22 April, 2011

what's so fucking funny?

last night:

moi: why can't you do this one tiny little thing for me? it's not like i ever ask you to do anything for me!

mr. monkey: uncontrollable laughter

19 April, 2011

"herbert, the purple chesterfield would look simply LOVELY in this space, dontcha think?"

yes, we've been shopping for a new monkey home and we are demoralised, overwhelmed, tired, and rather disappointed with ourselves.

having looked at countless (ok, 6) new condos, we have noticed a disturbing trend or two: first of all, the dining area is gone. no longer are you allowed to sit with your friends and family* at a table to partake of the lord's bounty in the form of kraft dinner doctored with some louisiana hot sauce. nay, from hencewith (forthwith? henceforth? what?) you shall dine, north american style, perched half-assed atop a bar stool at your breakfast bar. if you should crave the company of someone other than your spouse, you shall have your dinners on your laps, on the couch, eyes dully staring at the large screen tv, precluding any kind of conversation. your kitchen will be shiny, new and will remain virginal. damn it, that's why god invented mcdonald's. (or so it seems).

second of all, no matter how large (or, more likely, small) a place is, it is made that much smaller by the inadvertent mosaic of floorings. look! in the living room! wood! or a (more or less) reasonable facsimile thereof! look! in the foyer and kitchen! tile! and look! in the bedrooms! carpet! oh yes! sometimes even shag! because north americans are apparently morally opposed to the cold hard reality of a hardwood floor first thing in the morning and are more than happy to alleviate this with dust mites, allergens and filth! because area rugs are of the devil! (or so it seems).

last night, we saw two condos in a building that boggles the mind. unlike some, where a vegas style theme is created with little concern for taste or quality (i'm looking at you, venetian), this place was shiny and cool and tasteful (bits of it were covered in the kind of wallpaper i imagine adorns god's lounge - i could not stop fondling it fondly). there was marble where there ought to be marble**, there was subtle play of light and dark, there was a shiny glass elevator, there were gleaming expanses of things that gleam. in a word: wow.

our reaction to it, although initially one of awe and desire, soon gave way to a strange mix of guilt and unworthiness: imagine the heady mix of catholic guilt, middle class guilt*** and minimal-footprint guilt, layered with a pervasive sense of fiscal responsibility that makes us think and rethink and re-rethink every single solitary purchase until it becomes easier to just walk away (blame the immigrant experience for that, methinks). yes, perhaps it's a tad too much, perhaps the courtyard with the (very tasteful) fake palm-trees and the gentle murmur of the (very real) indoor fountain aren't really us. i'm fine with that. but why in the hell do we feel like we need to live in a hole? is it our hard assed reaction to the overwhelming consumerist message of "you deserve it!"? or are we really just closet hair-shirt self-flagellating types?

*perhaps it is assumed that condo dwellers are either the forgotten elderly (looming death!) or the carefree gay (eternal damnation!) and thus have no friends or family, and subsist on packets of crisps and bourbon.

**tastefully done, i assure you.

***upon coming home, mr. monkey even made a weak reference to "the children in africa" at which point i kicked him and told him that even this, our humble temporary lodgings, rotting floors and all, would be like balm to the sun scorched "children in africa" and not to be stupid.

10 April, 2011


it's been a week! what the hell happened? who ate my time? where have the minutes gotten to? huh? what?

ok, here's a story you've been dying to hear, except it's not so much a story as a dialogue* with some explanatory back story without which you wouldn't get the joke and, worse still, you'd think i was some kind of a sicko with strange perversions and questionable ethics as well as pathetic moral judgment, all of which might incidentally be true, but that's neither here nor there.

ok, here goes:

mr. monkey and i have never bought a barbecue. each barbecue we have ever owned (we have owned several) had been given to us by someone or found in a dark alley or liberated from a suburban backyard (kidding, kidding!). our last barbecue was an industrial sized stainless steel beast large enough to roast a mid sized pig or enough hamburgers for a junior high baseball team (no idea how many that is, but it does the job of conjuring up violently disturbing images of ravenous hordes of pimply teenage boys and that is precisely what i'm aiming for here). this barbecue had had a place of honour at mr. monkey's fort mcmurray job site and had fed multitudes for two years but when the project came to an end, the company, like most huge multi-million dollar corporations, went about disposing of this, and many other fully useful items (ladders, drills, safety glasses, janitorial staff). mr. monkey, unable to watch useful items becoming landfill fodder, brought home the barbecue and for several years it served us well. sadly, when we left vancouver island, we left the beast behind to await our return one glorious day: we simply didn't know if we'd have the room for it. it turns out to have been a good decision because when we arrived at the apartment we are now renting from our slumlords my parents, lo and behold, there was a barbecue abandoned by the previous tenants.

mr. monkey: once the ice melts, i'll wheel this down to the dumpster.

moi: why? maybe it works! we should see if it works first, so we can use it!

mr. monkey: ew, no!

moi: why not?

mr. monkey: because it's used, it is not virginal, that's why not.

moi: oh, and what about our last barbecue? was that one virginal? no! that one had been gang-banged by rig pigs for over 2 years!

mr. monkey: true that.

so we decided that we'll lube'er up, hook'er up to some fuel and see if it'll do for some tasty summertime tubesteak!

* or "dialog" as the kids seem to be spelling it these days - first blondes became blonds, then dialogues became dialogs, what is the world coming to? and don't tell me that language evolves naturally, because this ain't no evolution, it's a travesty of massive proportions!!! (!!!!!!!!!)

02 April, 2011

blerkydablerk (drnk posts!!! yaar!)

hi. it's been far too long. what has been getting in the way is my ego. oh yes, my little pathetic ego. more and more, as i get older, i think of myself thusly: here is a girl (woman? i don't think of myself as a woman because that seems ridiculously old, but girl, i am told is possibly seen as somehow pejorative or whatnot even though i think of myself as a girl and in the best possible way, what? am i not 20 anymore? when did that happen? bastards!) who could have been so many things and who isn't necessarily sad about losing out on the being of (say) the editor of the new york times or some such shit (because, really, how much happier would i have been as the editor of the new york times? maybe a million times more, or maybe not at all, or maybe much much sadder what with the new work dating scene and all) but who is a little pissed off about the whole urban planning thing not really being on the radar during her impressionable schooling years which resulted in her going into something so ridiculously pragmatic and uninspired like the whole teeth cleaning bullshit and the problem isn't so much the cleaning of teeth (because, admit it, it is fucking NICE to have clean teeth, come on! ADMIT IT!) but the problem is finding something you are good at and interested in and i think that i am really really interested in is urban planning and i can read about bylaws and zonings and all manner of boring dull things pertaining to this and actually remain alert and i am almost forty and it's better to discover something you like late rather than never but hot damn, it sure would have been nice to have spent the last 15 years banging my head against municipal bylaws rather than teeth for rather obvious reasons.

and that's what i think when i'm drunk.

also, what i think, when i have been consuming wine in the presence of my family, is that it is goddamn nice to be sitting around up the stairs from a sleeping cool baby (who could be anything one day, even a kick-ass urban planner or the editor of the new york times!) and talk about the two world wars and the appeasement policy prior to WW2 and the whole african question with people i really really love and that it more than makes up for the supremely shitty weather of this place we are now (again) calling home. it also helps that my cousin is now making absolutely incredible bread and is offering lots to us merely because we share some genes. yay!

am i making sense? am i going to delete this tomorrow? who knows!?