 was the magical time of letting go. no more. 40 is the new 30 (whatever that means) and so the streets* are filled to the brim with trim women of a certain age, showing all the benefits of a rigorous pilates schedule and a solid knowledge of flattering clothes and a good hairdresser.

50? will i be able to let go at 50? looking at my mother, who has only just exited her 50's, probably not. a great haircut, sexy red boots, cute glasses, and an awesome scarf wrapped around her neck - your classic grandma this ain't.

ok, how about 60? will this be the decade to finally pull up my elastic-waist pants to right under my sagging bosom and hit the streets with a devil-may-care attitude and bad hair? probably not. the 60's will most likely expect some modicum of decorum, slightly less swearing and longer skirts, but what i see of 60 still looks pretty damn good.

in fact, and this is far from exhaustive, it isn't until the 70's that we begin to witness the ubiquitous up-to-the-armpits elastic waist, grandma perm, flesh-toned nylon socks and shoes so sensible they hurt the very eyes.

which means that i have over 30 more years of attempting to look good. and no, i could never be one of those people who give up prematurely** so i'll just have to bite the bullet and continue doing my best to not frighten small children.

*most likely not the streets of fort mcmurray, those are populated with some scary ass shit.

**at a memorable dinner that mr. monkey and i hosted for his mom and an old family friend, the friend showed up wearing this t-shirt and shocked the hell out of me. perhaps i am and will forever be too european to see that as acceptable dinner attire, especially from a middle aged woman, especially in light of the fact that the mother-in-law had gussied herself up admirably. just NO.

23 August, 2010

an almost exhaustive list of all things

small things; slightly larger things; round things; things that run around in circles for no apparent reason; things made of high quality belgian chocolate; things featuring pasted photos of small furry animals riding bicycles; things that don't mean it when they say "sorry"; blue things; regular things; things with sparkles on top; feral things; sad things; things that, given half the chance, would bite the hand that feeds them; things that smell like rancid cheese; cute things; monstrous things; tall long-legged things that are even a little sexy; wobbly things; things that make you think of the desert for some reason; things with spikes; things that taste better the next day; mysterious things that rattle in the back of the car; things made almost entirely of molybdenum; vaguely turtle-like things; things that feel like silk but are actually polyester; gargantuan things that growl and stomp on tokyo; things that make you all warm inside; black shiny things made in germany; sharp things; things that get wrinkly in the water; things that are nice to the touch; things that piss off your mom; things that begin with the letter Q; things that rotate clockwise; things that don't; sugar-free things that can't hide the fact; things you said in anger; feathered things; things that devour other things; things that are not on this list; all other things.

16 August, 2010

look ma! i gots me a face lift!

whaddya fink? you like the fleurs? if not, let me know. i'm not sure myself. i was going to go for the look of one of those motivational posters, with a bird flying over the sea or something, but the poppies called out to me.

driving tips for the challenged

ok, you'll have to bear with me. i really hate to do this to you. in fact, i really hate to do this to me, and i wish to fuck i could just get over it and not be angry all the goddamn time. but i can't. and now you're here, so you'll have to listen to my dysfunctional yattering. here goes:

signalling 101:

signalling, contrary to most people's way of thinking (and by thinking here, i mean the rudimentary reptilian brain stem activity that governs things other than farting and chewing for most folk), signalling is not designed to tell me what you're doing - i can see what you're doing. signalling is designed to tell me what you are about to do. so if you're in the turning lane, i can pretty much figure out you're gonna turn because that's the way that lane swings. what i would like is for you to signal PRIOR TO ENTERING THE TURNING LANE. i know, i know, revolutionary. but if you remember the primary purpose of signalling, it does begin to make sense.

i have a friend who once tried to sell me on his logic which was, if not impeccable, then certainly entertaining: apparently, according to my (really very intelligent) friend, you don't have to signal prior to changing lanes into a turning lane, because (i love this part) the lane was not there before! so, by his logic, you must only signal when changing into pre-existing lanes but not when entering the turning lane, because it is a new thing! this would be cool and all, but hey! that street! that wasn't there before either! i never got to ask him how his logic would apply to this situation, because i was too busy trying not to say rude things, because i (almost) never say rude things to friends. except when i do. and then i feel bad. but this time i didn't.

recap: signalling - the way to let others know what you are ABOUT TO DO, not what you are doing. that i can see for myself, i'm pretty smart that way.

also, signalling - not optional. no, really. it's not! yeah, even for you in the dodge ram.

what's in a name?

it's obvious that when it comes to baby names, celebrities are the courageous trailblazers* of our times, coming up with jewels like apple, moon unit zappa, puma and trixibelle. then there are those who do their part in bringing back the names of yesteryear such as jack, ava and talullah. all fine and dandy, but i think there is an untapped pool of old fashioned names beyond the emmas, janes and jeremiahs.

why, oh why, are we not naming our children ethel? what's wrong with floyd, beryl, mavis and mildred? could there be anything cuter than a tiny organic-cotton clad darling who answers to norman? i say, go beyond the matildas and phineases, and move on to the truly hideous. if you're famous, people will think you're cool. if you're not, they'll think you're cruel, but that's what parenting is all about, no?

*some would say they are overpaid morons hopped up on too much botox, cristal and coke snorted from paris hilton's navel, and who am i to argue?

the old woman and the sea

the day after tomorrow, we are heading out kayaking in the broken group islands. we will be gone 5 days (due to the limited amount of space we are bringing 1-2 shirts each for the duration, although daily underwear has been allowed, so it might get fragrant). my expectations for the trip? i want to come back alive. it would be nice if others did too.

you might say that is a hell of a pessimistic way to go on vacation, but i figure if my expectation is fulfilled i will be happy, and anything else (gorgeous scenery, lack of cetacean attacks, limited loss of limb, composting toilets, decent weather) will be a glorious bonus.

keep your fingers crossed.

05 August, 2010

family et al.

hey world!

as of late last night, i am officially an auntie to a little baby girl, ania veronika, who came into this world weighing 3.4 kg. that's all i know so far, other than the fact that her dad is over the moon and her mom is fine if tired.

amazing how you can love a little human bean whom you haven't even met.

02 August, 2010


i don't care if the original video is charming and warms the cockles of even my bitter black heart, the fact is, these days you cannot go to a single music festival or public gathering of humanity without being accosted by the ever-so-slightly creepy FREE HUGS kids.

they look like acne-prone bible camp participants for whom "hugs" are an obvious and sad ploy to get some jesus-approved physical action that is as close to sex as they are likely to get. they are often physically awkward and, better yet, surly. this actually cracks me up - a surly teenager in a stained t-shirt with a FREE HUGS placard. really? no, thank you.

why all this? no reason. just sitting around in my bathrobe and thinking. hugs?