Back!

Days Gone: 4
Mileage Claimed: ~50km
Bear Encountered: 0
Moose Encountered: 1
Bug Bites: Stopped counting after the first one
Scary Storms: 1

I'm back. Rest your weary, little hearts, we made it safely back out the bush. Although for the rest of this post you will think of me as Lumpy T instead of the usual as I'm covered in bug bites, scrapes and bruises. More later.

We were gone for 4 days, and as stated above the round trip was roughly 50km worth of rowing and portaging. There was a lot of rowing; my arms and shoulders are sore but I held my own. Sometimes it felt like all we did was stroke... stroke... stroke... but we actually moved at pretty good clips. I've learned to look far off to where we were going, not in front of me, especially if we were rowing across the current coz then it gets trippy. Like we were travelling diagonally, or sideways which, when it was super windy was definitely the case. There was also the fear that we might tip over. Back country canoeing/backpacking is quite different from being in the familiar. We couldn't just whip out cell phones to call for help if anything bad were to occur. If something happens to you out there you're pretty much fucked. Ain't nobody gonna come rescue you coz how would you call them and how would they know where you are anyway? Since our packs were 30-50lb they'd be dead weight and sink so fast we wouldn't even see where they hit the water. All the gear and food would be gone in an instant, thus severely handicapping us. I was super vigilant in my quest to keep the canoe upright.

We were careful not attract any bears to our campsites. I'm pretty happy that we came out having never met each other, although according to park statistics it actually is very rare to see one of these creatures. Park rangers are lucky if they see one or two a year. Good odds for me.

On the second day we stayed on a small island littered with moose poo, actually moose poo dots the entire park. They're not very picky about where they go... think also of roughly two dozen chocolate Timbits in one pile. At about 4pm, while we were hanging out in our campsite which is located in the clearing at one end of the island Mr. Stinky and I heard branches snapping and something walking in the bush. We looked up and saw a huge brown shape walking through the trees, its footsteps thumping the ground so heavily that we felt them. The camera came out and we waited. The shape turned into a very impressive bull moose taller than Mr. Stinky's height of 6' and came as close as about 6 feet away from where we pitched our tent. We were very excited due to our proximity, plus they usually don't come out in the middle of the day. It got spooked and jumped into the lake to swim back to the mainland. We stood and watched the whole time while it grunted and huffed the water out of its nose. Absolutely awesome.

I don't like using bug spray so I endured the bites. I find that the first bite is the worst; after that they all sort of cancel each other out so although I tried to swat them away, kill them or do the Mosquito Dance I did get bit but only had to use the spray once.

The last night of our trip it stormed. You could hear God noisily inhaling from somewhere down in Alabama before blowing it across the land... winds in the city cannot compare in terms of strength and noise. The lake was choppy and it rained. I had visions of us trying to make our way back come morning with lashing winds and pouring rain, and me screaming at Mr. Stinky "I HAAAATE youuuuu!! You did this to meeeeee!", not unlike how I imagine it might sound in the delivery room. Luckily for us it cleared up in the early morning and we got out without any incident.

After days of eating trail mix and dehydrated foods we headed to Kelsey's for our celebratory gorge. Tossing aside the skimpy lunch menus we devoured the entrees of choice and several hours later stuffed ourselves silly again. Heaven.

Bear Warning

I'm off to my weekend portage tomorrow. Mr. Stinky and I are heading up to Algonquin for a long weekend of canoeing, camping, bugs and skinny dipping (!). I'm very excited as it's my first experience. We're regular car campers but this time we're going a step further into the bush and away from life. It's our mini vacation... as a regular vacation seems to be out of our reach right now so this'll do.

I've never camped where the land belongs to the bears. I'll have to be careful and remember not to smell too yummy to one of them but I'm sure if I smell like hot dog Mr. Stinky'll remind me to change my clothes before bedtime. If one should get agressive, I can assure you that I will not be playing dead or curling into the fetal position. Why you ask? Simple. If a hungry and angry 800lb beast decides that he wants to nosh on some Stinkyback ribs I hardly think that I'm a good enough actor to remain calm until he's done and goes away. I really do not believe that calmly presenting oneself on a platter surrounded by sprigs of green garnishings will discourage a hungry being. No, presentation is a large part of eating and I for one am not willing to look like a yummy dish for Ursus grumblytummyus.

Instead I resolve to fall into total panic mode whereby squawking like a chicken, running back and forth, jumping into the lake, flapping my limbs around and throwing gear at it like my toothbrush, pillow and underwear, for some reason will totally make sense. I will not be the generous main course of the night for the damn bear. I will convince myself that my actions are deterring him from clamping down on me even though my clear and rational mind knows that I'm just whetting his appetite.

So, dear readers, I plan on returning Monday night. I'll be tired so don't expect me to rush to the nearest piece of technology to update you on how I got a soaker, hiked up some hills and made potty in the bush. You can however, check here on Tuesday since I've got the day off from work and should have some time to type. If I don't make a peep by Wednesday you may safely assume that Mr. Grumblytummyus greatly enjoyed some Stinkyback ribs and you'll need to tell the rangers that they'll probably find me in random piles of bear poop.

The Blue File

A co-worker came into our office just now. There are three of us in here: T-J, Clueless and me. Usually when our manager comes in to ask us questions we sit in our chairs looking blankly back at her slack-jawed, hoping someone else knows the answer, any answer. However, our manager's questions usually make sense as they are logical and specially designed to make us squirm in our seats. This question, well..... I've changed a few details to keep things ambiguous but yah...

Co-worker: Excuse me, have you seen the blue file?

Magnificent 3: .....................?

The Shuster a frequent visitor sits and observes.

Co-W: It's a blue file.

M3: .........................?

Co-W: I'm looking for the blue file.

M3: .......................?
T-J: Like a blue file folder? Yes we use those here....

Co-W: No no, it's an existing blue file.

T-J: Is it empty?

Co-W: No, it's got stuff in it. It's a blue file.

Clueless: It. would. help. if you had an address…
Stinky T: Do you have any other information about the file?

I should tell you that Co-W is notoriously secretive, nobody knows why. If you locked her up in solitary, tortured her within an inch of her life and threatened any and all kin she's got she still probably wouldn't tell you what colour the sky is if she didn't feel like it, so divulging this bit of information surely must've torn pieces out of her heart and soul.

Co-W: ..........Uh...It says..... "6 Pink Elephants and 20 Toes".

M3: OHH! OK, that file! Yah, we don't have it.

Co-W: No? Are you sure you don't have that file? (Wanders around, poking her little nose everywhere) It's a blue file.

M3: Nope.

Co-W leaves. I look over at Nancy T-J and the Shuster and they're both sitting v-e-r-y still, trying to hold something in. I decided to find out what that something could be.

Stinky T: So.. I'm looking for a woman... She's a woman. An existing woman. Have you seen the woman?

The office erupts into peals of laughter and tears of hilarity. We can't get over what just happened. Like complete idiots we put the incident on repeat and keep on asking each other where the blue file is. T-J is yanking out sheaths of kleenex by the handfuls in an effort to dam up the flow of streaming tears, while snorting and snuffling, trying to catch her breath through her laughter in what I can only think of as some sort of hysterical epileptic seizure. The Shuster is shaking tremulously in his chair so much that I didn't know if he'd ever be able to stop and wiping his eyes in futile. All the while I'm trying to keep a straight face. The rest of the day is a wash because about the only thing we can talk about is the blue file.

As of the time of publishing we still don't know where that darn blue file is.

Mazel Tov!

Oh dude! I just realized it's been a year since I started this. That surely must be the coolest thing you were told today.

Hand-Drawn Questions

> Didn't Snow White and Cinderella suffer from mad cases of morning breath when their princely saviours on white horses awoke them from their deep sleeps? Also, how did they also not mess their beds or get bed sores?

> How come Pepe Le Pew's horny obsession with the black cat was seen as funny and not as what it really was: stalking, sexual harassment, sexual assault, dry humping and practical rape?

> I know we all knew that the Beast was a cursed human prince on the inside, but Belle sure as hell didn't and fell in love with him anyway. Wouldn't it be beastiality if he didn't turned back and they consummated their true fairy tale love? This question also works for Roger and Jessica Rabbit. Friggin' pervs.

> Wasn't Jem ever concerned that Rio was two-timing with her alter ego Jerrica when she wasn't around? And how come Jerrica was OK with him getting some rockstar nookie with Jem, while we're at it? Someone's got both identity and self-esteem problems if you ask me.

> Was Tweety a boy or a girl, coz he had some raging eyelashes and pouty lips and no discernible genitals. Maybe the question should really be: Pre-op or post-op...

> Why did no one ever kill that pansy-assed sidekick of the Mighty Hercules? Even as a kid I thought that Newton was the most annoying thing ever and I bet he was "touched" too. How can you trust a boy who prances around constantly anyhow?

> The Amazing Spiderman, when he swung along the city's skyline doing his spiderly patrol thing at the end of the episode after he had saved Gotham, Grayskull or whatever, where did his webbing attach onto? Heaven, perhaps?

> Were He-Man and She-Ra siblings or lovers for pete's sake?! Or maybe, BOTH...

> When they concentrated real hard, clenched their fists and stuck their rotund little bellies out to give the Care Bear Stare and/or Care Bear Cousins Call, did any one of them ever accidentally push out a fart?

> How come Charlie Brown never bitch-slapped or kicked Lucy in the head after she pulled the football out from under him? I bet that would've made her think hard the next time she tried that stunt.

> When they were flying around in Neverland did any of the Lost Boys ever take a peek up Wendy's nightgown? Coz I would, if only to make sure that her bloomies didn't say "Wednesday" on a Thursday. Eeew..

> I was probably 4 when I watched Bambi and nobody would tell me what happened to his mom. What's up with that?

Asian Addiction

It was the summer of 199... 8? 9? Whatever. I went to Taiwan on a student exchange program. My intentions were good, I wanted to learn the language, immerse myself in a different culture and see the world. Only later did I hear that the trip was infamously known as the "Love Boat"... a 6 week opportunity for horny teenagers to indulge in all their sexual fantasies without the fear of mom and/or dad walking in and impeding the copious amounts of copulation going on.

Whatever the case, what happens in Taiwan stays in Taiwan. Needless to say a lot of stuff happened that will provide me plenty of memories to last a long, long time. What really struck me, was that no matter where the people came from, Asians will be Asians. In the age right before digital cameras came along (or were in the everyman's price range), everyone was packing. Film canisters were everywhere, we had all scoped out the cheapest, fastest best developing places. The fact that I had to think about what those containers were called and how film become pictures tells me that indeed, the traditional 35mm camera is very passe.

I brought 6 rolls of 24 exposure film for my 6 week trip. That's.. 144 pictures. After the first week people were running around with multiple albums in hand stuffed full of pictures to show their new friends. I couldn't understand how anyone could take so many pictures! By the end of the trip people were going home with cases of pictures while I had my 6 rolls of memories to bring back to Canada.

Everywhere I go I see Asians toting cameras around and clicking at any and everything. I've seen a busload of tourists run after squirrels taking pictures and countless group pictures being taken with ever multiplying cameras appearing with every click. I've had to suffer through countless torture sessions looking at the vacation pictures of friends who took 8000 pictures when 20 would have sufficed. It's nice that you had fun, but it was your vacation. Your pictures really don't mean anything to me, just like mine won't tickle your soul either. The context just isn't there for me. And if every picture contains a stock shot of you and your honey posing in front of whatever interesting there is in the background that you've just obliterated, tedium soon turns into thoughts of putting a bullet in someone's head. I'm not too picky about where that bullet goes...

What do people do with so many pictures? Mr. Stinky and I rarely print our pictures and when we do, after a week or so it gets tossed in a random corner or shelf. Would taking 144 pictures versus 1444 really mean anything to anyone after time passes and you forget who that bunch of people in your pictures are anyway? Where are my Taiwan pictures? In a box. Somewhere. When was the last time I looked through them? Sometime awhile ago. Besides a few fond memories, would I really care about what all those people from around the world are doing right now? Probably not.

Perhaps I was short-changed a few Asian genes while hanging out in my mother's womb. I don't seem to be Asian enough in many respects. I should've shot out of there with a camera in one hand and chopsticks in the other, smelling of mothballs and driving a Japanese economy car. Instead I might have introduced myself to the world while driving a pickup truck with my cursing finger extended and a big ol' sneer they hoped was a smile on my face.

I may be pissed off at something... what that is isn't quite clear to me at the moment.

Blame Game

The headlines these days are all focussing on the troubles in the Middle East and getting people out of harm's way. Actually, I haven't really been reading or watching the news because everyday is the same dredge. I don't find that the news is "news" per se, more like media hype and exploitation of suffering and pain. In the winter it's all about how cold it is. Cold alert! And the snow and ice, oh the pain, the pain! In the summer we can't stop talking about how hot it is. Heat alert! Smog alert! Red alert, shields up!

But back to this topic. Really, you don't think all of this war stuff was happening before it suddenly became sexy and Pulitzer Prize-worthy? You think this whole Israel-Muslims-Christians pissing contest haven't been going on since forever? Look up The Crusades, they've been pissed off at each other since they defined "pissed off". What I'm noticing now, though is that there's a lot of news coverage on the evacuation of people from the Beirut, Lebanon area. And even louder are the bleets of the angry people who blame their governments for not doing enough, especially Canada.

?????????? Enough? Enough what? Why is it your government's responsibility to bail your ass out when trouble a-cometh? Why do you need to rely on someone else to rescue you when your life of milk and honey suddenly turns into vinegar? This I don't understand because it wasn't the government of Canada who put them in Lebanon in the first place. It was their conscious choice to live and raise families or vacation there and knowing that there is a risk of war or being attacked, they should have taken that into consideration before going and maybe even have a back-up plan if something were to happen. Which indeed, happened. Having dual citizenship is great, but if you don't live here, don't pay taxes and speak of Lebanon as "your country", don't expect us to rush to your aid at the first sign of trouble. It's my damn tax dollars that shuttles your freeloading butt out of the danger zone so don't run to anyone with a camera, microphone or notepad complaining how the Canadian govenment took too long, it should be ashamed of itself and needs to do more to take care of its own people.

The point is, you knew things were happening. Maybe not at first, but the signs were there and when it got bad you still had time to jet yourself out of there. But no, you sat home and did nothing. Then you expected Canada to have waiting cruise ships sitting in your harbour ready for you to leave. And I bet that when things settle down you'll be on the first plane back to Lebanon. I also bet that if bombs weren't dropping all around you, there wouldn't even be a passing thought of Canada in your head. Want someone to blame? Look in the mirror. Grow up and take some responsibility, someone has to and in this case it's not the government's fault.

Look, I don't want people to die. I just don't like the heaping mounds of shit Canada has to sit in everytime something happens. To extend an olive branch of goodwill, my Morden Centennial is starting to bloom. This is from me to you, please get out safely.

Duck Duck Goose

We decided to have some friends over on Sunday, so I invited Emma and Goose (explanation to follow) for a small, intimate evening together. The plan was for a nice, easy bike ride along the Waterfront Trail followed by (non-group) showers, dinner and then just hanging out. Seems easy, right? It started out innocently enough, it was friggin’ hot and muggy but since we live by the lake temperatures are usually much more tempered by it and even on the hottest days in the City, there is a cool breeze that comes off the lake making the outdoors that much more enjoyable.

The ride was pleasant enough; we rode roughly 15 km, round trip. There were lots of families out for picnics and family fun days and it was nice to see so many people having a good time. On our way back, I was riding with Goose who, at this point in time hadn’t been dubbed with said moniker yet, while Mr. Stinky and Emma were a ways back. All of a sudden a gigantic Canada Goose flew out of nowhere and almost crashed right into Goose’s head. I let out a scream of surprise and got a super close-up of a goose butt that I never wanted to see and he ducked and swerved while the bird flapped frantically, finally landing on the grass a few feet away. As I looked back, Emma is laughing at Mr. Stinky who was flying across the grassy field trying to spook the lounging birds, one of which had just spooked Goose and I.

After the feathers settled down we laughed about the incident. There aren’t many stories you hear about which includes almost being taken out by an unprovoked waterfowl and especially since that thing was so big we were pretty sure that Goose would have been knocked to the ground. I rationalized that perhaps the goose had lousy vision or had just consumed a heavy meal and couldn't quite attain normal flight altitudes. But now you know why his name is Goose.

The rest of the evening was pretty normal, we had fun, we ate, hung out and went home. Last night as I was talking to Emma on the phone, she was also on MSN with Goose. There were several threads of conversation going on at once making things a little confusing at times. While we talked about whatever, she would also interject with Goose’s replies as well as her responses to him as per their conversation.

Somehow or another the topic of handjobs came up. As she was typing that due to the incident, it was entirely logical that we change his name to Goose, I made a comment to her about giving out handjobs. All of a sudden she said, “I think that’s a good nickname for me.” Stunned, I blurted: "..HANDJOB?!?” Now it was her turn to be bamboozled and she shrieked into my ear, “WHAT? Wh… no!! That’s what Goose said!” Of course at this point we both dissolved into laughter because the timing was just so perfect that the two conversations came together like that and how do you time coincidence anyway?

That’s my Goose story, I think it’s a keeper.

Need White Out?

Another good one. I love the happy expression on his face!

Got A Leak?

This is totally the picture of the day. Why kids should not be left alone.

Haircut

Got one a couple of days ago. Cut I like. Salon, I did not like.

My hair got to be about halfway down my back. It was starting to get heavy and boring. I cut my hair like, once or twice a year... certainly not the recommended three to four months or whatever the experts say. Actually, I think my last cut was about this time last summer. Nice. So since the trips to the salon are a rare occurence, it's a big deal for me. I ask for everything to get chopped off so I can start all over again. My hair currently sits on my shoulders. Nice and short.

I decided to get my hair cut at a salon near work because it'd be so much more convenient if I just use my lunch hour and not have to go home, get the car, drive to the salon and so on. I had been to this place before for my summer pedicure which I wasn't too impressed with but I thought, feet and hair... different parts, different people.

I made my appointment the day of, going in person to tell them I wanted a cut at 12:00pm with a Director Stylist. At 11:48am, just as I was about to leave for my appointment the phone rang and they said there was a mistake. They had to push it back to 12:30pm. I was OK with the time change since it seemed like an honest mistake. When I arrived at the newly agreed upon time, I was taken to the colouring chair instead of the hairwashing station. The stylist asked what colour I wanted. ?? I told her I was there for a cut. She went to check the book at the front and front desk girl came and told me I was there for an updo. ??? I said no, I was there to get. a. hair. cut. There was some grumbling and such, no apologies for me, and a demand to know how and when I made the appointment and who I talked to.

After we cleared the air my stylist went to work. She was good, super good. She was fast and knew what she was doing. We didn't talk. None of the people there spoke to their clients. None of them smiled either. It was a surreal experience, like I was in some world of haute couture where everyone's so cool they're bored. Whatev. I didn't feel like small talk anyway.

When she was done I went up to pay. The bill was more than I had expected. Turns out instead of a Director Stylist I was attended to by a Master Stylist which means she's good enough that they charge me extra. I'm not opposed to paying what they charged since I thought she was worth it, but seeing's how I had specifically asked for an apple and they gave me a pickle it was unnerving. All the more so because they had screwed up every single detail of my appointment. To err is human but in this case they went errrrrrr and I didn't get an apology.

I paid but I don't know if I want to go back. I should be OK though, since I have a whole year to find another place to visit. Either that, or the anger fades in time and I end up back there again.

On a topic totally unrelated to hair, there is a light bulb on its last gas molecule, prong, whatever, above my computer which means it's exactly where it should be to drive me bananas. It's flickering and making the "tink, tink..... tink" noise constantly making it tremendously hard for me to concentrate on my work. I want to start throwing things at it just to shatter the tube and make it stop but then I'll probably get in a lot of trouble when the guy comes to fix it. He probably won't arrive until 3:36pm today, just in time to keep my last thread of sanity from blitzing out and causing me to go on a huge paperclip throwing, paper crumpling, chair spinning, plug unplugging rampage. Heh... remember Rampage? Sigh.. I have to find my happiness somewhere. With all the flickering I might start to think I'm suffering from a mini stroke or something. At least it'll provide an alibi for my climbing and punching things and eating people. What?

Randomosity

> I’m a party pooper with this World Cup thing going on because I don’t like the diving culture of the sport. I don’t like hearing from my friends “Who cares? You’re in it to win!” because that’s exactly what we try to teach our kids not to do. Winning is important, but not at the expense of the spirit of the game and your dignity. I don’t pretend that diving doesn’t exist in any other sport but it seems that this is the one game in which it is so prevalent that it’s infused, encouraged and a skill to be mastered. The attitude in soccer right now is not sportsmanlike at all and it disgusts me. And please get off the road where cars belong. Gumming up the streets coz you feel the need to celebrate will only further the anger felt by people like me and directed at people like you.

> I notice that I walk like a man. Squared shoulders, head up, perfect posture and big, purposeful strides. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not, since it seems all the other women in the world (that I have observed) walk differently. We’ve got such gaits as the slouchy, shuffling death march, the jiggly boobs, swinging hips walk and stompers. I like that I don’t walk like that, but I worry that I might look butchy when I walk…. wait, why do I even care what you think?! Feh.

> When girls take pictures and they sweep all of their hair to one side, over their shoulder and let it hang down their chest and then either do the demure head tilt to the side or so that they are looking coyly up into the camera I just want to slap the piss out of them. Why? Why do they think that’s a good pose? Who told you that you look attractive? Who the hell wants to look at the hair hanging down your chest? That demure little smile looks so disingenuous that I just can’t believe it reflects your personality. It’s a picture damnit, relax and smile. This leads me to my next point.

> Everyone takes a bad picture once in awhile. Deal with it! Don’t get all immature and destroy, crop or cut yourself out of a picture just coz you don’t like it. The picture doesn’t make you look fat or ugly, that’s just the way you look. I’m not saying you are fat or ugly, that is just. how. you. look. So grow up. You may not be used to it coz we all look at you more than you look at yourself and we all have image issues anyway which results in seeing only what we want to see in the mirror. Conversely, pictures don’t make you look hot when you’re not. It’s reality, stop holding out for the “perfect” shot coz there’s no such thing (if we’re aiming for your standards).

> I love getting sun and tanning. I know about the risks of sunburn, skin cancer, sunspots and premature aging and yet I still tan. I figure I’m in my prime now so why wouldn’t I want to look good? Ain’t nobody gonna check me out when I’m 60 and think “She’s old and dumpy with the nylons wobbling around her ankles but damn she’s got nice skin! I think I’ll ask her to have some Metamucil with me!” Is that youthful ignorance? I don’t bake long enough to get too dark or burnt so I don’t feel that I’m killing my skin at a crazy rate. And I know that I increase my chances of developing skin cancer with the sunnage and all, but after reading multiple reports about how we’re all bound to be afflicted anyway by (any kind of) cancer during our lifetime I can’t say that I’m going to stop enjoying mine. By no means do I have a cavalier attitude towards this disease as I’ve had close dealings with it and I wouldn’t tempt fate by gulping down a bucket of PCBs. But since my body and environment are continuously swimming in a toxic stew, I’m resigned to the fact that cancer is inevitable, not a maybe.

> To the guy at the drugstore who saw me slowly heading towards the cashier, grabbed his stuff and ran (I’m not joking) to her even though there was nobody in line, dude. We don’t all have to be first all the time. If you’re that eager to give somebody else your money, be my guest.

Toast

That's what I look like after a weekend under the sun. I think I look gorgeous and ain't nothing you say will change my mind. We went up to the trailer Friday night and had a relaxing couple of days. We bobbed around in the lake, laid on the boat, played some tennis, rode around on the bikes and laid on the boat some more. I have lost my pasty winter pallour and have achieved ultimate yummy summer glow. Hooray for damaging UV rays.

The only poopy thing about the weekend was that I lost my sunglasses, I don't remember how they jumped off my head but I suppose I wasn't paying attention and they went into the drink. Now I don't look quite as cool anymore when I'm out in the sun. I complained that I'm all squinty when I go outside now and Mr. Stinky relayed his sympathies by saying, "Aren't you always squinty anyway?" Sucky... I have to go buy a new pair now. Bah.

So now I'm back to work and back to reality. I feel good and refreshed. I feel so good I might do something productive today! Two more days until the weekend, weeee!

On Demand

At the behest of Holden, I must talk less about gardening and more about the funner stuff in life. Since hockey is done for the season I didn't think there was anything to tell you but I just heard that my boyfriend Gary Roberts has asked his team, the Florida Panthers to ship him back to Toronto. Gary baby, I know you want to be near me and I love that you're finally telling the world but I have my doubts that you'll be back playing for the Leafs. Reasons? Many: you're past your prime, you've got a high price tag, the game has changed and you didn't leave on good terms with our current GM. As much as I adore having you on our team and watching you play I just don't think the odds are in your favour. Sorry baby, that's just how the sporting/entertainment world rolls.

I also don't have any new train stories for you, although I will say that I never tuck my legs under the seat when I'm riding. The subways on the TTC take heavy, daily abuse and many a time when I sit on a seat the whole bench will creak and shift. I decided long ago that if ever I was on one of these benches and it gave out I might look ridiculous falling but I won't be screaming bloody hell from broken legs flattened by all the weight on top.

I should mention that last Saturday Mr. Stinky and I went to see Nine Inch Nails at the Molson Amphitheatre. It was great, it was loud and it was a screaming lovefest. The weather was lovely and he's an awesome performer. I used to dislike them a lot. A lot. Inversely, Mr. Stinky loves them just as much if not more. So for a long time it's been a battle when we choose what music to listen to. I thought it was just angry noise, he's screaming and yelling about death and pain and anguish and something or other that eventually gets drowned out by the deafening din. Like, shut up and pull the trigger already if you're that friggin' miserable! But somehow I was convinced to go the concert they held at the ACC in November of last year and I enjoyed it. Actually, I enjoyed it so much I was a little disappointed because we didn't have the greatest seats and couldn't see much of what was going on onstage. So when I heard they were coming again, this time to a smaller venue and thus more intimate setting, I encouraged Mr. Stinky to go. And it was great. Last Saturday was a perfect weekend, it ended with a lot of "...WHAAT??"s and the lingering stench of smoke in our clothes and hair. It totally helps that Trent Reznor is so super hot now that he's cut his hair, got some sun and buffed up those skinny arms, whatta beefcake!

Oh, and a few days ago I was in a drugstore when someone's cell phone went off. Continuously. At maximum volume. I hate it when people jack up the sound and don't answer, it's so annoying! So of course with this piercing wail from several aisles down reverberating throughout the entire store, I yelled "Answer your phone!!" The ringing went away. Then I ran over to the offending cell phone guy now talking on his phone, grabbed it and smashed it over his head repeatedly. He reached for a bottle of foaming soap and aimed for my eyes but I dodged it by throwing jars of vaseline at him and once he was down I shoved a whole bunch of suppositories up his nose and around the corner. I had vanquished my foe! The story is true only until he answered his cell, the rest is inspired by real life events that could have happened if life indeed imitated my crazy imagination.

Red Faced

In keeping with the colour theme..

*Ring... ring.... ri*

Stinky T: "Hello?"

Stern Paternal Voice: "Your apology is accepted!"

Stinky T: "...Eh?"

He sounded familiar but not really and I didn't want to give away that I had no clue who it was so on we continued...

SPV: "Your apology is accepted!"

Stinky T: "Uhhhookay..."

SPV: "Your apology is accepted!"

Stinky T: "What am I apologizing for again?"

SPV: "Forgetting your promise to call on Father's Day!"

Ah-ha! This narrows it down considerably and now I know for sure that he's also got the wrong number coz I didn't forget Father's Day this year!

Stinky T: "Well I'd apologize if you were my dad."

SPV: "Your apolo.. what?!"

Stinky T: "I said I'd apologize if you were my dad."

Flustered Paternal Voice: "Wh...who... who is this?!"

Stinky T: "I'm definitely not your daughter!"

FPV: "Isn't this 741-9600?"

Stinky T: "Yes it is."
at the same time,
Background Voice: "9660!"

FPV: "OH! 9660! I must have the wrong number!!"

Stinky T: "I'm afraid so. But Happy Father's Day anyway!"

FPV: "Uh...ah....oh I'm so sorry! You sound so much like my daughter, really, yousoundjustlikeherandIthoughtyouwereher.... but thank you. Thank you for your well wishes."

Stinky T: "No problem. Sorry I couldn't help, but have a nice night. Bye!"

FPV: "OK, bye."

Hahahaha... that was quite enjoyable. I almost got in trouble by my non-dad! I could've pulled out the "I din't doo nuthin!" card, see if that would've been accepted or if I would've been grounded....... I might try this next year for real!

Yellow Finger

That's right, my finger's all yellow. It's so yellow it looks like I'm a habitual smoker. My finger tip, my cuticle, even my fingernail. Yellow. After bragging about my green thumb I thought it only appropriate if I follow up with a yellow finger story. Well, yellow finger and thumb.

No I'm not a smoker. I haven't had one since I got so sick off one back in the day that I was heaving my colon out of my throat, hallucinating about Jesus and cold sweating my way into deep hypothermia in the middle of the summer. I might've promised Him that if He got me through that day I'll never suck on another again. Seeing as he seemed to have kept his part of the bargain, I thought I'd do the same. We never discussed what would happen if I didn't but it works out in the end because I haven't wanted another since our conversation anyway.

I sure as hell didn't pee on myself either. I was out hunting aphids. They love sucking the juice out of new growth on roses and since I've become mother hen to these plants I hover daily and go squish squish squish. Do you know that the reason they are able to mulitply so fast is due to the nasty fact that every offspring is born pregnant with the next generation all ready to to be spat out? Sick man, that's just wrong. How do we fix wrongness in this world? We crush them with our mighty hand of judgement, or in this case, fingertips of death! Does this gardening talk bore you? Probably.

On my way home today I passed a woman standing in her front yard patiently and lovingly watering her tree. On closer inspection I realized that it wasn't a tree although the size bears testament to its hardiness and vitality. It was about 5 feet tall and 4 feet wide. It was large enough to be a small tree but in reality it was just a giant weed. It's not the kind that could possibly be mistaken for a non-weed either, lady was nuturing some crazy mutant dandelion of a plant in her front yard. Dude.

Upon further reflection, it could be some sort of science experiment. "How big can I get this thing to grow before it rips my house out of its foundations and eats us all while we sleep?", "How thick can I get the stem to grow before running at the thing with my lawn mower proves ineffective?", or "I bet this thing makes a great Christmas tree come December!" Whatever the case, she's nuts to be watering that thing and I just wanted to share.

Green Thumb

My gardening journey began last year, the first year we were in the house and my first blank, brown canvas with which to work. The very first thing we planted was our globe maple. It was just a seedling taken from Mr. Stinky's parents' backyard so it wasn't any old, random tree. It survived the scorching summer and searing cold winter and this year it's become a mini globe maple. I'm very happy to report that our little sapling is on its way to tree adulthood, barring any mishaps.

In the front I put in the easy stuff as it was my first time. Impatiens, pansies, a purple coneflower which has still yet to flower... it's a perennial so maybe it needs more time and dahlias. I watered, weeded, fertilized and babied my garden until I had the best one on the street. That is, until the family down the road moved in and that woman is a fabulous gardener. Curses to her Eden of bountiful flora which makes me glow with envy and examine it closely everytime I walk by!

This year I've got in about the same but I'm also diversifying. I've got in marigolds as well, they are severely underrated for their beauty and colour. The orange just glows like little suns... just don't let me catch that bunny who damaged a bunch of them... I'll make rabbit stew outta you! I'm learning about roses too, after careful research into how to care, feed, breeds and such I decided to go to the local nursery and pick up some hybrid tea roses. I've planted 3 shrubs this spring . They are hardy, with beautiful blooms and are a good choice especially for a rose novice such as me. In the front I currently have a Las Vegas, a Lions International and in the backyard a Morden Centennial and I'm also proud to say they are all doing very well.

I've been waiting rather impatiently for them to bloom as looking at a picture of what my roses are supposed to look like just isn't the same. And now I'd like to present to you my very first blossoms:

Las Vegas













Lions International













Please ignore the imperfections on the Lions International rose (yellow).... I wasn't quite so dilligent with the aphids as I should have been and they had a feast on the bud before it bloomed. Rest assured I have since been on guarded duty squishing the critters as soon as I see them with my fingers. Aphids and rose slugs are amongst the easiest pests to kill! So if you're feeling a little down, I hope my pretty flowers help cheer you up coz I sure was happy when I ran out the front door this morning in my jammies just to see them!

Cattle Car Scuffle

Humans are very trainable, in that we're like cattle. Pull a mass transit car into view, open the door and we all line up pushing and snorting our way in and settle down for the ride to the slaughterhouse. Riders can be so uncivilized when they see a seat and want to, need to, have to sit in it. I've seen women shove kids aside, men barging their way through the crowd and people running and sitting on two seats so that their friend who wasn't aggresive enough and now is way at the back of the line can sit once he or she finally gets on. Our backpacks and briefcases have become weapons of mass displacement as we push and mold a little more space for ourselves amongst the crowd. Piss me off by shoving too hard and I'll jab the corner of my briefcase into your side.

This morning I was caught between a beast and a hard place. It occurred right inside the doors where the plexiglass barriers are located. My right shoulder was to the plexiglass and a big rhinoceros of a woman to my left decided she needed the one remaining seat to our right and I was in her way. Almost as if I didn't exist, she took a hard right before we had both cleared the barrier with the desired effect of either cutting me off or smooshing me into the plexiglass, thereby performing fusion with just the pressure from her girth. First of all, I didn't even see the seat so to be fair we weren't in any kind of race. Secondly, I don't like to be pushed around. Third, having to move my head from side to side just to fully capture her hefty body in my field of vision... I don't think she would've fit in the seat anyway. She might've been big enough for me to start satelliting around her body but being small has its advantages. I can squirt around in tight spots and move quicker than the average city bear. And I can hold my ground. So rhino lady got a nice, sharp shoulder to her abundant chin-slash-chest-slash-belly, enough to slow her momentum and for me to walk on by. Imagine my surprise when that empty seat appeared before my eyes, and imagine my smug smile when I realized that's what she was headed for and my butt now occupied it. Imagine her snorting and pawing at the ground in defeat. That's right bitch, go stand in the corner and sulk.

I'm usually gracious in giving up my seat if I see a parent with young kids, elderly citizens or someone who just looks beat and needs to rest up before continuing on their journey. I do not take to rude shovers and aggresive riders kindly. Cattle may jostle for space in the cattle car but somehow they seem more orderly than people. Irony.

Copycats

Tuned into the hockey game last night as the national anthems were being sung. I suppose now that the Oiler fans have shown their love for team, game and country by singing out loud our national anthem the Americans have to do the same and sing along to theirs? It's sad they couldn't think of their own "thing". This also applies to the lucky silver dollar they buried at centre ice... where have we seen that before?! They have to grab onto something that's already. been. done. Feh.

I noticed that their rendition didn't even come close to Edmonton's in terms of volume and passion but that's just me. Maybe it's just coz I think they're one big huge flock of sheep. Is that too harsh? Perhaps. They've also got a massive inferior superiority complex in that they always have to one-up everyone else. Oh, so you can sing? We can do it too... but better! I suppose I could overlook this instance of gross imitation as long as they don't get too excited with themselves and dub one of their cities Hockeytown or something equally mindless...

Train Flap

The situation, middle aged lady sitting against the wall facing the end of the train. Empty seat directly in front of and perpendicular to her facing the side of the train.

Her side of the story:
I was just sitting quietly and reading my newspaper when this young person without looking or warning plopped down on top of my paper. After that she didn't even turn around to apologize or acknowledge that she had disrupted me. I was a trifle annoyed because I was in the middle of a really interesting article and my concentration had been broken. Also, my paper is now crumpled which results in me having to give it several vigourous shakes to undo the creases. I continue reading the paper but because the seats and space allotted per person are so small I accidently jab her with the end of my paper several times as the train jumps and jolts.

My side of the story:
ZZZzzzzzzz... empty seat... zzzzzz... newspaper spread out all over it, maybe left there...zzz sit. Wha? Older lady makes loud noises of contempt and starts flapping the paper I had just sat on and now pulled out from underneath me in my face while continuing to snort her displeasure audibly... zzzz... Wha.... whaaat? Why's she keep flapping that thing beside my head? I oughta grab it an...zzzzzz..... Ow, hey.. why's she keep poking me now? I'm not doin' nothin'... jus' tryin' to slee... zzzzzz....... Quit it, zzzz.... Quit it, zzzzz.......

Changing Tastes

Remember when I wrote about my maturing taste buds? I think I'm just starting to realize how much they have changed and sometimes I mourn a little for not wanting to stuff my face silly like a kid anymore. When Mr. Stinky and I go grocery shopping we joke about how the conveyer belt is filled with fruits, vegetables, non-white bread and other foods that are "good for you". How boring. Our meats are all raw or flash frozen in their natural states, as breaded fish sticks and gooey chicken wings aren't even on our radar anymore. How boring indeed.

I used to beg my mom for yummy foods like chips, pop and cereal with sugar contents so high I could've really just dumped white sugar into a bowl of milk for the same effects (which by the way I used to do coz I thought milk tasted super bland and that sugar slurry at the bottom totally made the rest of my day!). She said no most of the time because "they're not good for you" but my young, undeveloped mind rebutted with the logic that 'if it wasn't good for me why do they make it taste so friggin' good'? Apparently adults don't think on the same wave lengths as kids and asides from Hallowe'en I rarely got to stuff myself full of crap. We got cookies, though... from the Dad's cookie factory. Bags and bags of it. Truckloads, actually. But they had to be oatmeal and unchewy, which when you're really craving Chips Ahoy or Oreo just doesn't cut it. These extra dry, crunchy snacks had the ability to suck the moisture out from your insides. You really can't drink enough water to keep up with those suckers and I've grown up with a healthy aversion to oatmeal cookies from that childhood trauma.

I have to appreciate my mom for looking out for me now. Now that I buy my own groceries or snacks it's so healthy it's laughable but at least I know the processed and artificial ingredients won't cause my butt to leak uncontrollably afterwards. Ingredient and nutrition labels are examined, not just the price anymore. Toaster strudels are currently on sale at my local supermarket, I was really tempted to buy some but after a moment's reflection I decided to bypass them because they are so greasy and loaded with sugar. I water my juice down to 50-50 or 60-40, I don't like candy, I don't like chocolate, I like ice cream once in awhile (not the ones with all kinds of candy chunks and such.. they look like frozen barf to me), bacon is a once a year thing when we go camping, not really a cookie and chips fan... a yummy snack to me now is fruits (!) and cheese. Ho-hum!

And yet I crave odd foods once in awhile. I've had dinners consisting solely of red wine and cheesy puffs when Mr. Stinky isn't home so sometimes I do revert to being a kid again, eating weird stuff and calling it a meal. Shout out to Wolf Blass, Yellow Label Cabernet Sauvignon. Goes with everything baby, go get some.

Germ Prejudice

I can admit that I'm halfway on the road to becoming a completely neurotic hypochondriac. I wash my hands constantly and when people cough or sneeze near me I hold my breath, fan the air in front of my face and evacuate from the germ cloud area pronto. I also always manage to spot people picking their noses or picking their teeth right before they use that same hand to open a door, hang onto the bus rails or anything I might touch and it makes me cringe.

One thing that I notice is that I generally give more leeway to some people more than others. Attractive, well-groomed and familiar people don't generate as much of a reaction from me as others who look a little sloppy, not as attractive, older and even from different races. I know, it's totally discriminatory and baseless and I don't really know why exactly there's a difference; forcefully expelling air and fluids from inside of your body contaminates the air just the same with any person. Being black, brown, yellow, purple or white doesn't make any difference in germ quality or quantity so why the difference in reactions?

Perhaps subconsciously I'm thinking that if you're not perfectly groomed your hygiene habits might be lacking and therefore you are germier? I'm not sure how the whole attractiveness factor works into this logic but it does. Good looking people gross me out less than not good looking people. And the race thing... that might be the whole Western culture that's obsessed with sterility more than anything. Not that the rest of the world isn't clean, but they tend not to be as anal about the zero germ culture and body bouquets as us.

I suppose if I'm not outwardly telling people that they're grosser than someone else nobody gets hurt, right? How would I explain anyway that ugly guy's sneeze is dirtier than hot guy's cough anyway? I might be a germist but I'll try to keep that to myself in your presence just because they might send me to the loony bin if I tell you my reasons for being a germist. Just don't project your contaminated air in my direction and we'll be good.

Contingency Plan

With the daily media revelations about these "Homegrown Terrorists", I'm planning my escape/survival route from work. It seems these idiots who in a whole other tangent, are the product of society and how we isolate certain groups but the parents being the dominant influences in a child's life shall remain blameless because they didn't know what their kids were up to and besides, these are all the conspiratory lies spun by the government to deflect focus on more real and important issues happening in the world. Oh we are the poor and downtrodden!

Anyway, from the news it seems these guys wanted to blow up some buildings in the downtown core. I'm in the downtown core. Among the selected are the CSIS building on Front Street West and the CBC building on John Street, both of which are of close proximity to where I put in my daily 8 hours. Me no likey. A lot. So I've decided that should anything happen, anything at all... if a ladybug should fart, I'm outta there! I love love love being nosy and rubbernecking, but I must wean myself of this inquisitive habit. I don't want to be like one of the victims of the Halifax Explosion who ran down to the shore to watch a loaded munitions ship burning in the channel, forgetting that the stuff inside were made to explode, burn and kill. I won't be like the poor people in the World Trade Centre towers who stayed in their offices because the buildings were supposed to be strong enough to withstand any attack. Granted, they were told to and believed that staying inside would be safer than going out, with the chaos and falling debris but that's not for me.

If something should happen downtown, even if it's not near my workplace I'm leaving. I don't want to be the sitting duck waiting to be picked off by crazy nutjobs, one cubicle at a time. I can grab my stuff in seconds and get the hell out of the area. I will assume that the city would be shut down so no mass transit... not that I'd want to get on the train anyway. I've seen Speed and enough footage of bus bombs from the Middle East to know that's not too smart so I'm going on foot. It'll take me a long time to get home but that's OK. Given the alternatives I don't think I'd mind having sore feet too much.

It's Haawwwt!

Yah man. It literally went from cold and miserable to hot, humid and yucky overnight. This is Southern Ontario spring, the climate doesn't know exactly what's what. It just jerks around like a driver learning on stick until the gear catches and all of a sudden it feels like summer.

Last night I stayed cool by cleaning the fridge. Oh yah, it was lovely. I could've taken every condiment and leftover tupperware out, deshelved the thing and crawled inside. Mr. Stinky would've come home to melting crap all over the counters and me safely tucked into the big white box shivering with contentment.

It's not the heat the bothers me as much as the humidity. When it's hot you can turn on the fan and "feel" cooler. With the extra moisture in the air, nothing short of an air conditioning unit relieves the discomfort. Lucky for us, we don't have one of those fandangled things. Instead we have the convenience of cold showers. Two days ago I had the tap turned to... 9:30-ish? Last night I was soaking in lovely 2:00 temperature. Then I stepped out of the shower, towelled myself off and started to sweat again. It's kind of nonsensical how everything occurs out of order.

The house was much cooler downstairs so that's where I mainly spent the evening. When it came time for bed we decided to head down memory lane and blow up the air mattress in the basement... that's where we slept all of last summer when it was crazy hot and gross. I don't really know how we managed to make it through those months but somehow we did. We stayed in the basement or went to the malls and supermarkets to suck in the cool air. That's what losers with no a/c do... walk up and down the freezer section until closing time.

I'm happy to announce that tonight will be the last night Mr. Stinky and I are forced to share sleeping arrangements with the furnace, freezer and several other appliances. Tomorrow, we get our own brand spankin' new a/c unit to chill the house back down to acceptable levels. This will result in general contentment in our little love nest and a sizeable bill every month to pay for this contentment. So let's all join in a circle and sing that little ditty that you can't get out of your head once it's jangling around in there.

Hands in my pocket, hands in my pocket, hands in ma pocket!

But at least I won't be so hot that I sweat right through my pocket and soak your hand too!

Beauty Is the Grunt

Today is garbage and yard waste day in my neighbourhood and as I am usually ready to go before Mr. Stinky I went out to drag the stuff down to the curb. No problems with the garbage, I can carry full bags on heels. More difficulties with the yard waste bag. You know, they really should put handles on those biodegradable paper bags. Yard stuff is heavy and being smooth and slippery with no discernible grippy parts, I had problems lifting and holding.

I called Mr. Stinky over to help but by the time he got close I had managed to heft the bag off the ground and carry it to the curb. As he watched, I placed the bag down and random guy from down the street drove by. To flatter me, Mr. Stinky told me that I had just been checked out but we both knew the truth: random guy was totally impressed that the chick in the skirt was dragging heavy waste material to the end of the driveway for pickup while Mr. Stinky stood and watched. He was probably trying to figure out how to get that arrangement to work at his house in the coming weeks.

Update, Please?

I haven't been inspired to write lately. I feel like I should to prove I'm not getting lackadaisical about my updates... actually, I am. Nothing's happening in my life that makes me want to type and backspace (mostly the latter), spell check and post. I feel guilty about it and believe me, I've started many a post only to delete them because the only thing that pisses me off more than not writing is writing something not worth reading. Call it integrity guilt... I wouldn't subject you to reading something that starts and ends nowhere, with a bunch of used toilet paper sandwiched in the middle.

So here it is, to assuage my shame I'm telling you I got nothing just so I've got something. I'm publishing words that explain nil and essentially is a waste of everyone's time. The only thing worth mentioning is that I'm starting to PMS again... the inner bitch is quickly bubbling up from the depths and sending everyday bitch to the hyperbaric chambers with the bends for the next little while. What was that about now? No idea. Just don't cross my path for the next 2 weeks.

Apparently that means I'm halfway decent for 2 weeks out of the month. Who doesn't like batting .500? Awesome stat in baseball, not so good as a hockey goalie. Tomato, tomahto. Whatev.

Go Ottawa!

Really Growing Up

I went to a wedding yesterday, it was for a childhood friend I've known forever. We were never close and we don't keep in touch since I left the church but we were from a group that were of the same age and grew up together every weekend that we saw each other. It was a lovely ceremony, there were lots of people there and lots of love in the bride and groom's eyes. I like going to weddings, I like seeing us all grow up and start our own lives.

Since leaving my childhood church I've lost contact with a lot of good friends. Sometimes I miss them, sometimes I don't. Sometimes I miss all the fun we had and other times I think about how much of an outcast I was with the parents because I was different. Memories are like a kaleidoscope, different pieces come up everytime you think back. It's a wonder how much can be forgotten, remembered and forgotten again until the next time the tube spins and the pieces fall together again.

One person I saw yesterday brought up a whole slew of memories. He's 2 years older than me, a real Casanova back in the day. We'll call him Jack. Growing up during the teenaged years was all about having fun and flirting. I didn't usually take all that seriously because I knew it wasn't real, nobody falls in love at the age of 14. Even so, the bantering between friends is fun enough, and this way nobody gets jealous coz we're all doing it. Jack was a ladies' man, he looved flirting and hooking up with girls and having girlfriends and giving the "do me" eyes and making girls want him. He thought he was God's gift to the female race and could have anyone he wanted. He used to tell me quite often that if I was just a year older....

I was always like, whatever. I liked him but I didn't like like him.

So when we made eye contact yesterday after 5 (?) years, we smiled at each other and said hi. Well, actually, I smiled and he gave me the Jack-patented "do me" eyes. It didn't faze me, in fact I actually felt sad for him. There I was with Mr. Stinky by my side and there he was sitting all alone. There is absolutely nothing wrong with being single, he just looked... alone. We tried to strike up a conversation but it wasn't the same as when we were kids. There was no connection and it quickly ended, but not before I asked how he was doing and he said something like, "Oh, I'm hanging in there..."

What does that mean? Is he in trouble? Is it the "line" now? Am I horrible to not inquire further? Whatever the case, we left not long after that and by then I suppose he had meandered somewhere else to catch up with others. It doesn't matter, all I know is that when I think of Jack from now on I'll have imprinted in my mind the memory of him sitting by himself and trying too hard to impress. Still.

Two Field Goals and a Touchdown

As per Don Cherry's comment last night. What a game between Ottawa and Buffalo, 13 goals! I love watching exciting games like that. It's like, what's going to happen next? Who's going to score next? How many more pucks can they possibly put in the net??? I couldn't believe the action that happened within the last 5 minutes of the game; edge of the seat stuff, man.

Having said that, I'm all for cheering for Buffalo and am totally psyched about this series. I think it'll be super fun to watch and they might even take it to 7. I'm even hoping they win the Stanley Cup. If not the (stupid) Leafs, then I'd settle for distance association... and they have a nice arena. I even like the angry buffalo with steaming nostrils and glowing eyes they got in there. And the fans area great too, they don't seem to be of the corporate schmoozing kind that don't care for the game. I like that.

P.S. I love Don Cherry, I don't care what anyone says. He may not always be right but he's always honest. And funny. And cool. And full of stories. And entertaining. So there.

Night Songs

Early this morning I was stirred out of my sleep by a strange sound from outside. It's been warm lately, so the window was opened for some fresh, cool air while we sleep. At first I thought it was a bunch of birds screeching away but looking at the clock, I thought "2:45am? They'd be sleeping right now." As I laid there listening, the sounds became more distinct. Mr. Stinky woke up too and we realized the sounds were made by a pack of local coyotes howling and yipping.

It was really beautiful to hear, wildlife in the City (almost) although from time to time we do see deer around too. Coyotes seem to be a little more elusive to our area.

The sounds came to an abrupt stop and I was thinking they had either caught a neighbourhood cat or were on the hunt for one. Do coyotes sing to begin a hunt or to celebrate a successful one? Either way, I was imagining them running through the bush by themselves and within the pack or gorging in a bloody feast.

A few minutes passed and they started up again. For a second time, we awoke to listen to the "Ooouuu..." and "Yip-yip-yip-yip!"s before they faded away into the darkness again. It was so cool.

Stalker

Saw my old stalker today. We made eye contact, I permitted a quick smile and scurried along. The woman freaks me out, I don't know what department she works for, just that she's in my building. I don't know how it started or ended but I'm glad she's out of my life and I only have to see her once in awhile.

I visit the washroom every morning after I come in to work. She was always in there. At first she just stared at me when I was at the sinks washing my hands. Then it progressed to "Hi" and then small talk. I didn't mind at first, what's a couple of pleasantries now and then?

It started to get freaky when she began cutting me off before I got to the door to leave and insist on a conversation. Soon she was bombarding me with questions about my private life, my family, clothes and such. Discomfort usually turns on my aloofness and I'd have to politely give some non-answers while purposely making my way to the door.

I endured, I'm not easily scared away so I stuck it out even though there were daily horror stories to share with friends and co-workers. What finally made me throw the towel in, change washrooms and hide everytime she saw me from thereafter was that fateful morning she sent chills up my spine...

So she was there as always, when I entered and did my thing. I noticed when I came out to wash my hands she was just leaning against the counter on the other side of the washroom watching me. O..K... We have wall to wall mirrors so I kept my eye on her while she had hers on me. She stared. And stared. Finally things got vocal:

"Nice pants."

"Thanks."

"You got them at Jacob."

"...Yes..."

"They were on sale for $34.99 and you have another pair just like it in brown."

YOWZA! "....Uh........huh...nnn....."

That's when I broke all laws of physics and got the hell out of there without using the door.

She tried to track me down a few times after that episode but I made a point of ignoring her, staring past her if we met in public and turning away if I saw her trying to talk to me. There was no mercy, I had to do it cold turkey. She got the point after awhile and left me alone. I do wonder sometimes if she ever found a new victim and what became of him or her. If you ever see her, turn around and walk away. Fast. She is about 4'10" and looks like this. Just imagine the hair and glasses rims black. You could recognize her from a block away.

How to Make the Stinky Girl Simper

"Two ten-ride tickets to Union Station please."

"Two?"

"Yes."

*tap tap tap.. tap... several quick glances up from the buttons*

"Are you a student?"

"Me? No................. but thaank youu...."

*smile*

*simper like a lunatic*

Easy peasy.

Moron

Yesterday I was on the RT going to Scarborough to meet up with Mr. Stinky after work. Between Midland and Scarborough Town Centre, someone had flipped up sections of sod to make some kind of message and I wanted to see it. Approaching the spot I could make out "YES". There was another letter in front of it and I waited eagerly to see what it was. Then I saw it, it was an "E".

What the hell? What does E YES mean? Is that a gang name? Is that some kind of gang message? What a stupid name. That's like, meaningless. E YES... I don't get it......... oh... wait........ *siiiiiigggghhh*

Moral of the story? You don't have to be blonde to be a blonde.

0bl!t3r8!ng 0bsc3n!ty*

I often wonder when people are angry or frustrated and they write it down on their websites, why they use symbols and stars to swear. The reader knows of their intentions, the author has made clear what his/her intentions are, it's not like I can be confused when I read "@sshole".

So why the deliberate change? Are they scared of being caught swearing? Is it the childhood guilt of being told that it's a bad thing that they can't quite wash away? Is it the safe way to express anger and still retain a good image? I don't get it. Like I said, it's not hard to decipher "sh!t or f*ck so whether or not you replace the vowels with meaningless symbols you're still cursing. Right?

I have no problems with swearing. It's an easy way to express myself without having to be intelligent. As long as I'm not doing it around kids I don't see why an occasional cuss is wrong. Bad words to me, are for emphasis. I'm not the kind of person who peppers every sentence with fucks, shits and goddamns.

So if you're going to swear, go all the way. None of this halfway cowardly shit. Don't be a pussy, if you want to say fuck then you have the right to do so. If you can't bring yourself to do it then you should just stay away from these bad words completely. Try darn or shucks or my goodness.

I Spy With My Little Eye...

Sharp. Pointy. Painful to watch.

No, not your audition for Canadian Idol. I'm talkin' about women in high heels and stilettos.

Heels give height, they are sexy and eye-catching. They add to the mystique of the feminine form while filling men with dirty and sweaty fantasies. Stilettos are ultra-femme sexy with an edge: "I can balance on 3 inch points and I've got long, shapely, smokin' legs. Don't mess with me, I can circumcise you with my physics-defying toes." If Xena were around today she'd be busting chops with her leather bustier and skirt and knee high stilettos while seducing the handsome hero; she'd totally be every guy's wet dream. Xena: Sexy Warrior Princess. She'll kick ass and get some too.. Hoooahh!

It's very bad form when I check out a heel-wearing chica and she doesn't flow. Wearing high heels is a skill, balancing on an itty bitty piece of plastic is no easy feat. Not only must you master balance, you must also acquire coordination and walking skills. Pivoting on a dime? No problem. I cringe when I see wobbly ankles, wobbly like they might just snap off at any moment. Precariously perched (alliteration time!), these women look like newborn foals who don't know how to work their legs or 7 year olds trying on mommy's shoes for the first time. Ladies, it's not sexy when you can't walk properly. I don't see femme fatale when I watch you walk like that, I see inverted bobble heads.

You need to practice how to walk in heels at home, away from the critical public eye. If you can't achieve nirvana in heeldom, don't wear them. Try something a little shorter, it'll be more stable. Too many women out there are ankle biters, too many limping around pathetically and the cardinal taboo: bandaids.

EEeeoouuuuww! I don't want to see those! First of all, if you've got on bandaids your shoes don't fit properly. Second, maybe you should be wearing something else while your blisters and scabs heal over. Bandaids don't scream sex, more like pain and pus-y, gaping wound. Sick. You can't hide them either, you might as well have on neon Scooby Doo bandaids on. It's all the same, people. will. notice. And don't think that they can be counted as accessories either. Unless you're a rapper...

Embrace your womanhood, express yourselves and love what you were given. That also means your feet, ankles, legs, hips and back. Your feet are the foundation on which you stand, screw with them and you'll be sorry.

Splish Splash

Let's beat this very dead horse until it turns into a mushy puddle of V8. Why, in this day and age are you still not washing your hands after using the toilet? You think nobody notices, but I'm very astute. I see dry sinks, I notice how little time passes between the flush and your exit from the washroom and I can hear how long the water is turned on and the lack of noise from the soap pump. I've also got spies working with me, we're a tight network and we keep a running list of candidates for grossness. Male or female, you will be seen so beware.

Pumping the soap but not rubbing is not proper hand washing, you're just washing a glob of goo off your palm. It doesn't matter how many times you pump, if you don't rub it doesn't work. I'm not oblivious to your pretensions of soap pumping either while we're standing next to each other and you've got the water on. I may not be watching you but my peripheral vision still works and since I don't hear the pump being used.... And while we're at it, if you're going through all the motions why don't you just do it?!? Lastly, turning on the taps and flicking your hand through the water once or twice doesn't do anything other than moistening your hands.

So maybe you think a simple rinse is enough. Fine. Just do it at home where you can recycle your own germs but in a very public place where the washroom is frequently used, even if you don't pee on your hands there are germs everywhere. Think about the door handle to go into the washroom, the stall door and lock. You have to touch everything twice, once before and once after. You have to touch the taps twice as well. Now think of the daily traffic....

I'm OCD enough as it is already what with the constant hand-washing, paper towel to open washroom doors, holding my breath and running away when people sneeze or cough, econo-sized jug of hand sanitizer with pump action on my desk and another purse sized sanitizer bottle at the ready. I can't even shake someone's hand or use another computer terminal without heading immediately to the nearest sink to wash my hands afterwards. I don't need your help to make me a total hypochondriac, thank you very much. I can do that all on my own.

And for God's sakes, I really don't want to see you come out of your stall (especially after a poopy or during those special 5-7 days of the month), walk out to the sinks and start picking your teeth or fixing your lipstick or rubbing your eyes or anything to do with your orifices. That's just sick.

Mmnnnhhh...

It's dark outside again when I wake up . It's so haaarrdd...














I like doing this much better when it's dark out..

Even Ikea Gives Me Screws

On Saturday we picked up the new island we had wanted since the house was purchased. It took over a year before we even had the means to make this big purchase and now it's just become a part of our overall debt.

It came in a few pieces: countertop, cabinets, bar top and supports. We were delighted that it was finally coming home with us, not too thrilled when we lego-ed it together and found that none of the pieces "fit". Oh sure, we could push them up against each other but the pieces didn't quite line up, weren't flush or level and the worksmanship was lousy at best. Several things were cracked or had obviously been put through some trauma... luckily they were to be hidden so you could argue that it didn't matter that they were damaged. But really, I'm paying with both my kidneys here. I should be expecting nothing but perfection.

What was really frustrating was that we didn't get any screws with our island. We were told "everything" was there but I guess screws aren't part of "everything". Since we're not carpenters or cabinet makers, how besides eyeballing and guessing, would we know exactly what to use to put this thing together? You want to make sure the pieces are secure but you don't want screws coming up out of the countertop either. Luckily we could refer to our existing counter and make some good guesses. We only had to visit Home Depot twice and it took all of Sunday, with a lot of tense, breath-stopping moments but it finally got done. Mr. Stinky even had enough confidence to rectify the crooked drawers and cabinet door the so-called professionals had so badly installed. If you opened the middle drawer it would actually catch the top drawer and pull that out too. Without using a level, you could clearly see how slanted it was.

Anyway, aside from the stress and frustration we managed quite well and here are the results. We promptly ran out and bought some bar chairs with Mr. Stinky being the eager shopper for once, and had a celebratory dinner on our new island. Come over to check it out, just don't put full body weight on it, the bar top is only held up with brackets. But still. It's sweet.