Friday, April 28, 2006

If you can't handle vomit memories, perhaps you should go read some Laura Ingalls instead

I was just reading my blogs, and Chunks mentioned Star Jones, and I've just reacted violently. I just think the bitch is the grossest thing this side of Tanya Tucker. Honestly, can you say frogface? Oh, I'm being mean, but she's just so annoying and cocky and full of bullshit.
So tonight, we went to the inlaws for a hot tub, and we had the dog with us and we were driving around on the way home in hopes that the kids would fall asleep, and the fucking dog pukes like a frigging motherfucker (I am swearing tonight, I don't want to hear about it) all over the van. I mean, I don't rightly know if I have ever puked that much, so I have no idea where it came from. I had given her a couple weiners as a treat earlier, and it was two huge piles of weiners and such. Ugh, so I had to deal with that. And there is something about dog and cat puke that I just can't handle. Well, not like I like to parade around in other types of vomit, but pet vomit is just especially gross.
Speaking of vomit, I will always have a soft spot in my heart for Margo for being kind to me as I vomited one time. You see, I am not a vomiter. However, I have always had an irrational fear of vomiting. I know I have posted this all before because I have deja vu again, but, well, consider this post a rerun then. Anyway, I spent my childhood in fear of vomiting, and I suppose I would puke once a year or something. Well, the last time I threw up as a youth from the flu was when I was 15 - I remember it well. I had eaten pizza the night before (didn't eat it for almost 2 years after that) and had went out and bought Philip Bailey's album Walking on the Chinese Wall that night because I really liked his duet "Easy Lover" with Phil Collins (but buying the whole album? I was fucking crazier than Star Jones to do that). Anyway, I woke up in next morning and sat there with a garbage can and puked as I watched Cher on Donahue.
So, that was the last time I puked from a stomach bug. I puked a few times when drunk or hung over, but that doesn't really count, because when drunk, you don't really suffer the trauma as much, and hung over, my stomach would be empty anyway, and I'd puke up a thimble full of water and then be right as rain. And, in those situations, it only happened a few times. I remember puking one night after drinking a whole bunch of Extra Old Stock, which was really like malt liquor that hillbillies drink - it had more alcohol than beer, so we gave it a try, and I remember only drinking 6 of them, and coming home and just getting hit with this wave of grossness, bending over, puking in the dishwasher, and then I made myself a sandwich. I remember another time throwing up at Ruby's house after drinking a whole bunch of rye following a week when we partied every night (I'll tell that story maybe this weekend), and again, felt fine right after that. I also threw up two or three times hung over - I remember waking up in the middle of the night, being nauseated and lying there moaning, listening to the radio all night long and praying and praying to God to make me better, all the while drinking sips of water and chewing rolaids. Well, near dawn, I'd puke up a little rolaid water, and it would be all hunk dory.
But then came the fateful night. Picture it - 1988, late fall. I had gone back to take a highschool chemistry class over, because I for some reason thought I would need it to succeed in life. I actually WAS succeeding, being an older student and all. I had a midterm the next day, and we had this really mean intern named Mrs. Neybermeyer - or that's what I apparently called her all night. So, I went for coffee with a few friends late in the day and somehow, I don't really know, we went down to Margo's with this 26 of Southern Comfort. Well, me and this friend of ours, let's call her Clara, were going to drink this bottle and I mean, I didn't plan on getting really drunk. Margo and the rest of the gang who were there didn't have beer yet, and me and Clara crack open the bottle and I just start drinking shots and Clara had none - she sent Margo to get another one when she got her beer. And, somehow, in 20 mins ( i remember this part - it was 6:30 when we got there, and 6:50 when it was empty), I drank the damn thing. Margo had gone to get beer in the meantime and she came back as soon as I finished the bottle and she was looking at me, and in her typical fashion said "holy fuck" and went about her business. In my defense, I didn't mean to do it, but it tasted good and it happened too fast. Well, I am so twisted all of a sudden, and apparently, I started talking about having relations with Lisa Bonet, and this arsehole there, let's call him Blaine, kept saying "would you fuck her if she had AIDS?" and I apprently yelled, "I'd fuck her if she had rooster's disease!" (whatever that is) and then Blaine kept saying "she's a hairy ass bitch" because she was just in ROlling Stone and was naked and had a hairy ass or something, and I was yelling and on and on - it really went downhill from there - and Lisa Bonet really WAS a freak - it was Denise Huxtable I liked, not that crazy-ass Lenny Kravitz/Romeo Blue marrying hippie - I kept telling Clara she had to call Miss Neibermeyer in the morning and pretend she was my mom because I was going to miss the midterm - and I DO remember at 7:30 somehow standing up to go to the bathroom and falling into Margo's shower, and then sitting down on the toilet with my head in my lap. Margo came in and I guess I said I was going to puke so she told me to get on the floor, but I wanted to sit on the toilet and wanted a bowl, so the dear gets me the bowl, and I end up puking, and she goes to dump it in the sink, and there was some toilet paper in the sink, and so she has to put her hand in my vomit to unplug the sink. She then led me to the couch, where I slept until about 10, and then I remember Clara feeding me a peanut butter sandwich and someone driving me home. I had no idea what the hell happened, but I got up in the morning and wondered why I stunk like puke. It was a low point in my life, let me tell you. But that's what friends are for, indeed. God love you, Margo.
One funny quick puke story - so I was like Seinfeld, and didn't have a non-drinking related vomit from 1985 until 2002. But in 2002, I woke up one summer morning all queasy, and thought I was going to die. Well, after being all gross feeling all morning, I get up to, well, to put it bluntly, shit my guts out. So I am sitting there hoping that would make me feel better when I got that tight bubbly feeling in my throat and knew I was going to puke, so I yell to Rachel to get me a bowl, that I was going to puke. So she is on the phone with her sister and brings me a bowl and I hear her say "he's never puked in all the years we've been together, I gotta see this" and I kick her out of the bathroom and stand up, walk over to the sink, and then puke. Well, all the fear comes back from childhood, and you know how you feel like you will suffocate? So I heave, then I say in this loud, gravelly voice "NO MORE!" and heave again and again yell "No more!" and I hear my lovely wife laughing her ass off in the livingroom on the phone, so she comes in ,and of course thinks I am completely mental because I am in the bathroom and instead of throwing up in toilet I ask for a bowl, but instead of using the bowl, I puke in the sink. I am an enigma, folks!
Sorry for the gross post, but look what some dog puke brings out in you.
I better get to bed - my wife just woke up from the couch, sat up, and said frantically "Where did I fall asleep?!?" and now I can stop laughing. You have to be here I guess.
So, here's to another 17 years without throwing up....
Have a good Saturday, folks!

Thursday, April 27, 2006

Feelin' SASSY!

So, close to the end of another work week. Can I get an amen to that? I am so tired right now (I know I always say that, but I always blog before bed, so what the hell do you expect?). Anyway, I had to comment on Survivor - it was a good one tonight. My blood was boiling that frigging Terry got immunity again, but I had a good laugh that the freaky Courtney finally went home. Like, someone has to stop Terry. My darling wife doesn't have a hate on for him like I do, but as Roxanne so correctly commented, he just brings to mind every jock asshole I've ever known, the kind who are so cocky and win everything. When he won that Yukon, well, it was typical. But next week will prove interesting with the whole betrayal thing.
So it was a funny night tonight, just because my darling children were so damned crabby. They were overtired because today is gymnastics day for the two oldest, and supper time revealed them to be in fine form. We got home, and I was all pumped because it's so freaking gorgeous outside, and because I finally got off my fat ass and back onto the treadmill at noon, so I had energy to burn. I wanted to BBQ and then play in the backyard and go for a walk and whatever. So, I picked up a nice salmon filet and some chicken and was throwing supper together, and Kristen tells me she has to poop. Well, I should have known that it would spell trouble, because she has this thing where she always wants me to sit in the bathroom with her when she poops, and I have to sit on the tub while she talks and talks and poops and poops. Well, I get her on the toilet and then tell her I have to go flip the chicken so it won't burn, but that just completely sets her off. By the time I get back from flipping the meat, she's on the floor and freaking out and screaming and on and on, and doesn't want me in the bathroom. Well, she's hysterical for like 1/2 an hour. Yeah, I know, all my fault - I should be sitting there on poop patrol 24/7, but you know how it goes. Kelly was also all snitty, and I don't know why, but it was so frigging stessful. So, we finally get them eating somehow, but we each have a child on our lap (after the baby was making noise and scared us that she was choking), and Rachel wanted to go to this garage sale she saw in the paper, so we decide to leave the dishes and just go. Well, as soon as we get into the van, it starts raining a bit, so that was just typical.
Well, that brings us to the trip for ice cream. Do you ever do stuff that annoys your spouse/significant other/partner/lover? Well, I do this thing that drives her fucking apeshit. Whenever we take the kids for ice cream, she always asks me to get her a baby cone. I never do, and opt to get her a small cone. Well, tonight was the icing on the cake, because she specifically said "I only want the baby cone, don't get me anything else" but I got her the small cone. I don't even know why I do it, it's just this thing I do, so she told me she'll never have ice cream again. This also brings back the brushetta pizza I bought her from Extreme Pita a while back, which would be lovely except we both hate tomatoes, onions, and brushetta. Indeed, this thing was teeming (or is it teaming? 8 years of studying English, and I don't know how to spell worth a shit) with onions and tomatoes. So I bring it home and she's all "WTF is this?" and I mean, I have no idea what I was thinking. So yeah, it was kinda funny.
Finally, I was reading this blog of one of Chunk's regulars, and the one post left me virtually speechless. Apparently, in the states, you can buy this certain brand of tampons with "sassy comments" on them. Why the hell would you need sassy comments on a tampon? What would it say? What's snappy - something like "shove it up your ass!?" "At least you aren't pregnant?" How does something be sassy and not offensive? Because, believe you me, if I was a woman and had to endure the curse (I can't get a nosebleed without wondering if I'll need a transfusion), well, sassy comments wouldn't make me feel any better. Like, seeing "you go, girlfriend" well, just wouldn't cut the mustard. And while I am not a woman, I do pick up womanly supplies for my woman when she's not pregant or nursing (which isn't often, granted, but still), and I am fine buying some Tampax, but I draw the line on being a man picking up sassy tampons. What would the male equivilent be? Sassy condoms? What would those say - "You really ARE fooling her by buying the XXL box, brother!"? I am sorry, I have no trouble buying condoms either, but sassy ones I couldn't. I don't care if the store knows I am planning on getting lucky, but you don't want to be sassy about it.
Sassy - I like that word. SASSY!
Well, this is degenerating rapidly, so I am going to go snuggle with my Rachel, and promise to never buy her ice cream again unless it's what she wants.
TGIF peeps,
p.s. - anyone tried one of those Tim Horton's breakfast sandwiches yet?
Nothing will beat an A & W bacon n' egger in my mind, but the Tim's thing looks good....

Wednesday, April 26, 2006

Coulda Been so Beautiful, Coulda been so right....

Ok, I am so FRITZING mad right now - I have been sitting here typing for a whole FRITZING half hour, and I press some stupid wrong button and the whole frigging thing disappears. I want to frigging scream. What's with the fritzing and frigging you ask? Well, I just finished saying in the missing post (the "lost post" for you bootleg collectors out there - find it and sell it on ebay for a profit) how I was looking over the blog and noticed that I swear like some drunken longshoreman, and I've been trying to monitor if I actually swear that much in real life. So, I proceeded to say that I work with this woman from Saskatoon who is married to a minister there and she always is saying "oh fritz" all the time, and I was all "let's experiment!" and proceeded to use it throughout the fritzing post, and it was actually sort of fritzing funny, but now, alas, as I lost the whole motherfritzing thing, and I am seriously angry at the moment. Well, whatever. Oh, but I am just so mad, because I typed and typed, and for nothing.
Ok, so this will be very short, as I have no energy to remember what I was rambling on about - something about American Idol and Whitney Houston and some strange stream of random babble. Anyway, I am really grouchy now.
So American Idol - I will completely forget about all the stuff I wrote about this week (sorry, it was good too), but let me just say this: Paula was on drugs again last night. Seriously, bitch was stoned. She was weeping and weeping when Snaggles sang, and I just didn't get it. But let's talk about the hillbilly. She was horrible. Fritzing horrible. However, even though I went on and on about how she was not as stupid as she seemed, and how she was annoying and needed to be gone, when they showed the clip at the end, and the picture of her and her jailbird daddy when she was little, well, then I got all sad for her. I am mental, I know. Completely frigging mental.
So anyway, I also had this to say about Whitney Houston, although none of the humor will be there, and this will be boring to read, since I am so annoyed at losing the original post (man, I dwell on things too long, don't I? Well, it's my life, so fritz yourself). Katherine sang "I Have Nothing" and she couldn't pull it off. However, I have to say I love that song, and I am a closet Whitney fan. I've been one since her first album in grade 10 - I still think "You Give Good Love" is an awesome romantic song. So, I'm a fan of the Crackhead.
I also posted 5 of my favorite romantic songs, and asked you what yours are.
"You Give Good Love" still gets me. I was also a huge fan of her duet with Teddy Pendergrast "Hold Me", although I think it might be a little hokey now ("I'll hold you, and touch you, and make you my woooomaaan, tonight") - yeah, hokey. This was back in my "I want to be Black and I am going to marry a Black woman and have Black babies" phase - you remember that don't you Margo? Oh and Margo, remember that Black girl that broke my heart in grade 10? She's a lesbian now in Vancouver - I actually know her cousin quite well. I'll tell you the whole story sometime.
"Tender Love" by the Force MDs, from 1985, is one of my alltime faves. I love that song. It still gives me that teenage romantic intense feeling, you know what I mean.
"Your Love is King" by Sade I think is fritzing SEX-AY.
Same with "Wicked Game" by Chris Isaak. Those last two songs would be good soap opera sex background music.
Yes, this post is boring, because I am still pissy and I have no intention of snapping out of my childish mood.
So speaking of soap opera sex music, has anyone ever stumbled upon "Latin Lover" on the Latin Channel on Friday nights, at around midnight? Well, its some sort of soft porn Spanish soap opera, and it is all dubbed, and so cheesy. I can't follow what the sam hill is happening on it, because they are all acting like they are rejects from Santa Barbara (anyone remember that show?) and then boom, two people will be naked and getting busy, and we had the convo at work about that show one day, but I won't tell you what it was about - let me know if you have seen it, and then once you have, I'll pose a question for you about it.
Anyway, sorry for the boring post, but I am just cranky as all get out about losing that post. I even had a good one about Dionne Warwick not predicting Whitney was a crackhead from the psychic friends network, but I can't remember the wording. LOL, it's one of those days.
We had the BBQ for my parent's anniversary tonight and it went well, so I am happy about that. Enough said.
So before I go, let me say the strange thought that came into my head as I was getting a cart at Superstore today. I had this wierd thought come into my head, and I got all mad at Molly Ringwald and John Hughes. Why you ask? Well, I can't rightly remember why this popped into my head, but I had this revelation, an epiphany if you will, that those Hughes movies, you know, my faves like the big Molly three - Sixteen Candles, Breakfast Club, and Pretty in Pink - are all totally wrong. You see, when you watch them, you cheer for Molly to hook up with the rich dude, the prince charming guy. Well, I was sitting there thinking (well, shopping there, thinking) why couldn't she have hooked up with the nerd? WHY? Why not Anthony Michael Hall, or Duckie? Or, Long Duck Dong, for that matter? Wouldn't that have just kicked ass, to have her fall madly in love with the nerd? I know I would have felt better for my own obsessions, because really, who were any of us kidding that we'd get the ones we had crushes on? I think we all knew deep down we didn't have a fritzing chance with them, but if Molly hooked up with some braceface pipsqueak with zits and a hairy back, well, it would have done wonders for the generation as a whole, don't you think? Ah, well. John Hughes let me down. And I mean, in the Breakfast Club, why can't Ally Sheedy fall madly in love with the jock, and she'd watch him wrestle, and he'd support her in her sculpture or whatever intense thing she'd be doing? Why the hell not? Why not have had the nerd and the dope head come out of the closet and declare their love? Why not have had Duckie in Pretty in Pink and Annie Potts, the older record store woman, get it on and then get married and settle in the burbs? Why the hell not?
Anyway, this is bloody boring, I know. I guess I'll just get my sorry self to bed and let's hope I never hit the wrong button again.
Have a lovely day, y'all...

Monday, April 24, 2006

Oh Sherrie and Aunt Jemima - together at last!

Well I want to edit my old profile, since as someone told me, the information is old as hell. But anyway, I don't know how to do it or I am too lazy to look for how to do it, or whatever, but the point is, I didn't do it. LOL, I have no idea what the hell I am even talking about. But anyhooo, I just had to throw in this interesting tidbit from tonight. It looks like, for the very first time of my life, I will be getting an income tax refund. I am not kidding, I will be getting a refund for the very first time. Thank God we threw extra money in our rrsps at the last minute, because that's what saved me from paying 3 grand again. So, I'll actually believe it when I see it, but all fingers point to a refund. Let me say, I was singing a few bars of "Our God is an Awesome God" after I found that out - you know, the song that chokes Chunks up and all.
Oh man, it's going to be a long week - work is really hectic right now and I just feel like I am flying by the seat of my pants. Then we are having a family BBQ on Wednesday night here which I really don't want to even go through. It's my parents' 49th anniversary tomorrow, so we are having the BBQ, but it is so stressful with my Dad being the way he is, because... oh, it's too frigging long to get into, but it's not the fact that he's being forgetful and confused a bit here and there, but the fact that apparently my mother is being a grand bitch to him (his words) because she's freaked out by all this (my interpretation), but to be honest, I don't know what's true and what's not, and my family is just so fundementally mental when you really get to the bottom of it - LOL, it's a long frigging story, but I made my sister call my mother today to ask how dad was, because he called her on the weekend and was going on about how much of a bitch dear mama was being and calling him on everything he says, but she apparently told my sister he's fine, so I don't know which one is crazier. But as I said, I don't even want to get into it because then I'd have to get into the whole wierd dysfunction of my family, and well, who really gives a fuck? So, I am just crossing my fingers it's all good, and can't wait until the frigging thing is over. So anyway, as I said, I don't want to get into it. And no, I am not in a funk, but with the whole adoption post the other day, well, every few years that one throws me for a loop, and then the thing with my dad and not really knowing how he really is, if he's better than I think, or whatever, so, I am do for a pity party every once in a while. It's just so freaky because my parents have been the most loving, mushy cute couple for the past 48 years, but now.. honest to God, they seem so grim, but whatever. I am sick of talking about all that, so enough.
So, anyway, I am watching Project Catwalk right now, I shit you not. It's the cat's ass, it really is. The British are so damn bitchy, and I love it. I have said before that my 4 year old is addicted to "How Clean is Your House" and we watch a lot of the British real estate shows, and I am always amused that they have those little fridges and washing machines in the kitchen with no dryers. Isn't that the strangest thing? So, like, if you air dry all your clothes, you'd have to do a lot of ironing. And I mean, if I had to iron my knickers, I'd be gobsmacked! Ok, so I can't pull off an English phrase - shut your gobs, all of you!
So remember when I paid a million dollars and ordered a book that has every Billboard Hot 100 Chart from the 80s? Well, it's an addiction. I have been making a 1984 playlist on my mp3, because I want to get every song charted that year (wonderful, meaningful goals for me, hey?), and I came to the realization that I never really understood the lyrics of "Oh Sherrie." I never realized it was "Oh Sherrie, our love, holds on, holds on". I always sang "Oh Sherrie, on and on, hold strong, hold strong." I even owned the frigging tape. So anyway, I have no idea why I am addicted to 1984 right now, but I am in a grade 8 frame of mind.
I've had an itchy toe since the weekend - does that mean anything in old wives tales?
So, I don't really have a whole lot of nuthin' to say, so I s'pose I should go finish the catwalk show. Have a good day y'all.
p.s. I just noticed that the British name their children Jemima on a regular basis. WTF? I am sorry if you are reading this and your name is Jemima, but honest to God, it's just not a name to have since the advent of Aunt Jemima.
Speaking of aunt Jemima, did I ever tell you about my freakish fear? I am sure I blogged this last year, but here goes again: We always used to borrow this cabin that belonged to friends of my parents, and in the kitchen they had this little decorative plate (I have deja vu of telling this, sorry) of this Black cook, with a white hat, holding a spoon. Well, I have this memory of being there visiting when I was like 6 and being completed freaked out by this little plate on the wall. Well, every time we stayed there, the first thing I would do was get my mom to take the plate down. The last time we used that cabin was when I was 13 - first thing I did was rip that fucker off the wall and throw it under the bed. Hmmm, I am afraid of a questionable plate, sock puppets, and flooding basements (another fear from childhood that freaks the ever-loving shit out of me - a flooding basement - I never said I was normal). How I scooped up Rachel, I will never know.
So, the connection with the plate reminds me of Aunt Jemima when she still wore the scarf on her head, because she used to hold a spoon too.
But the little plate freaked me out enough that I also was scared of Mrs. Butterworth and whenever they'd have those commercials where she comes to life and the syrup pours from her head, well, that just gave me the heebie geebies.
But you know the funny thing about all of this? I still love pancakes!
The Golden Globes are now over, y'all y'all y'all!

Sunday, April 23, 2006

How much is that kitty in the window

To top off the day, after all the other ongoing bullshit going on that I just have no desire to post about (maybe someday, not now - enough said - well, wait, let me just say this: I am pretty sure that my father is in the early stages of alzhiemers, and this isn't going to be easy, especially given the fact that my mother can't handle anything, and she ain't handling this, but I don't want to get into it here, and if I ever talk about it, it will be when and if I want to, otherwise, don't go there, ok? ok.), this funny thing happened. I called Rachel when I was done work and she tells me that the kids all freaked out when I left, so she got them calmed down and told them she'd take them for ice cream. So, they get in the van, and pull out of the drive way, and she looks up in the neighbor's kitchen window and Molly, our sweet little pussy, is sitting IN THEIR KITCHEN WINDOW looking her in the eye and meowing. Since we watched the neighbors drive off somewhere today, she knows the cat is in there by herself and has no way to get out. Well, she starts thinking "what if she pees?" "what if they have meat thawing on the counter?" etc. So, since there was nothing she could do, she stepped on the gas and went out for the afternoon. So, I am wondering if the neighbors went out of town or what, so I run home and lo and behold, they are home and the cat is sitting on our front step meowing. So, we don't know if we play dumb with the neighbors or what. I have no idea why she loves them so much, but it's embarrassing. Then I talk to my sister from across the street and she tells me the cat came visiting there last week and spent the afternoon in her house. So, I ask, where else does she go? I don't think I want to know.
So yeah, it's been one of those days - lots on my mind, melancholy, resigned, with a little absurdity thrown in. Oh, I've turned to my old buddy food lately, with a vengeance. That's got to stop. I mean it, post your comments with "have you checked your weight today, or are you too scared, you pregnant looking motherfucker?" Because I mean it, remind me that I lose the weight for my kids and my wife, so it's important.
LOL, damn, I ain't much fun today, am I? At least I ain't smoking, because I'd love to spark up one of my old buddies, hold in the first drag, and then slowly exhale.... but I won't. Because as Chunks reminded me today, smoking kills and just think how mad you would be at yourself on your deathbed at 50 because you smoked, and you could be living and doing all that wanted to do otherwise if you hadn't put that smelly stick in your mouth and ruined your life.
LOLOLOL, man, I never thought I'd become one of those non smoking sanctimonious people, but well, I guess I have.
Anyway, that's my cat story. I am going to bed now before I eat these chips on the counter.

Saturday, April 22, 2006

Random Babble on a Saturday Afternoon

Well, here I am working on a Saturday. Well, it's not really "working" in that I am not doing anything taxing. I am supervising an exam for someone from 2:00 - 5:00, so that means I just sit here and that's it, but thus far I've gotten caught up on some work, and now I thought I would try to pick up a connection on the laptop, but no such luck, so I am writing this in Wordpad and hopefully it will just cut and paste without difficulty.
So anyway, I have nothing to say - nothing at all. It is a beautiful day yet again. It's been on the 20's the past few days (which is what, low 70's to the Americans? I think 20 degrees C is 68 F, so whatever - it's warm) and everything is greening up and starting to bud. It's freakishly early for here though, or at least I think it is. I can never remember when it warms up and ripens up, but I am pretty sure it's never this early. But then again, the past two years have been so cold in the spring, that maybe I am just thinking of how slow it has been recently. In any event, I am rambling. So back to the weather - freakishly warm right now, and my grass has been cut and we had a whole pile of new sand delivered for the sandboxes, and we are really ahead of the game this year. Of course, I am worrying about global warming, because, as you know, I can't just enjoy something - I have to look for the sinister "the sky is falling" side of everything. Since it was such a freakishly warm winter, also, I have heard that the mosquitos will be worse than ever, since it wasn't cold enough to kill them. They are out already, and they are the size of birds, I kind you not. My dog is still digging her little self out of my yard, so we have to tie her up - I really am going to price out those electric collars, because if you think that's cruel, it's even more cruel to let her get hit by a car - so there!
Well, what else.... hmmmm..... it's been a busy week, and as you know, I was not happy about Idol at all. I have to admit that I thought Ace was aiight. I am just so mad that they keep voting the hillbilly through. Honest to God, nobody is that stupid. She's an old pro, if you know what I mean. I was all "Go hillbilly!" at the beginning because of her sad story, but enough already. A whole world of direct-to-video movies await her. Fly, Lurleen Lumpkin, fly! I am also sicker than hell of the bald guy (sorry KB). It's the same old shit, and I mean LIVE is his favorite band. LIVE?!? They have, what, 2 albums? I dunno, far be it from me to make fun of anyone's music, but he should just go sing with the remnants of Live and be done with it. Or reform Creed.
Speaking of Creed, it's such a let-down to find out that Scott - the lead singer - is it Stapp? Strapp? whatever it is - was so messed up. They were marketed as a quasi-Christian band, and it was sort of refreshing to go from grunge-suicide shit to this religious stuff (although I am still a big Nirvana fan, don't get me wrong, and Hole, especially - did I ever say that they used to be one of my favorite bands - I kid you not). But anyway, to make my rambling story even longer, "Arms Wide Open" reminds me of when we just found out Rachel was pregnant with Kelly, so it's all that sentimental bullshit, but still. Anyway, now you find out Scott was a raging drunk and drughead and a major asshole and whatever and it's annoying. However, what completely grosses me out is that there exists a sex tape of Scott, Kid Rock, and some strippers. Now, one must be pretty frigging messed up to let themselves be videotaped in a sex romp (lol, I can't believe I just used the term 'sex romp' - I should work for the Enquirer) where one of the participants is Kid Rock. Kid fucking Rock. Have you ever seen anyone grosser than that? Even if I was a convict doing life on a deserted island and had been there for 40 years, ain't no way would I even be canoodling with anyone in the presence of Kid Rock. I am sorry, but that's just completely obscene (like how I used the term 'canoodling' like the Enquirer too?). What if he keeled over from starvation during this episode? Anyway, that whole thing just makes the Creed guy's life more sad. If Kid Rock was just Joe Hillbilly straight from the trailer, he'd turn Laura Bush gay, or George Michael straight, but since he's some bigshot, he's got Kirstie Alley all ga-ga over him (but you can't believe anything that comes out of those Scientolgist's mouths, since they are probably picking up messages from the mothership from the fillings in their teeth).
Speaking of the Enquirer, I need to say this - I never buy the thing, but I always catch up on it at my mother's or the inlaws or even the check out line - honest to God, I read it in the check out buying groceries a couple weeks ago, and while I don't believe in most of it, some I do. The one I am specifically thinking of is the one I saw at the check-out of Whitney Houston's crack-filled shitter. Yes, they published pictures of her bathroom, which looked like some truck stop gas station shitter, with some fancy trim. Well, amidst the garbage was some crack, and I mean, if it ain't her shitter, the crackhead could easily sue, so it's got to be hers. So, anyway, why the hell doesn't someone step in and stop the bitch from smoking her ever-loving head off? Why isn't Dionne Warwick going there and shouting "Get off the rock, bitch!" I just don't get it. And then there is her poor kid, who is more awkward than Chelsea Clinton was back in her gawky years. Why does she still have possession of that child? Britney gets investigated for driving with the kid on her lap or whatever, but Whitney can smoke crack with her jailbird husband and all is well? It makes no sense. If only Whitney could convert to scientology, her problems would be gone..... But anyhow, she shouldn't have that kid.
Hey, did you ever notice how the Enquirer must have blackmailed people in the past? I remember for years seeing Bill Cosby always opening his home for pictures, and I might be wrong, but I thought even Rosie at one time spoke to them. But anyway, Bill Cosby would always be sitting there holding the frigging thing like it was a Guttenburg Bible and I always wondered what they had on him. Then the love child and the affairs came out, and it all made sense. So, if I ever make it famous and am featured in the Enquirer in my Malibu ranch reading the magazine and talking about how I read it for the wonderful articles, and then give them pictures of every room and closet in the house, you will know that I have been secretly smoking crack with Whitney and Bobby and then mosied over to Kid's place with a gaggle of strippers and a camcorder, and then paid a visit to Bill Cosby's women, and you need to get my arse into rehap posthaste!
Well, it's 3:30, and I still have an hour and a half to go. I am worried because my darling Rachel was getting a migraine before I left and Kristen was all sucky and freaking out and baby was crying, so I am hoping all is ok. It was a really bad headache, and you know me, I immediately think "OMG, is she ok, will she keel over?". I need to stop being like that, but do you ever get all panicky and freaky and think "what if something happened to my significant other?" I really am not morbid, but I just hate to even imagine something happening, so I obsess about every little thing. As the Indigo Girls sang "I take everything so seriously...." (LOL, I just typed "Golden Girls" instead of Indigo Girls... LOLOL, that would put a whole new twist on Blanche now, wouldn't it?). SO yeah, I am a moron.
Anyway, we are going swimming tonight - friends of my sister in law have an indoor pool and they are house sitting, so off we go. The kids are so excited as they want to swim every second of the day, so that will be our evening. I guess I should run now and do some more work. Have a great weekend, y'all.... y'all y'all y'all.... if anyone finds a video of that one, lemme know.

There'll be Crocuses to Bring to School Tomorrow

This isn't going to be a melancholy post, really it isn't. Well maybe yeah, once I get to the personal stuff. However, I just wanted to talk about a Joni song that really socks me in the gut. The song is "Little Green" from Blue, and it's about her giving up her daughter for adoption. Now, for years and years, I had no idea that the song was about that. I had no idea she had a daughter, even though the lyrics of the song are clear enough. If you have never listened to Blue, as I am sure none of you have, the album is sort of considered the classic "singer/sonwriter" confessional album. It doesn't (or didn't at that time anyway) get much rawer or open than that album. She lays it all out and there is the famous comment from Kris Kristopherson listening to it in the studio saying "Joni, save something for yourself" because it was just so open and emotionally raw. But anyway, she lays herself out there, and all of the songs are in first person, except for Little Green. So, being the dolt that I am, I never really thought it was about her, but about someone she knew or something. Then, in the late 90's, when it came out that Joni was looking for her daughter, it completely freaked me out and the whole song made sense.
So what does any of this have to do with me? Well. Let me talk about Joni and the song first. Joni moved from Saskatoon to Calgary to go to art school, and after a year of that she went to Toronto. I can't remember the details, if she got pregnant in Calgary or Toronto, but it doesn't matter. Anyway, Joni is an only child and was quite looked after by her parents. Her mother and her always had issues with each other - still to this day, and her mom is 94. However, her mom was conservative and doting and proper and what have you and Joni, while always breaking out and doing her own thing, needed to in some ways pay lip service to her. Well, so Joni moves out east and is pregnant and 19 or 20 and doesn't tell her parents. This would be in '65 or something - I dunno, sometime around then? Anyway, she's pregnant and the daddy takes off to California and she has this baby by herself not telling her folks and she names the baby Kelly, as in the color kelly green (hence the song name little green). She has no food and can't support the baby and places her in foster care and marries a man who says he will raise her baby, and he lies and she gives her up for adoption, and then goes on to have her career and always have that void.
So that's her story in a nutshell. So, when we have our Kelly, and bring her home, the song takes on new meaning for me, since we have a Kelly too (although not named for Joni's Kelly or for the color kelly green, but still, it all works). So we get our Kelly home from the hospital and as I've said before, we listen to songs like "Your Song" by Elton and weep over our beautiful baby, and I used to rock her to sleep and sing to her a handful of songs, one of them "Little Green". Well, it really started to choke me up, not only because of our baby, but also because of Joni's story, and my sister's as well (which will come after).
The lyrics of the song are as follows, which Joni says she wrote to give clues, as it were, to her child:
Born with the moon in cancer
Choose her a name she will answer to
Call her green and the winters cannot fade her
Call her green for the children who've made her
Little green, be a gypsy dancer
He went to California
Hearing that everything's warmer there
So you write him a letter and say, her eyes are blue
He sends you a poem and she's lost to you
Little green, he's a non-conformer
Just a little green
Like the color when the spring is born
There'll be crocuses to bring to school tomorrow
Just a little green
Like the nights when the northern lights perform
There'll be icicles and birthday clothes
And sometimes there will be sorrow
Child with a child pretending
Weary of lies you are sending hime
So you sign all the papers in the family name
You're sad and you're sorry but you're not ashamed
Little green, have a happy ending
Just a little green
Like the Color when the spring is born
There will be crocuses to bring to school tomorrow
just a little green
Like the nights when the northern lights perform
There'll be icicles and birthday clothes
And sometimes there'll be sorrow
And that is the song. Nice, isn't it? Why am I dwelling on it, you ask? Well, sometime this week, perhaps today (I think today) is my niece's 25th birthday, a niece I do not know. 25 years ago, perhaps 25 years ago today, my sister gave birth to her first daughter, who she put up for adoption. My sister was 17, and dating this, well, I can't say it any other way, absolute loser. She must have found some good in him to stay with him for a handful of years, but to me he was a loser through and through. They started dating, I think, when she was 16, and he quite frankly looked like he was a member of AC/DC. My dad, being the RCMP that he was, quickly checked his record and he had one a mile long, and they forbid her from seeing him. Well, that really didn't work, and me being the codependent mess of a child I was, I would sit with a nervous stomach all the time worrying she was going to get caught with him and then there would be trouble and on and on. I would pray and pray that she would dump him. Anyway, I remember one night I was at my other sister's house for supper and the phone rang, and she said "Leslie, what's wrong?" and I thought "OMG, Leslie is pregnant" - don't ask me how I knew, intuition or too many after school specials. But then my sister said when she got off the phone "oh that was my friend Debbie - I couldn't understand her because she was crying so much - she had a fight with her boyfriend", and I was so relieved. Well, fast forward to a couple days later. My parents had a bunch of people over for drinks before the RCMP Christmas Ball, and they left and I was in the basement watching tv when Leslie calls me upstairs and I was all mad thinking she was going to give me shit for something. So she calls me up and she's in the bathroom and then comes out crying, and I never remember her ever crying, and so I run to her and start bawling saying "what's wrong?" and she says "I'm pregnant" and I get completely hysterical and wail "Dad will kill you!" and to sum up, find out that her and my other sister are telling my mom and dad the next day, after I go out with my brother in law. So, long and short of it is that it is never talked about, at least in my presence, but my dad is bound and determined she will give the baby up, and my mother isn't on the same page but doesn't of course vocalize it to my sister, so it's this war between them that nobody knows. So in my family's dysfunctional way, things go on, and nothing is said, ever, except that I hear my folks fighting a couple times when drunk and I am in bed about it, and my mom going on and on about how she talked to our neighbor who had a baby at 15 and it was her parents that broke her and her boyfriend up and yada yada, and whatever. The only time it was mentioned was the day she was in labor, and I came home for lunch and my mom was all "Leslie is in the hospital!" all excited so I am thinking "will she get to keep it?" and we go see her that night and she's in pain, and then we all leave, and my mom doesn't stay. And they apparently call her and my mom doesn't go. This is because my mother can't handle anything... ANYTHING... that isn't pleasant. She can't deal. At all. So there will always be that instance that my sister holds against my mom. But I don't want to dwell on it. So anyway, she ends up with a C section and I somehow know it's a girl but my parents look ashen and beaten and I still don't know if she can keep it or if we say anything, but no, she doesn' t keep it, and we don't mention it.
So, it's not until years later, after a long night in the bar with my sister, that we broach the subject, and she tells me it was the best decision she could have made for that child, and I know in my heart it is true. She stayed with the dad for a couple years, and it was awful from what I know. Complete rock-bottom awful. But she just finally left, moved away, and came to Sask. where we were all living then. So yes, it probably was the best for the baby, but I know she hopes she'll make contact one day, and there will always be that emptiness and guilt and everything else. I know her husband always sort of celebrates her "special day" with her this time of year, and I just feel so sad for everyone. Especially since I've had children. After bringing Kelly home and holding her and being just overthrown with the love you feel for that child, the thought of giving that child to someone else just makes me ache. So, to my niece somewhere out there wherever you be, happy 25th birthday. And as the song says, have a happy ending.
your uncle JT

Wednesday, April 19, 2006

Crazy Space Child is Born! All Hail L. Ron!

So yes, the pod baby has been born. Poor little Suri. Oh course, she might have a fighting chance, as who really knows whose seed she sprung from?
Anyway, I don't have time to post tonight - just wanted to say that I am so mad at Idol. That fucking hillbilly Pickler fucked up her song royally, yet the simp is still in like Flynn. And she was TERRIBLE! And tonight, she almost jumped on Rod Stewart and humped him, I kid you not. Damn hillbilly, it's all such a lie. And Ace went home - I really actually liked him and he was great I tought - well, probably because he sounded like George Benson and Al Jarreau last night, and I am a fan of the 70s and all. But Ace had his hair in a bun, which probably is what did him in. Oh, but my second pick to go home, after hillbilly, was Elliott, because he just sounded blah. I just don't understand America sometimes.
AND why does Rod Stewart sing the standards now? Get back to Hot Legs or something. Or even Baby Jane (I love that song). But not standards. I love old Rod though. You ever noticed he looks like Bob Guicione or however you spell it? And his new wife - gimme a break.
Anyway, that's all I have to say, gotta get to bed. We'll discuss Survivor tomorrow.
xo peeps.

Friday, April 14, 2006

So did Tom Cruise give Katie the goods in a turkey baster or did they use a lab, because it wasn't put in there the old fashioned way...

Just finished watching Tom Cruise on Primetime, and the most puzzling thing is that he makes millions and millions doing these stupid movies of his (because let's face it, the only movie of his I liked was Jerry McGuire), but yet the bitch can't act. Really, he can't act, because it was so obvious that he was lying/uncomfortable/making it up as he went along in talking about Katie and the baby. It was such a freakish lie, and I mean, he's an actor, so why can't he at least make this shit believable? For example, I am not an actor, but I bet I could pretend I was a Scientologist, and ramble on about how L. Ron makes me metaphorically hard and how the aliens will save us all from this planet of ritalin and birth noises. Hell, I could even pretend I believed that Travolta and Preston and Kirstie and Parker's former marriage was all real and on the up and up. However, as I said, bitch can't act - it was just a big lie with shifting eyes and stumbling and it made no sense. You could say maybe he's just crazy and is like this all the time, like the Oprah thing, yet when he talked about his father, it was a "Real" performance. So, this interview just proves that he is crazy, that he's paying Katie or something like Michael Jackon and Diane Rowe or whatever the hell her name is. He must have gotten the idea from former Scientologist Lisa Marie Presley, who I like besides the whole Scientologist thang, when she married Michael for whatever reasons (yeah, I am sure sista was really doing him - whatever - can you picture it: "Hey Michael, your silly putty nose and Ethiopian-thin bleached body under all those rhinestones is really turning me on. Please take your glove off and even the mask, and do me, baby - yeah, that's it, ooooh, ooooh" well, I could go on and on, but I won't). So anyway, this interview pretty much proves that this thing isn't really real. I urge y'all to read the really good scientology article in Rolling Stone a couple weeks back - puts all the craziness in a nutshell. Then Kirstie Alley wrote in and was a big fucking bitch. Damn cult.
I am really wondering why Rosie doesn't speak out about scientology, since she yaps about everything else. I mean, she calls it like she sees it, which I find refreshing, and the Oprah shoe thing was an interesting post, and the Star Jones thing, well, right fucking on (if you don't know what I am talking about, go to Rosie's blog and read it.) But yet her Tommy's craziness isn't really mentioned. I want her to just sing like a canary.... but anyhoo. Enough of that. I just had to comment on the interview since it was so stupid.
So tonight was a big evening for me. I ate soy for the first time. It was by accident, but I didn't even know. We went to my sister-in-law's for supper and they had a bbq, and I just grabbed the flattest looking burger, since I was dieting today, as we have two Easter turkey dinners to go to this weekend. Well, I was pretty much done mine and my mother in law asked which burger was hers (she's a veggie). They described the flat one and I was all "I ate it" and they told me it was soy, and I couldn't believe it. That shit was good - tasted just like meat. My colon will love me for it. But I am also farting like a motherfucker, but I don't know if it's from the soy burger or the cereal I ate. You see, I am addicted to this cereal from Costco. It's Weight Watchers, but it's not why I eat it - it's just so damn good - almond blueberry something. But it makes me fart so damn bad. Too much info, I know.
So we spent the entire day outside. I wore shorts. It's like 20 degrees, so I finished the dog shit picking, and raked the entire yard, and it's all clean. The frigging dog can break out of the yard we found out, so we are proofing the yard - I think I got it safe tonight, after getting a call from my nephew from across the street this afternoon when we were at the Tim Horton's drive thru telling us the dog was loose - she tunneled under the gate - dug this little hole and worked her way out like a weasel. Then she got out tonight after I blocked that off by getting through a miniscule gap where two fences meet. I have that roped off, so we will see what tomorrow brings. Little bitch - don't buy a dog on impluse, because you soon realize you gotta put up with it for 15 years. Oh, and my sweet little pussy killed two birds today - nice ones. She doesn't even eat them, just sort of presents them to us in the yard, bats the shit out of them so that feathers fly, and walks away. She's got a bell collar too, so I dunno, bitch must be good at what she does.
We went Easter shopping today, and spent a bunch of money at Walmart. I dunno, I can't think of anything else to report from today.
So anyway, we have turkey tomorrow and Sunday - whoooo hoooo, my favorite meal. So, I was good all day, but damn, I wanted Onion and Garlic chips so bad today. This is when I miss smoking because when you want to eat, a smoke works just as good. Ah well, suck it up, lard-ass.
Anyhoooo, I guess I don't have much else to say so I think I'll read my blogs before bed (lol, it always sounds like some old woman watching her stories before bed when I say that).
Happy Easter everyone,

Wednesday, April 12, 2006

I'm all out of titles (sounds like an air supply song, doesn't it?)

So, I don't know if anyone but me watches American Idol, so I may be talking to myself, but honest to God, that Kelly Pickler's aw-shucks-I'm just a stupid hillbilly" routine is enough to make me eat glass. I mean, come on. This whole stupid act is just ridiculous. She's got to go, as much as I was cheering for her because of her sob story. She's just got to go.
Now, speaking of Idol, tell me this: You all know I am just a celebrity whore, so when I complain, it's hard to take me seriously, but what do we make of Ryan Seacrest? I mean, what has he actually DONE to make him so frigging famous? He's got his stupid star on the walk of fame, he just bought Kevin Costner's house for $11 million, and he's screwing Terri Hatcher. Now, let me say that I don't think Terri Hatcher is any hot shit - indeed, I find her and every one of those damn housewives annoying as swimmer's itch, but still, she's sorta hot shit right now, and he's doing her, in Kevin Costner's old house, and I mean, who the hell IS he? It just doesn't add up (sorry KB, you are gonna kick my ass, aren't you?).
And then there is Paula. Ah, sweet, drunk, horny Paula. I mean, she's getting all this dough, but again, who the hell is she? Why is she making oodles of money and yet someone like Taylor Dane is playing places like Casino Regina (seriously, she's playing there). I just don't get it. And don't get me started on K-Fed. I mean, if all these fucking hillbillies can be on easy street, and they are nothing but obnoxious, why the hell can't the money fairies throw some green my way? I'd be such a nice rich person, and like, I'd spend way more responsibly than K-Fed. Gimme some Ikea trips to Edmonton in place of the trips he takes. Ah well, I hope his baby-mama from the first two kids gets some of that dough.
So I have looked like I was, well, retarded this week. Not to give too much detail, but I've got this skin-tag in my armpit that is for some reason hideously red and sore (I've been told it's harmless, don't worry) so I have been holding my arm all funny and crooked all week. Then, not to go into detail, but there has been this chafing issue happening, so I was walking yesterday like I had rickets, so that coupled with the arm made me feel like some vaudville act. Too much information, I know, but I have no shame. Couple that with a toenail cut too close to the quick, and I might as well be Napoleon Dynamite or something.
So tomorrow is the day, I think. It's the day I tell my old job I ain't comin back. I want to throw up thinking about it, but my old boss called twice today and I am supposed to call her tomorrow sooooo..... fuck, I don't want to deal with it, but I guess I better just suck it up and do it. But I don't want to talk about it.
I'm listening to "You Are the Love of My Life" by Carly Simon right now, and it just reiterates that I have to meet her someday. So, get working on that, won't you people? It's one of those "kids" songs - we have songs for each of our kids: Kelly is "Your Song" by Elton and "Only One" by James Taylor, Kristen has "I Hope You Dance" and "You Can Close Your Eyes" by James Taylor, and Brianne has "Never Saw Blue Like That" by Shawn Colvin, so maybe this will be her other song.
Anyway, I suppose I should run - Full moon tomorrow - I am cringing already, because those are the shittiest days, I kid you not.
Have a good one.

Saturday, April 08, 2006

Eulogy for someone not dead, 1985-86

Right now I am watching the Rosie documentary about their cruise. It's really intense. It gives you a lump in your throat in parts, but more than anything, I am preoccupied with the clausterphobia I think I'd feel on a ship. I dunno, it looks like people everywhere. Oh, prove me wrong people - send us on a cruise and prove me wrong.
So Margo wants me to write her eulogy when she passes. Now, as far as I know, she's healthy as a horse (a healthy horse that is, as there must be ill horses out there, which means that saying is actually stupid and not accurate). Oh boy, I wouldn't know where to start or what to even say, at least what would be appropriate to say. I'd probably start out with a Margo truism: It's a good thing she's departed, because if she knew how much this funeral was costing, it would kill her all over again. Not to say that our homegirl was cheap, but bitch knew the value of a dime, you know what I'm saying? To which the place would be full of "Amens" and women with fans nodding their heads and saying "uh huh!" Wait, well, that is more of a funeral out of an episode of 227, but nevertheless, it's true.
So, let's relive the good times of knowing Margo. I met her when I was 15 years old, in our remedial algebra class. It was shameful to be in remedial algebra, but then again, at least it wasn't general math. Of course, instead of the funky "MATH IS IV" book that all the other grade 10 albegra students had, we had to carry around BASIC ALGEBRA with the bright yellow cover that made sure that everyone knew you were, well, retarded. So, with that shame, it's no wonder we bonded.
I am not even sure how we met - she had these two friends named Barbara Ann and Lucy and I was placed by those two in the class and got chatty with them. Since we were all chatty, I got moved to sit by Margo. Margo sort of scared me at first - well, not scared SCARED, but she didn't come across as friendly, and I thought she was really old, since we were 15, but she drove. She had this interesting hairdo I can't rightly describe, but it was dyed blonde and had this Duran thing going on - I'd say it was basically a John Taylor thing. So, first impression was a tough talking, chain smoking older chick with a Duran Duran obsession and a car. Well, Lucy's friend, Lucy Ann, had the hots for me, and so somehow we all made plans to go to this dance together. I had swiped a spaghetti sauce jar of mixed booze from my folks and Margo brought this big joint she rolled in a cigarette roller (it was "Homegrown" and, well, I am pretty sure in retrospect that it was a fern or something).
So we all went to this dance and had a hell of a time, and I found out that Margo was indeed only 15, but she "had a license" because she had her learners from Alberta, and said it mistakenly said it was a class five license - yes, I know, in retrospect, it makes no sense either. But it was cool knowing someone who drove and thus we just all said Margo was 16 and had failed grade two or something.
I guess I should mention Margo came to Saskatchewan to live with her dad, because she didn't see eye to eye with the stepdaddy. So, it was just Margo and her dad, Lance, and Lance was pretty damn easygoing. He kept her in gas and cigarettes, and would "pull" for her whenever she wanted booze.
So, anyway, I can still picture Margo dropping me off after that dance - she was all looped and took her foot off the break in front of my house and the passenger door was still open and she almost took it off on the tree in front of the house. Good times.
Well, Margo and I started hanging out all the time, and we developed a taste for drinking apricot brandy. We would each get a mickey, suck it back in her car in the parking lot next to Robin's Donuts, and listen to music. I would usually mix my booze with a gravol, so I'd get an extra jolt. We would get all drunk and sing into our bottles, often dueting on "That's What Friends Are For" and would just have harmless fun.
What memorable times do I remember from that year - hmmmm.... well, we were drama people wannabes. All the cool people were in drama, and we had crushes on them - I had a thing for "Myrtle" (a codename I gave to this drama weirdo who always tried to kill herself and carried a glow worm around with her) and she had this thing for "Nick" who she named after her obsession, Nick Rhodes. Well, Nick was a drummer and used to wear make up and I think he was sort of a dork, but she was obsessed... OBSESSED. And, lo and behold, they hooked up one night and he gave her a hickey, even though I don't think he knew her name, and she somehow got his wallet. I think she should have kept it, but she gave it back. So, she was always obsessed with Nik and that was the preoccupation for the year.
Music from that year that Margo loved was of course Duran, as well as Corey Hart (she always played Boy in the Box), and she had this thing for Theatre of Pain by Motley Crue, screaming "FUCK with your RULES!" when she listened to "Smoking in the Boys Room". She was also obsessed with Ferris Bueller's Day Off, which we thought was the best movie, and the John Hughes movies. We used to go to the drive in and be so hammered, and I remember watching Pretty in Pink and then running into this Black girl I had a crush on during intermission and then being so happy that I talked all the way through the next movie saying "I love you guys, I really do!"
I can't think of much specific from that year, other than drinking, smoking, eating lunch in her car, and chasing our obsessions. It's in the next two years when things get really interesting. REALLY interesting, the kind of "you are making this up" sort of stuff.
So, eulogy 1986-88 will come next - brace yourself, because it's a bumpy ride - you think I'm kidding, but you will meet the forementioned "Whore" who slept with, I dunno, 1 billion people (3 in one memorable night), and who "ruined" our Margo (her words, not mine, but that comes in the 1990's eulogy), Mr. Chips, the criminal dude who did hard time and drove a limo and who is back in the pen for 30 years, Heather, the woman who shaved her face daily and who almost had a hairier ass than mine, Dirtnut who was, well, a dirtnut, Pee Wee, who was uuugly, some swingers, some satanic drug dealers, a girl with olive green eyes and drove her dead sister's car, Erica the beautiful who, let's face it, wasn't all that beautiful, Duane and Darla, two hillbilly siblings who were nice but had such bad B.O. it's a wonder the Whore was able to sleep with him (and I dunno, maybe her?) and who didn't know how to dispose of feminine hygiene products, and a whole bunch of other assorted freaks and weirdoes. You will be brought into a house where "Fruitflies pig on on the piss", meet "the band", and hear all about meltdowns, including one memorable night where Margo was in tears, the Whore went on a rampage about her sister and Janet Jackson being coke heads, Duane running into the bushes bawling his eyes out, and me throwing my shoes at Margo as some sort of statement and trying to walk 4 miles home. Good times.
Happy Sunday.

Friday, April 07, 2006

I Really Want to hear Rock You Like a Hurricane by the Scorpions right now

Good evening peeps. Well, yet again I have nothing to say, but yet I still sit here and type. Margo, bless her little heart, gave me a pity comment today because she didn't want to discourage me. Ah, sweet, sweet Margo. Now if she'd get her ass in gear and write something. Damn her! So I am downloading some Fleetwood Mac right now - oh shut up, self righteous ones, I own probably 20 FM cds, plus most of them on vinyl, plus on cassette, and of course the solo albums and 45s - they were my obsession since I was 8. So, I've kept Stevie in chiffon for many a year. Well, I am listening to tracks from Say You Will, their last album from a couple years ago, and the fucking thing is so damn good I just can't figure out what the hell was stuck up Christine McVie's ass that made her quit the group and not contribute to the last album. She looked so frigging bitchy in the DVD for The Dance, so I dunno what her problem was, but I mean, why quit at this point of your life - the damn group only gets together every 6 years or so. Crazy-ass mofo, she is....
So I just did something terrible and didn't mean to do it. There was this news report from Seattle saying that this guy went and tried to break up a fight between his mother and stepfather and he got shot and died. Well, then they cut to the aunt who is speaking, and apparently, I snickered. Rachel says "did you snicker?" and I said "well, I guess, but you know..." and she was all "um, no" and I didn't mean nothing by it, but it was just the aunt was the stereotypical trailer lady, and I dunno - I feel like an asshole now. Why do I admit to this stuff here anyway? I should be saying I bathe the dirty, or changing the bandages of those people who chop their limbs off (sorry, can't get last night's Primetime out of my head).
So, does anyone else ever feel like they don't know anything? I felt very dumb yesterday. I was talking with a couple people at work and they were going on and on about stuff, and I mean, I had no idea what the hell they were talking about. First, they were talking about oil and Fort Mac and I chimed up with my "why don't we have that oil, it's close to the Sask. border and the dinosaurs didn't stop dying at the border" (sounds pretty impressive, huh?). Well, then old Barney, who is a scientist, says something about how there is so much oil in the sand, but it's so expensive to take it out of the sand, and I was nodding my head but really thinking "sand? what sand? There's oil in the sand?" but of course, I acted like I was all in the know about this oily sand in northern Sask. And then they were all "we'll NEVER run out of oil, NEVER, it's just a lie because Fort Mac has blah blah blah" and I mean, how does one know enough to assert such a thing? Then the convo got onto the stock markets and they were talking about how they do this and that and I mean, I have no clue what they are talking about . Then someone asked what someone else's RRSP's were invested in, if it was resources or something, and I mean, I don't know anything like that, I just get money taken off my cheque and hope the bank is doing whatever with it. So, I felt dumb.
Which reminds me of the first time Margo and me ever heard the word "Fax machine". It was like 1988 or 89 I think, and the two of us, along with this weird, sort of shut-in rich girl we'll call, oh, let's call her Lori Goose, drove to North Battleford one winter night to watch our friend, let's call him Pee Wee, play hockey. Or at least I think that's what we were doing. Anyway, NB is a 2 hour drive away on a desolate, narrow fucking highway. So we went, and I went to visit a friend, because it was always too painful to watch Pee Wee play, because he was so awkward and spastic, God love him. Anyway, after the game, we of course pick up a shitload of beer because we are going to party when we get back to town (even though it would be like 1 am when we got back - we never really thought things out). So, it's snowing like a motherfucker when we get ready to leave, and we can barely stay on the road, so me in the backseat decides to get into the beer - and of course I get completely fucked up right quick. Well, we make it out of the snow, and we stop at this gas station halfway home, and since we are all at least half snapped by then, we decide to call home to tell everyone we are alive and made it through the storm. So, Lori Goose goes first to phone, and I go take a much needed pee. Well, Lori's parents were all la dee da and rich business people, and they had a fax machine in their house. This was when fax machines were just newish and we had never heard the term. Well, apparently, Lori tries to call her parents but can't get through because the fax machine is on. So she hangs up the phone and all she says to Margo is "the fax machine's on" and walks away and I walk up. As I am all liquored up, I am anxious to call home and tell my folks we made it through the harrowing storm and probably tell them how much I love them (I was one of those yappy "I love you guys" drunks), and I go to pick up the phone and Margo looks at me and says "oh - the fax machine's on" and I look at her and then look at the phone and say "oh". So I start thinking "The fax machine" is like some sort of machine they put on pay phones at night or something and thus you can't use it. So, we stare at it for a while and try to process where the machine is on this phone, and then I think "Fax machine be damned, I will try my call". So, I pick up the phone, dial my collect call, get my dad out of bed and proclaim "we are safe! we made it" and turns out it wasn't even snowing at home, nor did he know I was out of town, and we get back in the car, all full of wonder that I got a call through even though the fax machine was on the pay phone. I dunno how long it was until we figured out what a fax machine actually was - ah, good times....
Margo, Lori Goose lives in Cowtown now - you should look her up. You could relive the "infamous Goose hot tub parties" - lol, another thing - Lori Goose had a huge house, but she didn't have a hot tub - just a big bathtub that could fit 4 people with jets. And we'd get all drunk and hop in the tub, 4 or 5 of us (with bathing suits, or underwear at least, you dirty beggars!). How hillbilly is that - "Let's all go bath at the Goose house tonight! She's got them there bubble jets in the tub!" And she'd always talk about the "infamous Goose hot tub parties", even though there was no hot tub.... but I guess we should cut her some slack, since she was a shut-in basically. And you know, Lori Goose and Pee Wee were best friends - inseparable for years - and then somehow they thought they should date, so they shacked up and dated but it ended terribly, I think because (so I've heard) that she just couldn't sleep with Pee Wee because he was just so gross, and they never spoke again. Oh, I wish I could just give character summaries of the different people we've known. Margo, should we do a 6 degrees of "the Whore" - give a character bio of her and all who crossed her path that we can remember? We could talk about when we met her, and the three boyfriends who didn't know about each other, and the girlfriends, and the threesomes and foursomes with her and hairy Heather and the fat man, and the married swinger couple from Nipawin, and of course, our favorite hillbilly siblings - would that be interesting, to talk about all those freaks, since I was just an alcoholic observer of all of this, and not party to the debauchery? Would that be at all interesting, or would it make us seem even less normal than we are, to talk about that stuff?
LOL, maybe I will go into those memories tomorrow night, starting with the night you met her, when I couldn't use a tow rope skiing and had to walk up the hill, and hangin' with "Poof with the olive green eyes" who later would "drive her dead sister's car".
Anyway, sorry for rambling on about memories only Margo and I know - but I think I could make some of that shit a really interesting read...
Have a good Saturday y'all - I gotta get my fat ass to bed. Diet's back on tomorrow!
Word to your mother.

Thursday, April 06, 2006

Blah blah blah, I got nothin again

Oh lay your hands, lay your hands on me..... yes, I again have the Thomson Twins going through the old noggin again. Man, that chick with the shaved eyebrows was annoying, and I didn't really know what any of them actually played, other than her hitting what looked like windchimes with a baton every once in a while, but it was all good. I'd like a gig like that - fool around with some windchimes and make a pile of dough. As my Joni said "I'm gonna make a lot of money and I'm gonna quit this crazy scene." Oh, I wish I could turn my fellow bloggers onto Joni somehow. If you'd give it a chance, she'll change your life. Honestly, I will always remember the first time I listened to Blue. That was a life changing moment, and I had nobody to share it with. I took out Blue from the library on vinyl, because it was listed as one of the best 100 albums of all time in Rolling Stone, so I thought I'd give it a whirl, and from the opening lines of the first track, I just freaked out and felt euphoria. It was like "oh my God, she's saying it like I feel it". I remember calling Margo and rambling on about how this album was so good and changing my life but she replied "I'm watching the Cosby show right now...." and got rid of me. I went and told my mom how wonderful it was and she was all "whoo hooo, that's good for you" but of course she didn't get it, and now that I think of it, she might have been half-snapped, so I coulda told her Megadeath was changing my life, and it all woulda been good. So c'mon, let me indoctrinate y'all into Joni.

Ok, off the soapbox. I am watching Primetime right now and these freaks are on who have this disorder where they want to lose a limb. So, this one guy packed his legs in dry ice until he killed them, and it's so sick. What the hell is wrong with people? Then I always get freaked out that I will somehow get one of these freak disorders and will end up hacking my legs off. You know me, it's always something to fear.

I wish I had something good to read. I was actually wanting to pick up the Joan Didion book that Chunks is reading, but I dunno, I am not in the mood to be depressed. I dunno if I have mentioned before, but my academic background is English, and my research area is (or was, as I don't really do any research now or anything academic) disease/illness memoirs. I wrote a thesis on AIDS memoirs and have read many illness/depression/disability memoirs. I think I just hit a point where I had to step back, because it really takes it's toll on you. So that's why I've put off reading "A Year of Magical Thinking" or whatever it's called. LOL, but if anyone wants some sad reading, I've got recommendations for ya! I am currently reading a National Geographic from 1981 about Mount Saint Helens. I have always been obsessed with Mount Saint Helens, and everyone laughs at me because I always remember the day it erupted. We were living in B.C. then and were about, I dunno, 3 or 4 hours away from the mountain. I thought it was so cool when it was blowing steam, and I'll never forget the morning it erupted - May 18, 1981. It was the day after my dad's birthday and we were going to this cabin about an hour away for a party for his birthday. I was laying in bed, and I felt the house shake and heard some bangs. Our house backed out onto an Indian Reservation - literally. Beyond our fence was a dike road and then the Reserve. Well, my dad was in charge of the RCMP Detachment in town and so he called the office to see "if the Indians were blasting dynamite on the Reserve." It was only later we saw on tv that it was the mountain. I was crossing my fingers that we would get ash where we lived so school would be cancelled, and so my outdoor cat could come inside, but we never did get any because of the winds. Anyway, I obsess about natural disasters like that - earthquakes, 9/11.... I eat it all up.
So anyway, that's all I have to say tonight. TGIF like you wouldn't believe...

Wednesday, April 05, 2006

Before I forget - Kenny Rogers is the new Joan Rivers

One more thing - Kenny Rogers was on IDOL this week - had no idea it was even him. Joan Rivers ain't got nothing on him, that's for sure. If he sneezed, he'd pop a cheek or something. It's horrible. He looked older back when the Gambler was released 25 years ago. He didn't even sound like himself - probably hard to open his mouth when it's so stretched. If I ever make it big, I'll get some lipo, but if I start with the botox, release this post to the media so I'll remember my roots. Because, you know, I will make it big doing... well.... ummm... well.... if Carrot Top is famous, and Caroline Rhea has a steady gig, what the hell is stopping me?

Hoo Ha, Six O'clock

Whoa, didn't think I'd actually get here. I couldn't get any internet connection, and I couldn't pick up the neighbor's either, so I thought I was hooped (I hate that expression, but someone said it to me today and it sounded so absurd I had to use it). However, I pulled a Chunks and unplugged my router and voila, the damn thing is singing like a singer.
Anyhoo, I am fighting off a headache right now so I don't know if I will be able to write much, as I am on the couch and yada yada. At this moment I have the song "Head Over Heals" by Tears for Fears going through my head continuously and I have no idea why. I haven't heard it for years, and I don't even know if it's a good song or if it's just a nostalgia thing that I like it - I am pretty sure back in the day I didn't much care for that song, as I preferred their song "Mother's Talk" but I bet if I heard it now, I'd think it sucked. So, it's pretty sad when you come to a point in your life where you have to evaluate if you actually like something, or if it's just the nostalgia card being played. Ah, I can tell already this will be a boring post.
So nothing much to report. I had a meeting in Saskatoon yesterday so we took the kids and spent the night which rocks their world when they can go to a hotel and go swimming. They had so much fun, and it's so cute to see things through their eyes, like how a hotel room can just make them giddy. Spent 350 dollars at Costco, all food and cleaners, which is unreal, since we didn't even buy any meat this time. But of course, there is something about that place that just makes you think "yes, if we don't buy this 50 lb sack of apples, we'll kick our asses later".
Well, I have sweet bugger all to say. Do you ever feel like that, you sit down here and then think "I got nothin'?" It's so stupid, because I will sometimes be lying in bed and thinking about blog topics, and that's got to be a retarded thing to do. I came up with a doozie the other night. It was like 1 a.m. and Kelly woke up so I went in to lay in bed with her and the cat was laying on her legs. So, I get in and the cat jumps down and leaves. Well, the cat usually sleeps between my legs or she will be with the kids on their legs, but if you move too much she takes off, so then in my sleepy state I thought "yeah, I should blog about 'why are cats so touchy?' What a brilliant idea!" LOLOL, yeah, that woulda been a good one, wouldn't it have? Sorta like that Seinfeld episode where Jerry wrote down that joke when he was sleeping and couldn't read it in the morning. So, I watched the Chappelle show for the first time the other day. I have to admit, I laughed my ass off. Rachel looked at me at one point and said "is this funny or is it offensive" and then that got me to thinking in the middle of the night what constitutes offensive and why. Like, I don't know if I should have found that shit as funny as I did. For example, I don't know if it made it into your media elsewhere in Canada about the University of Saskatchewan student newspaper, The Sheaf, and the big hoo-ha that happened about a month ago - they published these cartoons written by some student and it was spoofing the Mohammad cartoons but it was about Jesus and I am not even going to go into it but I am sure if you Google it, you'll find it, but I was so offended. Me, who used to take pride in not being offended by anything, has a little conservative streak coming out. Anyway, it's funny what offends a person and what doesn't, and why.
Take for example Bret Easton Ellis. When I was a teenager, I thought he was the coolest writer - young, rich, jaded, full of pop culture references and name dropping, and writing about the jaded rich California youth he lived, and the life I thought I was envious of having. I loved Less Than Zero and The Rules of Attraction, and reread them often. Then he published American Psycho and, well, I was offended. Or disturbed that someone could write that. Anyway, I read those first two many times, and hadn't picked them up for years until I found Less than Zero at Value Village. So, I was happy like a pig in shit, and eagerly snapped it up. Well, I started reading it last January when I had to go to Regina for a meeting. It was 40 below and really scary outside and long story short, my car died and I was stranded in the city, almost froze to death (literally - don't feel like talking about that one again) and had to wait from 3 p.m. until 3 a.m. for CAA to give me a boost (which didn't work). Oh, and I had the stomach flu during this time too, let's not forget that. So anyway, I had the book with me and started reading and it was the usual depressing, detached shit, and people date but they don't like each other, and they sleep with everything that moves but they feel no passion or pleasure, and they take all sorts of drugs and get nothing out of it - it's just so bleak. And the frigging thing is set at Xmas time. But there is one point where they are somewhere and there is some drugged 13 year old or something and they are like all gang-banging her and she's oblivious because she's drugged and at that point I thought "this is absolute shit" and I was so offended that I just threw the fucking book in the trash and said never again will I read it. Is this because I have daughters now? Is it because I realize the Paris Hilton lifestyle is so empty and pathetic? In any case, that offended me. When Chunks said she wasn't going to finish Rules of Attraction, I knew exactly what she meant. LOL, and at this moment, I am downloading some Amy Grant - that's another strange thing about me - I am a huge Amy Grant fan, and there are certain Christian songs I love - I can sing you all the words to "Our God is an Awesome God" - yup, I'm an enigma, ain't I?
I have been awful with the diet. I finally got on the treadmill tonight, which will be the third time in a month, and I just polished off a bag of Sunchips, but I promise, tomorrow is another day and I will start again. Taunt me with "fatty fatty" please to keep me going.
Anyway, I gotta get to bed - have a great Thursday everyone.