Thursday, December 28, 2006

It's Official - I have Nothing to Say

Ho Ho Ho. Well, Christmas is done, and I have yet to have a real Christmasy moment, so I guess it's all good. Really, it was just a blur - way too much going on to even get into enjoying the whole thing. We were busy up to the last moment shopping, wrapping, cleaning, cooking, baking, and then tending to two kids with stomach flu. Kelly went down first, a week before Christmas, and Kristen succumbed last Friday night, so on top of it all, we had two sleepless nights, washed enough vomit filled laundry to choke a horse, which finally got folded and put away today. Then the germ freak in me had to spend endless hours bleaching everything in sight, and yada yada.
Kristen still has a little bit of the runs, and cramps. Then I got sort of sick on Boxing Day. I wasn't throwing up like they were, but I felt like shit and the thought of turkey, my favorite bird, made me want to hurl, so I didn't get to dig into leftovers, nor did I do my usual pilgramage to the stores, fighting for the good deals. So yeah, it was laid back this year. And that's ok. The kids loved their presents, and are having a blast playing with everything, and that is awesome. My wife and I did not buy each other a thing this year - we actually stuck to it. It was a relief. I got seasons one and two of Kate and Allie on dvd, with season one of Gimme a Break thrown in. Today I went to Walmart and bought myself Season one and two of Family - remember that show? With Sada Thompson and Meredith Baxter Birney and Kristie McNichol? From Aaron Spelling? Well, I bought it and hopefully can dig into it tomorrow. I am also embarassed to say I bought season one of What's Happenin' because it was 15 dollars and I remember that I used to watch it when I was little. Well, I watched a few minutes tonight and honey, lemme tell you, I wished I still smoked dope, because it's so stupid and hokey, it would be some funny shit to watch while baked. But alas, these buxom lips haven't touched anything remotely resembling a doobie for a decade or two, so I will just have to image how trippy it could be.
What else.... nothing else really. We spent yesterday unpacking toys, and today, while my wife went to picket (remember, she is on strike, and had to picket 4 hrs today, but doesn't go again until next week), I spent two (forgive the language) motherfucking hours folding and putting away laundry from the sick days, and then since I was so sweaty and dishevelled from all of that, I whipped the rest of the place up in a half-assed manner, and then decided to take the tree down. My wonderful wife usually does that shit, because I hate it, but I started ripping balls off, and then spent an hour wrestling with the lights, which were in one big ball, and then got the thing put away. So again, that was a good feeling . Yet again, I didn't get dressed until 5 p.m., and I haven't shaved for like 10 days, so I look like some frigging lumberjack and am starting to itch, but I don't have the energy. In fact, the only reason I am sitting here and not lying in bed is that I am trying to upload pics to send to Shoppers Drug Mart to be developed. I have about 400 to send. But first, you have to create these albums, with 100 pictures maximum, so I am doing that, but it takes like 3 hours to send 100 to the album, before I can order them. So, here I sit, broken hearted, paid a dime and only farted......
Anyhoo, that's all I really have to report. Pretty boring. I also bought myself a present on Christmas Eve. I wanted the U2 book, and meant to buy it at Costco in November, but ditched it last minute, even though it was 28 dollars there, and retail was 50 bucks. It's a big honkin' motherfucker of a book, and it's U2 by U2. All their own words. But Costco hasn't had it since, although I saw it in Coles on Sunday, at 30% off, so I bought it. I want to be reading it now, but these pictures are taking their sweet time to upload. I may just have to cancel it. I am watching Kate and Allie as I type, so forgive me if I am not focused.
By the way, Margo, I tried to comment to you, but after three verification tries, I said screw this MFing BS. So, lemme just say it here, happy Xmas and I too am glad Rochelle lives there too. She is EXACTLY what you need, someone who is different enough from you but yet compliments you. Anyway, I don't want to get a case of the Xmas sappies, so let me just say that I am so glad I goaded you into responding to Rochelle. Does she know you forwarded me her email, or that I was on the phone with you as she arrived at your house that time? Anyway, let me just say this: Lea was just a waste of skin, Rochelle is the real thing. Cherish her. And have a great year with her. But I want you two on Zyban by 2008 (just had to get that public service announcement in).
Hmmm, what else.... I have nothing else to say, but nowhere near being done uploading these pictures..... Chunks posted a funny one today about her fear of pooping in toilets other than her own, and I had to laugh. That doesn't really bother me anymore, but then again, I don't make a habit of pooping at other people's houses. However, I must admit I just realized that at work, when I use the staff bathrooms, where you have to go into this one area to get a key, I usually try to do it really fast so that people will just think I am peeing. Now, tell me, why is it ok to let people think you are peeing rather than pooping? It makes no sense. Yet I just realized I did that. I commented to Chunks that I used to have stage fright peeing into the big bathtub type thing at the drive-in, because it afforded you no privacy. Come to think of it, I don't really like peeing in front of anyone. If someone is peeing next to me, I sometimes can't pee until they are gone. What's that about? I don't rightly know. I have no problems with being naked or showering in a locker room situation, yet if someone is at the urinal next to me, I can't pee. Strange, isn't it? You see Chunks, you always have the thought provoking posts.
Hmmm, what else can I type about while the pictures upload.... my cat is desparately trying to tell me something but I have no idea what. There is food in her bowl, water in the dish, the door to the laundry room where her litter box is is open, yet she is crawling all over me, continually, meowing and generally being a pain in the ass. I love you Molly, but gimme some fucking space, ok? So I dunno, maybe there is a volcano somewhere about to rupture that she is trying to tell me about. What is it Molly? Someone is stuck in a well two towns over???
I am also trying to burn a cd for our friends of songs that remind us of our kids. They are first time parents, and have a 9 month old, and are the intense kind of parents we are, so we are so happy to have found each other since we often feel like the only people in the world who DON'T want to get rid of our kids. You know, people are always like "oh, I am sending the kids to grandmas for the week, Thank God", and we can't even go to Safeway without missing them. So you know what I mean. Well, they are about as sappy as we are, so I am making them a cd of
the songs that are for our kids. This includes James Taylor's "Only One" and "Your Smiling Face", Joni's "The Circle Game", Shawn Colvin's "Never Saw Blue", Elton's "Your Song", Leanne Womack's "I Hope You Dance", James and Joni's "You Can Close Your Eyes", and CSN's "Teach Your Children"..... you know, all the hokey ones. Anyway, it's their anniversary on New Year's Eve, and so I want to have this for them for then, for their first anniversary as parents. They are actually planning an evening out, with a sitter, so this should be a milestone for them.
Well, I have officially ran out of things to say. Well, I do have a big rant I am working on in my head, but it will interest nobody, and I don't feel like starting it tonight. I also want to post about the trauma of moving as a kid, also sparked by Chunks, but I don't have the emotional energy for it tonight.
I am also still haunted by thoughts of my friend Sue. We had a talk about her at Xmas, and all my family said "well, it doesn't suprise me actually" but it does me. Yeah, she's flightly and I mean, I know just parts of her drug past in her teen years, and know her one boyfriend as a teenager was a coke dealer, and I know she's tried everything and whatever, but as far as I knew, she didn't even smoke dope anymore, and as I said, she was doing well, settled in with a family, a house, a job, yada yada. AND THEN... boom. It's all gone. I am convinced it's got to be meth. Son of a bitch. So that has sort of brought a pall on the whole season.
I can't seem to download Your Song. I am getting pissy. I mean, I have it on cd, probably on three different ones, so I mean, lemme download it - I've paid for it three times over, you bastards! Hells bells, I bought the Elton Boxed set for 100 bucks a million years ago, on top of getting all the classic Elton releases on cd, so I mean, some of his bling was bought my me.
Oh, and before I forget, any Augusten fan, go buy the new Vanity Fair, with the Dreamgirls people on the cover. It's got an article with the "Finch" family, who are suing. The whole thing is a crock of shit, which I'll comment on later - perhaps those people and the "journalist" need an open letter by me to whoop them in their dysfunctional asses.
Anyway, I am abandoning this picture thing, as it will take me another hour to complete. I haven't got time for the pain, my friends. Don't let them fool ya - digital cameras ain't the be all and end all.
And now you know the REST of the story.

Thursday, December 21, 2006

The Needle and the Damage Done

It's been a while since I've checked in here. There is lots I should probably post on. Indeed, it's been a crazy week, beginning with Kelly getting the stomach flu and throwing up 3 times on Sunday and having a little relapse tonight with cramps and crying for ages, until she fell asleep. I missed a party tonight I was supposed to go to, and with a host who I am sure will be right frigging cranky with me, since I skipped his last party too, and I know I will be snubbed next time around, but with a sick kid and being tired, well, sorry, but fuck it. My wife is also on strike, so tomorrow she has to picket for the first time in her life - for 4 hours.
Also, I wasn't going to post any of that, because my next post was going to be about moving as a child. I've been sort of haunted by the memories of that all week, and so I've sort of been working in it in my head so as it isn't whiny and has some sort of form. However, today I got some news about someone that I want to write about right now. And, I keep thinking that it would be even better and make more sense if I did the moving post before this one, but I can't get these thoughts out of my head, so I am jumping ahead to the post tonight.
So this post has to do exclusively with my childhood friend Ruby. Or at least I think she's called Ruby on here. Anyway, I've talked about Ruby on here before - think back to stories about smoking, about stealing rum, about going out for lunch each week and to the movie and bowling and hanging around her mother's shop. You'll remember the name.
Well, Ruby is one year older than me - 37 going on 38. We met after I moved in next door to her. I met her one morning when I was 5, as I dragged a towel out to the end of my driveway, next to the puddle, to suntan. Why, I dunno. But I remember doing it vividly.
So anyway, she was walking to school and said hello and that started it all. Soon, we were inseperable. I mean that in the truest sense. We were, quite frankly, like twins. Her parents were always busy. Her dad was a fireman and was always working odd shifts, and her mom worked all day, and then her parents would curl in the winters a couple times a week, sometimes beginning after 10 at night, and they liked to party, so she was alone alot. So, Ruby would end up staying over almost every weekend, and we were so close, our folks thought nothing of us sleeping in the same bed. We spent all of our time together, and we used to get teased because we played together, but it didn't matter to us. If it wasn't for her, I wouldn't have been able to be such good friends with so many women, I don't think. I have millions of stories about us, which I won't bore you with. Let's just say that I remember we were like kin. We would have to have everything the same, right down to ordering the same food in restaurants, getting the same toys, the same records, the same books.... you name it.
Ruby lived in the house next door, and she had a swimming pool. It was heaven. We spent every summer day in there. Our parents were friends and had many of the same friends, so we were all so close. Thus, when it was announced that we were moving to Saskatchewan, it was traumatic for both of us. I am going to tell that story, hopefully tomorrow, all about the move, and all that lead up to it, because that makes all of this more interesting, but as I said, I don't want to wait. So bear with some repeating tomorrow.
So, let's fast forward - I move away. Ruby comes to visit me in the summers, and we go back there at Xmas, and so we are still pretty close. Of course, she goes to junior high, and meets new people - the wrong people. She also hangs out with Delilah - remember my post about her and her brother Taters? Their parents were the druggie bootleggers? Well, Ruby gets in with those types of folks, becomes a big pothead, and whatever. I am thinking she dropped out of school in grade 8 or 9 - I can't remember. Anyway, when I was in grade 8, going into grade 9, we go out there to visit, and I can't get in touch with her. When I finally do, we meet up at a ball game, but she's high as a kite, and cold, and with these people who look like they want to stab me, so I leave, sad, dejected, and wander around my old home town, alone.
So, I get my own sort of life started in Sask. and Ruby and I don't keep in touch. She'd call on my birthday, but that's about it. I saw her in 86, and she was sort of calmed down by then, and we begin keeping in touch about once a year. She told me all about partying with Motley Crue, doing loads of coke with them on their bus, when she was 16, and I believe it.
Well, as I said, we always remain in this once every year or two marathon phone conversation thing, and she had her ups and downs, like having a baby with this freaky scary guy about 11 years ago, who was never in the picture. Anyway, that's a whole story in itself, but let's leave it at that.
Flash forward to 1998 - I am getting married and send an invitation to Ruby and her family to be polite. She phones me the day it arrives and tells me she is coming no matter what. She just had her second baby and was finalizing the details of buying her folks' house, the one next to where I grew up, the one with the pool. I think this is the coolest thing ever, because it's one way to keep a constant in my memories. I could still go home again, sure enough! Anyway, she is living with the new baby's daddy, they bought the house, and her mom will babysit, so she flies out, spends the week before the wedding with us, and while she got on our nerves in the end, it was so sweet that she came, and it was really touching. I am honoured she did that. And it was fun introducing her to Margo, saying, "this is the new Ruby".
We kept in touch after that yearly. When we went to the coast in 2002, we went to visit her and her boyfriend. They had another baby, and it was so cool to see her house again. She had it redone so nice, and had a new dog, and the pool was redone, and I was disappointed that she wasn't smoking, because she chainsmoked from the age of 11 and yet she quit. I hadn't quit then, and wanted a smoking buddy. She was also on weight watchers and lost 50 lbs. She was working at Safeway, bagging groceries to get out of the house, and I was just so impressed. It was Kelly's first birthday when we were there and her kids played with her and they were so sweet. It was such a good time. It made leaving really hard for me.
We kept in touch after that once a year again. The last time she called would have been 3 Christmas' ago. I sort of forgot to call since then, but I am thinking I may have called and left a message a couple years ago on her birthday but I don't remember.
Anyway, my sister "Leslie" is planning a trip back this summer with her kids - the first time in 23 years for her, and her plan was to crash at Ruby's, since they were also friends. Well, my mom calls me today and said she was talking to her friend in Chilliwack last night and asked how Ruby's folks were. Her friend replied "not good at all" and my mom asked why. Apparently, Ruby's folks, who I would guess are 66, have her three kids, ages 11, 9, and 6. I guess Ruby is a terrible drug addict and is not allowed near her parents or the kids. She supposedly was going around town saying she was going to kill her parents and get the money so she can buy drugs. She lost the house too. Of course my mom didn't think to ask what kind of drugs or when this all transpired.
I feel so traumatized right now. I keep thinking of these old people, who now live in an apartment, raising three grandchildren, while their only daughter is living in a flophouse, doing God knows what with God knows who. I bet it's meth. Meth or crack. I doubt it's herion, because she sounds manic and crazy, and doesn't heroin make you dopey?
It freaks me out because the other night Leslie called to tell me she was reading the Chilliwack newspaper online and someone we know died, and I said this guy's sister was a bad heroin junkie, because Ruby had told me that. And now Ruby is the junkie.
When she bought her parents' house, she kept the phone number - the first number I ever learned as a kid. One I know off by heart. I called it from my cell phone at work and her number is now a fax line. The house is gone. The phone is gone. Her kids are gone. I just found a picture of her kids a week ago, from when we were visiting. I am haunted right now by their images. No child deserves to feel so empty and scared and unsure. No child should have to not know where his or her mother is, if she's alive, if she's safe. Most importantly, your mother is supposed to make you feel safe. I can't stop thinking of scenarios that went on to make her lose the kids. I want to cry. Those poor kids.
And poor Ruby. She lost it all. You see stories like this all the time, but they don't mean anything because you don't know them. I know this story.
So as I sit here as I do every Christmas and think about Xmas past, and how we spent so much time together for so many of them, I juxtapose that with Xmas this year - what in the hell do these kids of hers have to look forward to? How empty will it be for everyone with Ruby in some flophouse, not knowing or caring it's Christmas. SPending it without her kids. It's fucking horrible.
So tonight I am mourning for those kids - Alicia, McKayla, Brayden - and what they have lost, and what they have gone through, and what they are going through. I mourn for her parents, who are spending their retirement years as reluctant parents, and not knowing if their daughter will live or die or ever be their daughter as they know it again. And I mourn for my friend. For all that could have been. For all that was. And for all that might never be now. So much potential, blessed with so much, and it doesn't matter.
And I mourn, selfishly, for my memories. Now I can't go home again. Gone are the ties to the old neighborhood. Gone are the physical connection to my old house, Ruby's house, the whole neighborhood. And gone is my friend who remembers what I remember, and who is my anchor to that time. Selfish, yes, but I mourn that. I may never be able to go home again.
Sue, my friend (fuck this Ruby business, a pseudonym doesn't suit you), I love you for so many reasons. At different times of my life you've been my 4th sister, my best friend, my annoying thorn in my side, my confidant, my connection to the past, and I think you could have been the first girl I kissed, as in really kissed. I dunno what you are doing or why or how and there is nothing I can do but send up a prayer tonight when I go to bed and have silence, and pray that God keeps you well, and gives you what you need to get yourself back to the real you. I may never hear from you again. I may never see you again. I hope that's not true. And if this was a radio station, and not a blog, the following goes out to you from our friends Coldplay:
When you try your best but you don't succeed
When you get what you want
but not what you need
When you feel so tired but you can't sleep
Stuck in reverse.
And the tears come streaming down your face
When you lose something you can't replace
When you love someone but it goes to waste
Could it be worse?
Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you
And high up above or down below
When you're too in love to let it go
But if you never try you'll never know J
ust what you're worthLights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you
Tears stream, down on your face
When you lose something you cannot replace
Tears stream down on your face
And I..Tears stream, down on your face
I promise you
I will learn from the mistakes
Tears stream down on your face
And I..Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you.

Hold on tight my friend.

Friday, December 15, 2006

Sylvia's Mother - bitch or wise? Discuss

Well I don't know, I don't really have anything to say. I am just killing time before bed. I am sitting here in the Christmas tree and tv screen light, watching the snow and/or freezing rain hit the window. Good times. I also have all of these depressing songs going through my head - songs that just make me sad. I have three of them going through my head: "The Last Time I Saw Richard" by Joni, "Operator" by Jim Croche (that doesn't look right - however the hell you spell his name), and "Sylvia's Mother" by Dr. Hook. I really hate Sylvia's Mother, don't get me wrong - it pretty much sucks shit, but I admit, whenever I hear it, I get into the story. I always picture this poor bugger boo-hooing on a payphone, begging to say goodbye to his beloved Sylvia, who I always picture as some New Jersey Catholic girl, with a mother that looks like Edith Bunker without the sweetness. And I feel for the poor bugger, since he can't say goodbye to her, and yet I feel bad for Sylvia's mother, and how she tries to cover up the phone call, because obviously, this dude has been so bad for her girl. So it's multifaceted. It's hokey and annoying, but it sticks to your ribs.
But what started this whole song thing was that I had Operator going through my head (which made me think of Sylvia's mother, probably because of the whole phone motif in the songs). I feel bad for this poor bugger too, and for his old lady going to L.A. with his best old ex-friend Ray.... and how he is all forgiveness and said he overcomes the blow, but then whammo, that's not the way he feels. It's so sad.
Then there is The Last Time I saw Richard, written for Joni's ex hubby Chuck, who turns cynical and drunk. I am always haunted by this song and the line "Richard got married to a figure skater/and he bought her a dishwasher and a coffee perculator/and he drinks at home most nights with the tv on/and all the house lights light up bright." It's just such a sad, pathetic image. The whole thing is just so sad. So all this music is bringing me down. I should listen to some "Don't Bring me Down" to bring me up. Except for the fact that I pretty much hate that song. And we were wondering one day at coffee, what is he singing - is he saying "don't bring me down.... Bruce"? I thought it was Brutis as a kid. What the fuck?
Yes, I have nothing to say. We had our first school Xmas concert last night. Kelly's class sang two songs, Jingle Bells, and a variation of Jingle Bells called "Welcome Folks". I have never been prouder. They walked onto the stage, with garland around their necks, and she was in her burgundy faux velvet dress, with black tights and new black shoes, and holding bells to shake, and I fucking bawled like a baby. My dear Rachel was videotaping, because I always screw that up somehow, and so she didn't see the worst of me, but I just lost it. I had tears rolling down my cheeks and I was so proud of my little pumkin. I still get choked thinking of it.
And then I was emotional for the rest of the concert because I just felt all this love and sadness for all the kids. There was this little Indian boy in the choir, and I was juxtaposing him with this girl in the choir and they were such opposites - he was in this white shirt buttoned up tight on his neck, and standing all hunched with his shoulders up to his ears because he was trying to stand so tall, and he was so shy his mouth hardly moved, and it was so cute, and then there was this pretty blonde girl next to him all gussied up and she was singing her heart out too, and I kept thinking how these two probably will never cross paths in any meaningful way, that they probably won't run in the same crowds and I started thinking of racism and self image and on and on and how life wasn't fair and I wanted to start bawling all over again.
Then there was the fat girl. She's in grade two and is so overweight, that she has overweight lady arms, like Popeye. And she was so cute and was hitching up her dress constantly, and she was dressed to the nines, and I kept thinking what a hard row she has to hoe because she is so overweight and that made me sad. And then I look in the front row and see this girl who is maybe 8 and she has an oxygen tank, so then that got me all heartbroken. AND THEN, behind me was my sister's friend's husband, who was my deceased brother in law's best friend. His son was in the choir, and I heard him say to this guy that his oldest was in the choir. Well, their firstborn died at 16 months of leukemia, and she would have been about 11 now, and I thought of her and how hard it must be for them to function still. The mom was the one who I broke down in front of at the cancer walk that year - they were lighting the luminaries and playing bagpipes and Sarah's "Angel" and I saw her there with her team, standing in front of her daughter's luminary, with a picture of her daughter on her t-shirt, and Rachel and I just started bawling and I walked up to her and gave her a kiss and hug and couldn't speak.... I was mortified the next day, but it was just so awful.
Oh my, I sound like such a downer tonight. I don't intend to be. I just had to convey all the emotions that watching your child brings out. And now I feel bad, because I was so grouchy with my crabby little girl tonight, and she was laying with me before bed, and stomped off because I was all pissy because she wanted a band-aid. LOLOL, we all need a good night's sleep. You know, as much as I complain about winter, there is something so calming and that I love about snowstorms on weekends when you don't have to go anywhere. Since we no place to go, let it fucking snow......
Anyhooo, I am going to get myself to bed so I can read my smallpox book. I hope y'all have a great weekend.

Monday, December 11, 2006

Robin Williams and some woolco shit - i dunno what i am even writing anymore

Finally, for the 4th post of the night (kinda like those bulk specials - remember in Woolworths or Woolco when you could buy three packs of cigarettes together for one low price, and they sat in a bin wrapped in elastics? Well, that's what this is like, except I won't kill you like smoking will). Anyway, just have to comment on Robin Williams - is it just me, or is he crazier than Larry Hagman? Discuss.

Whip me Cool-like, Frenchie

I just saw a commercial in the States for French Vanilla flavored Cool Whip. I think my nipples just got hard.

An Open Letter to Oprah Winfrey

An Open Letter to Oprah Winfrey:

Dear Oprah (may I call you Oprah?),
Ok, how about Dear Miss Ross (is that more fitting?),
Oprah, you and I go a long way back. A long way. Indeed, I've been watching you since I was a tormented teen, celebrating the fact that there was finally a black, overweight woman taking over the daytime airwaves from Phil, who was so damned political and Michael McDonald-ish, and while nice, was married to that nasty bitch who had the butler write that book about how awful she was - you know, That Girl. I love Phil. Don't get me wrong. I'd kill for nightly reruns now. But back then, the talkshow grew stagnant. We all subconsciously wanted, no, needed, a new voice, someone to encapsulate our generation. Someone like you. As I said, I was so happy to see a young, overweight Black woman in crazy-ass patterned clothes, on the tv. Because, you see, being a gawky teenager from Nowheresville, Saskatchewan, with new wave and punk leanings, but trapped in my sweet love for all things preppy, who was addicted to the Cosby Show, and Benetton ads, and the funk of Midnight Star's "No Parking on the Dancefloor" and the sage words of The Time's "Ice Cream Castles", which went "You are white, I am of color.... let's fall in love", well, honey, I naively assumed I was pretty much Black. Black on the inside, that is. So, while I hung my posters of Lisa Bonet and watched Breakin' and Krush Groove, and danced in my room to my 45 of "Oh Sheila", I just figured it would only be a matter of time before my innate blackness would come out. So when I saw you that first season, I was all "ummm hmmmm, damn, tell it like it is, my sister." And your clothes - ain't nothing weirder about them than Bill Cosby's sweaters, don't ever let anyone tell you no different. So I loved you. You were safe. You were real. I loved your weight. I cheered you on when you would comment about it, I was planning protests in my head for those horrible skinheads who were mean to you on your show - I was there.
I was even there when you lugged the trolley of fat out with you. I was there when you gained it all back. I cheered when said you would never talk about your weight again. I cheered when you said you were marrying Steadman. I sent back the toaster to Sears when you didn't marry him. I was there when they were saying you and Gail were lovin' it up. I was there when those hillbillies were all mean to you about the meat thing. I was there when you were saying you were a cokehead in your youth. I was there when they found out about that baby. I was there, babygirl. I was there when your Mama, Vernella, or whatever, was being crazy. Or when your sister was all wacked.
Hells bells, I was there when Gail and her hubby broke up. Honey, I was all about y'all helpin' Stella get her groove back, you know what I'm sayin'?
And then the guru thing happened. Suddenly, you were making the connection. And damned if I didn't get right in along with it. I saw you and Bob lose the weight. And made the whole connection. I bought the book. I followed a lot of it, to the point of spitting out a grape after realizing it was after 8 at night. I lost 50 lbs. I looked fucking sexy, I gotta say it. This man bitch was something to see naked at that point of my life. This was right after coming out of the panic attack/anxiety thing. I kept a journal like you. I drank the water. I followed the book club obsessively. I made sure I bought a book a week and a hardcover a month like you told me to. I have thousands and thousands of books now. An entire room. And more in boxes. AND I got rid of boxes. You created a problem. But I was there for you.
I gained the weight back after a couple years. SO did you. I've gained it and lost it a few times, and so have you. But I'm still here, although I keep thinking if you can't do it with Bob around on staff, then what the fuck hope do I have with kids who want nothing more than to enable daddy so we all can have ice cream. Because if daddy don't have ice cream, ain't NOBODY having ice cream, you know what I'm saying?
So I sort of lost you with the diet stuff. And the books, well, I am sorry, I've spent 7 or 8 years studying English literature, but if I have to read one more fucking Toni Morrison book just to see you brought to tears over some passage that is as dense as the London fog, well, I'll slash up. I love Ms Morrison, don't get me wrong. I love Beloved. But it freaks me out. And most of her other stuff does, and I don't get a lot of it. I remember asking a professor, who I respect deeply, what the hell it meant in Beloved when it kept making reference to "a hot thing". She basically said 'I don't rightly know." Honey, neither do I, and one or two Morrison books are enough. And then all the classics came out and I mean, those are things I want to read on my own because I know about them. I want you to uncover the gems like Wally Lamb, or that book about zvergs, and so on. So I lost a lot of the book stuff.
And you know, I bought into the Rosie cookbook, and honey, ain't nobody at home sitting in Cleavland is going to be able to make any of that shit. It might as well have been written by Martha Stewart, who loses me the second she talks about tampanades and creme fraishe. Same thing with the Rosie book.
And you lost me when you get all pissy and say you get mad when people say you have more help because you have a cook and Bob, because you still did the work and avoided the taters. True, but honey, I need a Bob, who I can pay 6 figures, who knows it's his job to get my fat ass out of bed and on the treadmill, and to make it entertaining and show me how to do weights and whatever. And if someone would cook for me, so I could sit down and have some nice unfried chicken, well honey, that's half the temptation killed to order a fucking pizza and down it with a liter of Coke, you know? So don't gimme that.
And you lost me with the celebrity friends thing. I would love to have your friends. But honey, it's annoying that all you talk about is them and you can never ask them the deep questions. Like, Aniston - I wanted to hear you say "is your heart broken? Why are you divorcing?" but noooo.... and Travolta, I want you to ask about that crazy cult he's in. But no, it's just "my best friend so and so...." Puke.
And then there is the whole interrupt everyone and your way is the right way thing - if mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy really is the new mantra of the show.
And the whole calling the dogs your babies and showing us your rose gardens? Bad move. Turned me off more than the thought of Joan Rivers naked.
And while I am glad you have a favorite martini, know that most of us can't afford to invest in a sack of kumquats and 400 pomegranites to make one frigging drink.
And while I am on your side James Frey-wise, you could have avoided the whole thing by getting your peeps to fact check, because I had alarm bells going off for half of it, and for someone as learned as you, well, you'd think...anyway...
I still think you are the cat's ass. I love Gail. I love a lot of what you have to say. I still could bawl when I think of the Africa trip or the trip to the Concentration Camp. You do so much good.
But honey, you have also gotten annoying.
So let's take some advice from Joni and get back to the garden.
JT, who is finally comfortable in his skin as an overweight white - yes, I said it - WHITE - man.

Japanese nightmares and demons

Well, as I sit here tonight musing over the purpose and theme of my blog, I think I can sum it up in four simple words: Japanese nightmares and demons. Yes, I do believe that sums it up completely. True, I realize I am stating the obvious, kind of like pointing out the elephant in the room, but, well, it still needed to be said. Japanese nightmares and demons. It's what I'm all about. It's how I roll.
Ok, so I can't really take that joke any farther. But those were the exact words uttered by Michael, the dude who won Project Runway this year. I know I haven't talked about the show really on here, but trust me, it's a hell of a lot more exciting than Survivor. To make a long story short, it comes down to 4 finalists, they design a clothing line, and show it at Fashion Week, and the winner gets a shitload of money and a contract for something or other, and their freaky model gets a spread in something or other. So when they ask Michael what the theme was of his line, I think they were looking for an answer that it captures the whole woman, because the judges said after they could see the woman going to the prom in one dress, going to work in the other, etc. Well, that's not what he says. He says something like the theme or the inspiration or whatever for his line was Japanese nightmares and demons. Well, of course, I am always afraid I am missing something, you know, the whole "I must be stupid not to see that, or know what a Japanese nightmare or demon is all about", but then Rachel turns to me and is all "wtf"? So that's been my catch phrase for the day. First we had the Indian on the trampoline phrase, then it was scare me dorothy, and now, my friends, the phrase of the week is Japanese nightmares and demons. Of course, it shouldn't surprise us that he said something so frigging stupid, because this is the dude who, while I commend him on escaping drug addiction and suicide attempts a few years ago, just annoyed the everloving piss out of me for being rude, assholish, and insulting to one of the other contestants' mothers. He tried to be all punk, but I mean, he's my age, 36, so you just want to say "put the fucking eyeliner away, Ponyboy, and take a fucking shower." This is the dude who has a tattoo of a bunch of writing covering his neck. I don't know what the hell it says, but the first words were Detroit something or other, which is the name of his 3 year old son, which is why he got the thing in the first place. Well, you know how I hate tattoos. Imagine how grossed out I was with this neck thing. And he has no chin, so it's even grosser. When we were watching the other night, I went to the bathroom and rolled up my jeans (as he was wearing what looked like gauchos) and wrote the girls' names on my neck with a crayola marker, and came out into the rumpus room and squished my chin into my neck and started talking to Rachel about Japanese nightmares. Well, after she stopped laughing, she scrunched her hair into this mohawk, because Michael's woman has a mohawk, and that's when I realized how absolutely compatible we are.
We have 3 kids 5 and under - we don't get out much.
Oh, and let me tell you about the interesting exchange I had with a security guard on the weekend. Long story short again, about twice a year, I have to arrange for someone to supervise some exams that are written on a Saturday. Usually I have my sister do it, but she couldn't this time, so I thought I would give my nephew the opportunity to do it, as you get paid over a hundred bucks for the day to basically sit there and read the newspaper while people write exams. My nephew, who lost his job last week and has two cats to support, would have loved the money, I thought. I thought wrong. So I call my other sister, who was going to Winnipeg. So I called my other sister, who I thought would do it, as she always wants money - but long story short, she couldn't - that one will take too long to explain. So I have an epiphany and think I'll get "Gina", a friend's sister, who did stuff for me in the past at my old job. So she says yes, and I tell her I will meet her at my work on Saturday before 9:00, as every frigging time I arrange this, there is some glitch, be it security isn't there on time, or the door is locked too early and latecomers can't get in, or whatever. Suffice to say I always make an emergency trip there. So I thought I would go to make sure things were ok. It's a good thing I went, because there were three major crises I had to deal with, but that's neither here nor there. The interesting thing was the security woman. She looked like a pleasant woman, and i am sure she was, in her late 40s or early 50s I would say, and as she didn't know anything about what was going on, I was pointing people to the room, and telling her this and that and what time they were done and so she says "so you must be a regular here" and I say, "yeah, I'm the counselor for such and such" and she's all "a counsellor? You look too young to be a counselor" and yeah, I look young, but I still found it insulting. However, I went on and said "yeah, that's half of my job, the counseling, but the other 1/2 is blah blah blah" and she goes "yes, but I still can't believe you are a counselor at your age" so I said "Lady, I'm pushing 40" and I don't think she believed me. SO yeah, it's flattering to be almost 37 and look 20, I guess, but at the same time, I was offended. I wanted to say something equally stereotypical to her like "a security guard? Aren't you kind of missing a penis to be guarding a building of this size, when you can't be any match for a tough thug" because she was shorter and older and armed with nothing but a sweater and a cell phone. But I didn't. I was the bigger person.
So that was interesting.
You know, complete change of subject, but I am so fucking sick of people on Deal or No Deal who push it to the limit. Quit when you are ahead. Fuckwits.
Chunks posted an awesome, hilarious post that just encapsulated everything I am feeling about the whole fear of putting the Christ into Christmas and the Rosie O'donnell Chinese thing -
In case you need a translation into Chinese, it's
God love you Chunks, you said what I am thinking. You keep writing like that and you too will have Donna Pescow posting on your comments too.
So I didn't switch to beta yet, so I am sure no one will be able to comment anymore. It's a shame that I lost so many readers when I had my long posting pauses. That makes me love y'all even more who stuck it through. Cinthia, if you are still here, say hey once in a while again.
I am off to Saskatoon bright and early tomorrow morning for another meeting. Long frigging day it will be let me tell you. I fear pavement frost, as it's been so warm this week.
Anyway, I guess that's about all I have to say on this stuff right now.
Sweet dreams - stay away from the Japanese nightmares everyone!
And, wishing everyone the very best during this time of year when we celebrate the birth of Christ. See, I am not afraid to say it - take your happy holidays and shove them up your asses, pagans!

Friday, December 08, 2006

Blamin' it all on those nights on broadway

It's finally warming up peoples, and I am feeling nostalgic tonight. There is something about winter weather when it "chinooks" - I know we are too far east to actually call it a chinook, but same thing: the temperature spikes to freezing or above, and so it's a nice warmish feeling even when it's minus 2 and you think you could be in shorts. Anyway, there is something about this weather that I love, and always have since I moved here. And tonight, since it's not half bad outside, I am remembering winters past for some reason, and I realize that I sort of miss 20 years ago, Friday nights sitting in a coffee shop for 3 or 4 hours, drinking pots of coffee, smoking 15 cigarettes in the same amount of time, scoping out who was coming and going in said coffee shop - you see, we didn't spend every second partying. Indeed, many weekends this is what Margo and I did - we'd grab a different set of people and off we'd go, having coffee and smoking. Anyway, this weather brought me back to those times, and I am smiling wistfully here.
Yeah, so you can tell I have nothing to say tonight if I am sharing that tripe with you all. But suffice to say, I am nostalgic tonight. I dunno, it could be all the Fame I am watching. I am so addicted to the reruns. I need help.
Do you all remember back in the day when Rosie commented on Margo's blog and Soh's blog, and poor Soh almost soiled herself? And then that guy who I can't think of his name, you know, that one who wrote the book and he was a crossdresser and was in love with the crack whore and it had a goldfish on the cover? You know which one? Anyway, remember he commented on Chunk's blog? Well, I just realized I've had no star action. None. Maybe it's all the Fame I'm watching, but I wanna live forever too. So, my new experiment is to lure celebrities to the blog. How, you ask? Well, my fine little friends, I've got a plan. You know that the guy who went to Chunks found himself by an internet search. So, I am going to do short, random posts about celebrities that might be googling themselves. Obviously, the Tom Cruise's and Rosie O'donnell's won't be sitting there with their laptops on their laps whilst they sit on the shitter, looking for mentions of them outside of the internet movie database (IMDB.COM), so I am going to lure some celebs who may not be on the hit parade today, or who might not have made it all the way yet, but who are still wonderful nonetheless. I am thinking old sitcom players, I am thinking people who wrote obscure novels I might have, I am thinking people who had one or two songs in the top 40 20 years ago that they played bass on. I am just formulating the idea, but it's gotta be someone I can say something nice about. No, I am not a whore. This is all a grand experiment. I am a trendsetter! So don't worry if you see posts only talking about my deep appreciation for Ruthie from "Hello Larry" or the band Device for their song "Hangin' on a Heart Attack", which barely cracked the top 40 in the late 80s. If I can't BE Willie Ames, then I sure as fuck am going to get him to drop a line in here once in a while and tell us what it was like filming the soft core Blue Lagoon type movie Paradise with Phoebe Cates (where my 13 year old brain seems to remember was so "explicit" she was grabbing his knackers and he was kissing her bare boobies), or if he went to the funeral for Lani O'grady, who played his older sister Mary on Eight is Enough - I had such a crush on Mary, and then when I saw Lani was plagued by panic attacks, well, I loved her more.
So yeah, that's where this boat is going to sail. I am resisting the urge to begin with Donna Pescow, because I seem to talk about her too much as it is, and so it'll be creepy if I talk about her any more.
I mean really, I always wanted to start a magazine that was complete interview format, and completely a "where are they now" type of thing, without the pity - because I really AM interested. And hey, it might revive some careers - some agent will call up Michael Gross and say "hey, there is a guy in Saskatchewan who has written a 700 word ode to you and your skills, and he says you completely embodied a PBS station manager - let's get you into summer stock again." I'll fulfill their cavier dreams and champaigne wishes yet again!

Anyhoo, I won't start tonight, but keep your eyes peeled for it.
Happy weekend, you wonderful people, you.

Wednesday, December 06, 2006

Happy St. Nicks Day

Well, this has been a gong show of a night. Of a day, too, when you really think about it. Let me just get to the Seinfeld moment. Ok, picture it, a day with tired, crabby kids who won't listen to the babysitter, and basement COVERED, and I mean COVERED, with toys and dirty laundry. Picture an upstairs that is slipping out of control as well, and two tired parents, and undone supper dishes. This is the scene at about 6:30 tonight. Of course, we wanted to do nothing more but go to bed right then and there, but the kids needed to be bathed, and we wanted to go to this public forum meeting they were having regarding walkway closures (I don't want to explain it, so just nevermind this part). So, it's decided I will go to the meeting and Rachel will stay here with the kids and get them ready for bed.
Well, I go to the meeting, which was a waste of an hour of my life I will never get back. An exercise in futility. So Rachel calls me right as it was ending and she sounds funny. She says there had been excitement around here and tells me the following: She had the kids in the tub, and the doorbell rings.... about 4 quick rings. So she goes out of the bathroom and someone starts pounding on the door. So she gets down there and peers out the window and sees nobody, just this wisp of a black figure turning the corner by the garage. At this point she gets freaked out and realizes the door is unlocked, so she locks the door and the door to the garage, and then locks the back door. She then calls my sister across the street and asks if she can see anyone in our yard and she says no. So she calls her folks and tells them about this thing, and so her dad, who is on his way curling, says he will stop buy and check it out. Meanwhile, she is thinking that it was someone casing out the joint to steal the Christmas stuff.
So then her dad comes and finds a gift bag on the door knob. The bag is FULL of candy, with a note for the kids saying Happy St. Nicks Day and share the stuff with mom and dad. So then she realizes it is St. Nicks day in Europe and that St. Nick does stuff like this - we know this from the Caillou video we have. But the mystery remained as to who did this. She was stumped, and called me and I couldn't figure it out either, so I yelled "don't eat the candy!" Because, you know me, automatically assume someone is trying to kill us.
So we eliminate everyone but our friends who live behind us - let's call them Sebastian and Genevieve. Well, they are artsy and cultured and have at least BEEN to Europe so I think it has to be them. SO long story short, Rachel calls, and they deny it at first, but then tell us it was them. So mystery solved, and the kids (and me) have a big old sack of candy to eat. They are so nice to do stuff like that. But fuck, it had us freaked out.
So that was this evening.
Anyway, that's about all the excitement today. I just had to share.
Hey, extreme makeover is on right now, and i just have to say - when they fix people up, why do they have to make them look so hideous? I mean, if someone has bad teeth, why make them look like they have chicklets in their mouth? Why not just fix them up a little bit? Sorry, but this poor 21 year old virgin with bad teeth and acne is on, and if they would just fill some of the gaps in his mouth and give him some tetracycline, he would be fine. But I just know he's going to come out looking like George Hamilton. And now there is this ugly looking woman on who is 25 and has 4 kids and they keep showing her flab and stretch marks, and her false teeth. Well, I am sorry that she's flabby, but she has 4 kids - wear the flab with pride. I am annoyed that they make her seem like a freak because of it. Mothers of the world, unite and take pride in the baby flab - you earned it!
I think I've seen this one, actually. But fuck, just give her some new teeth and she'd be fine. Anyway, you can tell I am too lazy to go to bed, because I am commenting on reruns.
Hey, I just have to comment about how Chunks and I are on the same wavelength about certain things, particularly songs we hate. She mentioned that she couldn't stand Roy Or.... how do you spell his name? Orbison? That doesn't look right... anyway, she couldn't stand him, and you know, I feel the same way. I get so annoyed whenever I hear Pretty Woman and other songs of that ilk. I really despised the Traveling Wilbury's bullshit of his too. I like me some Tom Petty, and some George Harrison ,but muthafucka, that was some ugly-ass music. I really hated "Got my Mind Set On You" by GH as well. Hideous. Just thought I would share that. What artists drive you nuts?
So my dear friends, I better get my sorry ass to bed.
As my dear friend Casey Kasem says, keep your feel on the ground and keep reaching for the stars.....
p.s. Is he still married to that freaky looking blonde?

Sunday, December 03, 2006


Ok, I just went to CBC.CA and I need to ask: Who the fuck is Stephane Dion? THIS is the new Liberal leader? After all the hoopla about Bob Rae and Igantiaff, THIS dude is the one who won?
Yeah.... he really looks like leadership material.....

Beta should go the way of the beta i received for my 15th birthday. remind me to bellyache about that one someday

You know, I was going to do just a short post that was calm and boring about my poor baby who has the weight of the world on her shoulders, but then I keep getting assaulted with all this blogger beta bullshit, and I am going to fly into a rage right quickly. I was even sending this link to someone (hi Kate), and didn't want to go into a rant, but I am sorry. I am going to swear. Like a sailor. Like a sailor in a porno movie. Like a porno star sailor hanging out with Andew Dice Clay and Martin Laurence. So if that offends, stop now.
Ok, let's talk about this fucking suckass motherfucking beta bullshit. Every time I try to leave a comment on someone running beta, it always makes me re-enter the password, or the security word, and if I have to try more than three times, I want to throw this fucking thing out in the 19 feet of snow in my yard. Last night, I tried to do this whole long comment to Margo, apologizing for nagging her about smoking and giving some sage anti smoking advice, but after three tries, I just canceled the fucking comment. So if Margo ends up in an iron lung because she didn't get my quitting smoking advice, let's sue the motherfucking ass off blogger and then we can have enough money to attend Tom Cruise's next fake wedding - hopefully, next time our favorite homosexual actor chooses a wife who is shorter than him (think Amy Roloff) and who believes that crazy mofo scientology bullshit (I refuse to dignify that cult with a capital letter).
So I just write this long resonse to Chunks because everything is all topsy-turvy in Chunksville right now, and it took forever to leave the comment. THEN, trying to log onto here, well, let me tell you, I had to avoid 80 billion beta messages. I feel violated. Am I the last holdout? I feel like the last of the Stepford Wives, who hasn't been "stepforded" yet.
Ok, rant over. Sorry for that, I really am.
So my nice soft post is watered down by the ugliness now. I was just going to say that I am going to Regina tomorrow evening because I have a meeting all day Tuesday there. Well Rachel thought she would come and go Xmas shopping and just bring baby, since the other kids always love being at grandmas. But then, I forgot that Kelly is going through this stage where she doesnt like being away from us, so she was all gung-ho for tomorrow until tonight when the tears started and what got me was this: we were lying on the couch and she started crying saying "I'm not ready for you guys to go to Regina" and said "It's hard being a kid. It's hard going to school and going to swimming lessons and going to ballet. It's hard and I'm tired." And that was so wise and such sage knowledge that I wanted to bawl. My baby just carries the weight of the world on her shoulders. But I think we still are both going.
But you know, I never knew I could love like this, since I've had kids. It's just a fierce love, you know? Like you want to protect these kids and will do anything for them. We had a good family weekend. On Friday night, after ballet, we set up the tree, and then on Saturday, we cleaned all day, which must have sucked for them, but then we took them grocery shopping to Safeway, since the new renos are done and Starbucks is in there, and then we took them to Wendy's, which is like Disneyland for them, and then we bought them Ice Age and made snacks for them and snuggled on the couch. Then today we took them bowling, and then played minigolf, and then they had swimming lessons. So it was a fun weekend. But man, I love those kids so much.... it always pains me when people want to get away from their kids. Of course, it will be good to shop without the older two, but I'll miss them for that day.
So anyway, I will be MIA from Monday afternoon until Wednesday.
Well I should go. I want to find out who one the Liberal leadership race before bed. Am I old or what?