HannaRockhead

Tweet Tweet, my lovelies.

2008-10-10T23:35:00.000-05:00

editing

2007-08-26T19:11:00.001-05:00

Editing is a funny thing.

It makes the dumb look clever, the kind look phony and the old and tired look alive and well.

But what happens when you start to edit yourself?

You die.

Maybe that’s a bit dramatic.

You dilute yourself...and then you start to die.

Thanks to everyone who has read my blog over the years. I’m killing the HannaRockhead persona and will resurface under a different moniker that I won’t be divulging.

Why?

Because editing is a funny thing?

What, did I stutter?

the world is a vampire

2007-08-11T08:36:00.000-05:00

I hate it when I get quiet.

I like to consider myself fairly self-aware (maybe I’m confusing being self-absorbed with self-aware) but every once in awhile I get quiet and it’s not until my husband points it out that I realize that I’ve been sucked into my own brain and have been in an internal coma for who-knows-how-long.

And when I snap-out-of-it I have a wicked hangover from trying to self-medicate.

I fucking hate that.

So I’ve been a little more aggressive about pulling the thoughts from my head. It sounds strange but those of you who are introverts know what I’m talking about.

I won’t share the messy details with you.

Speaking of sharing the messy details, the new Matthew Good cd is fantastic and he does a really great cover of Moon Over Marin (and if you don't know who originally performed that song, you suck).

in my neighborhood

2007-07-24T17:21:00.000-05:00

I was oh-so-excited to hear that there will be a drive-in movie night (two nights actually) at the Carp Fair Grounds in August.

I love the drive-in.

I discovered my first love at the drive-in...Han Solo.

Love Han Solo.

(then I fell in love with Princess Leia but that's a differnt blog)

You can even go to the Carp Fair website to cast your vote for which movies you’d like to see.

So fun.

Too bad the movie choices suck.

I think I’d like to start my own movie night at the fair grounds and while you'd still be able to vote for what you wanted to see, the choices would be a bit different:

The Party
Repulsion
A Clockwork Orange
Zvengali
The Amorous Prawn
Dead Ringers
Mulholland Drive

And I’ll dress-up all goth-slut-1940s and talk between the features with a delivery similar to Robert Englund in that great Masters of Horror show.

Bring the kids, it’ll be fun.

um…do I look like a cooler girl?

2007-07-08T15:20:00.000-05:00

Well, I finally finished Season Three of Nip/Tuck (or Nip and Tuck as my husband insists on calling it).

I say “finally” but I think it only took me two or three sittings to make it through the entire season.

Now that I’m free of that monkey, I decided that it was time for a Brookstreet brunch. It was the perfect Sunday for it because...well, I don’t really need a reason.

I like Brookstreet for many reasons – they have nice art on the walls, the food is good and it’s usually maggot-free (for those of you who aren’t regular readers of this blog I’m referring to annoying little children and not the little worm normally referred to as maggots – I don’t want to give the impression that Brookstreet is unsanitary).

Brookstreet was not maggot free today.

As we walked into the restaurant we noted the gaggle of mommies who were there for a baby shower. There were about 20 women and they all had their babies in tow and once one of those babies started crying there was a chorus of tears filling the normally peaceful restaurant.

Bring on the champagne.

…we need to toast the dodging of that bullet.

Beside us on the other side was a family of three. Their child was about four years old and he was highly opposed to his mother cutting up his bacon. He threw a fit and started yelling at her that she was mean and unfair and that he didn’t like her anymore. He then became obsessed with his plastic Dora cup and crazy straw and became pulling the straw in and out of the cup making that annoying squeaky sound that only plastic cups and crazy straws can make. Neither parent seemed particularly concerned with the noise level at their table.

Special.

Then a father walked by carrying one kid while trying to catch the other. He asked the runaway, “Do you have to go to the bathroom?!” The kid confirmed. “Number one or number two?” I knew the answer by the smell in the air.

But by far the most entertaining part of the morning was the adult maggot at the table next to us.

It was pure entertainment.

He arrived with his parents, he looking at his Blackberry as his parents trailed behind him. They got to their table, he pulled out the chair and as his mother stepped closer to take the seat he sat his own ass in the chair. Nice. His mother awkwardly took a different seat and the son didn't even notice what had just happened because he was still buried in his Blackberry.

Their conversation was largely uneventful (yes I can carry on my own conversation with my husband while eavesdropping on the tables around me) but the son’s constant attention to his Blackberry was pissing me off and I wasn’t even at his table. He was basically ignoring his parents other than the odd comment about how great his box seats are or how connected he is at the local golf coarse.

I think he was trying to prove to his parents how successful he was.

Too bad his parents were unsuccessful at instilling manners in this boy.

While his mother was up getting another plate of food, he and his dad ordered eggs benedict. They ordered two because they thought that mom wouldn’t eat a whole one so son and mother would share an order. The mother came back to the table, the eggs arrived and son excused himself to go to the bathroom. The egg sat on his plate until he returned to the table ten minutes later. He ate half the egg and gave the leftovers to his mother. Now, personally, I would have ordered my mother her own egg but if we did decide to share one I would have offered my mother the egg when it arrived so she could eat what she liked or would have at least cut it in half as soon as it arrived at the table. I would not disappear for ten minutes and left it cooling on my plate and I would certainly not have eaten half of it and then offered the leftovers to my mother.

He was obviously a Neanderthal because he also addressed his server as “Honey”.

She's your server not your fuck buddy, asshole.

Some people’s children.

I like Brookstreet but I’m starting to ponder my fondness for it – hi-tech money feels a tad low class these days.

(The reference to the cooler is from Friday when my husband and I went out for dinner with a group of friends. The server tried to guess what we’d order to drink. He thought I’d like a cooler. I was highly insulted and asked “Um...do I look like a cooler girl?” before ordering a glass of red wine. Our friend at the end of the table ordered a watermelon cooler. Maybe some day I will learn to edit myself.)

2007-06-28T18:49:00.000-05:00

This is my new favorite cd.

It rocks.

It’s what would have happened if Johnny Cash was the lead singer of Joy Division all those years ago.

My husband says he doesn’t want to listen to it anymore because it’s too depressing but I’m trying to convince him to get beyond the vocals and the instruments and into the lyrics because they aren’t really that depressing.

Which is funny because one of our favorite cds of all time is Avalanche which, beneath it’s catchy exterior, will have you searching for the vodka and lifestyle meds by the time the cd ends. When either one of us gets depressed, there’s sure to be a Matthew Good cd in heavy rotation somewhere in our house.

But which came first – the chicken or the egg – is still up for debate.

in my neighborhood

2007-06-15T07:16:00.000-05:00

I had to sign a Code of Conduct at work recently – everyone did.

I found it a bit insulting.

Do I agree to not sexually harass my coworkers? Check.

Do I agree to not discriminate based on blah blah blah? Check.

Do I agree to not punch anyone in the face and steal their lunch money? Check.

It’s all common sense to me and as a member of the human race I agree to all of these in practice anyway – I don’t feel the need to contractually commit. But I did because that’s what you do when you’re a cubicle monkey.

Do I agree to not sell company secrets? Check.

Do I agree to not accept gifts that may blah blah blah? Check.

Do I agree to not make a deal with the devil? Check.

(I presume their talking about the corporate devil)

Now, I’m not always the biggest fan of the gang down at Ottawa City Hall but the fact that they sign similar agreements and yet plead ignorance as their defense when they engage in frivolity with the devil is completely moronic.

So then the City spells it out in case any future buffoons decide to plead ignorance. Okay. I thought it was fairly self-explanatory anyway but whatever.

But honestly, the thought that the City would need to hire a full-time watchdog to enforce ethics is just craziness and a sure sign that we’ve likely hired/elected the wrong people to begin with.

Motherfuckers.

Lest you think I’m 100% a City-hater, this is not a bad idea.

when i was just a little girl, i asked my mother what would i be

2007-06-12T06:37:00.000-05:00

Husband: Mmmmmmm, I love that smell. It reminds me of the perfume you wore when we first met. What is it?

Me: It's the mosquito coil I just lit on the porch.

So gross. Maybe his mom was right, I am a cheap little hussy.

i am a whorrendous bitch who is quickly rotting from the inside out

2007-06-05T17:58:00.001-05:00

There I am at work on Friday…

The Breeder: What are you up to this weekend?

Me: I have dinner with friends on Friday, I’m helping my brother build a deck on Saturday and then I’m out at Art in the Park on Sunday.

The Breeder: Sounds like a great weekend. You’re so lucky (the husband) will do fun things like Art in the Park.

Me: Ah no….he’s not coming with us. He’s at the cottage with his parents, his sister and her hyperactive kids for a couple of nights. I hope it fucking pours rain the entire time. I hope he’s so miserable with the little maggots running around that he’ll come home early to escape the madness and get a blow job.

(no, my ability to edit myself doesn't kick in at work either)

So, I go out for dinner on Friday and have a great time (and confess to my friends that I fucking hate that cottage…there are just no words strong enough for this passion) and when I get home there’s a handmade card on my pillow from my husband with words of love and a cute little semi-rhyming poem that has me running downstairs to see if the bit about “bubbly” has anything to do with champagne.

We all know how thirsty I am.

Sure enough there’s a bottle of chilled champagne along with one of those little white bakery boxes and inside is a little sprinkle cake (I love love love little sprinkle cakes).

And for later, there’s a bottle of Stoli in the freezer.

Champagne, pastry and vodka.

Could I love my husband any more at that moment?

I drank the champagne, watched the first season of Six Feet Under (I heart Brenda) and thought about what a huge bitch I am.

I hope that his love will last forever.

I know my bitchiness certainly will.

when the routine bites hard and amitions are low

2007-05-28T14:14:00.000-05:00

Me: The cemetery at the front of the property is...beautiful....it's really...

Husband: ....Interesting

(he says as though to save me from my own vocabulary)

Beautiful is exactly what I meant.

if people would stop picking their noses they wouldn't get sick so often

2007-05-25T06:55:00.000-05:00

This was an uncharacteristically emotional week.

I can get passionate at the drop of a dime but emotional is generally not part of my existence (blame it on the military upbringing).

Not sure exactly what happened except to say that there was a bit of physical pain, some old issues that arose, a decision to be made and a whole lot of tension to be had throughout the week...and I just don’t feel like anyone is “seeing” me at the moment.

Wow...okay...that must be it because as soon as I typed those words the tears started.

Urgh.

What was I saying?

Anyway, I think I might spend the day playing with this.

wrecked up and paralyzed, diamond dogs are sable-ized

2007-05-19T09:07:00.000-05:00

Ya know, there are just so many places to go with this ad.

I could comment on the world of plastic surgery and our society's pathetic attempt to stay young forever.

I could comment on the fact that this is clearly an ad targeted at women...but men age and sag also.

And what about the obvious...dogs being used to represent women and what that says about the state of feminism today.

I could go in a different direction altogether and comment on the cruel breeding practices that have led to serious health problems of that poor dog at the top of the picture.

But what really gets me about this ad...it’s just a really sad attempt at marketing.

And for those of you who would say “Ah yes but you’re talking about it so therefore it must be good marketing and blah, blah, blah...”.

Go back to school.

fuck yoga

2007-05-11T06:54:00.000-05:00

(working title: in my neighborhood)

Ottawa...Ottawa...Ottawa...

Well, it took the hiring of an Auditor to tell us what we already know, there’s a lot of waste at the City of Ottawa.

Most shocking.

I’m glad to see that the pothole guys are getting reamed. While I’m sure they are not all slackers, I’ve driven past many a pothole that a) is dangerously large with no end in sight or b) has six city employees staring at it as they lean against their vehicles watching the new guy fill the pothole with a goopy-steaming mixture of toxic chemicals and gravel. So much work...so little time.

I’m sure there’s waste in every area of our city government. Didn’t we all wonder why the city was threatening to cut police service or close libraries if they weren’t allowed to raise our property taxes again? I’m sure any monkey would be able to find enough slack to keep our current level of policing in place, leave the libraries alone allow grandma to stay in her house rather than her having to leave because of exorbitant taxes on a house she’s owned since the beginning of time.

Do city employees not see the connection there? How could a person knowingly contribute to something that causes so much chaos in their own city.

Here’s an idea, when the city looks to hire new employees, they should not hire anyone who applies. Let’s face it, we all know more than a few government employees who are in it for the “money for life” and paid holidays. Not all – don’t get excited. But knowing that birds of a feather, blah blah blah, why not go to a hi-tech start-up, your locally owned private company or neighborhood brothel and start to head hunt that way? Hard working people who might be tempted to try an escape if they thought they could make a difference in the quality of their community.

It all just seems so straightforward (though not necessarily simple).

Thankfully for the Mayor, there's a bright shiny object on the horizon. The Ottawa Senators are making their way towards the playoffs - it's the perfect distraction. Stay tuned for lots of "GoSensGo" rhetoric spewing from City Hall in an effort to get us thinking about things other than our city's own failure.

Those of you who are in the organized pro-deamalgamation movement - you need to strike while the iron's hot and the work is half-done for you. Where are you?!

In more positive neighborhood news, the Carp Farmers Market opens on Saturday. I love the market and I’m looking forward to chatting with Andy, the mushroom man, Mr. Heartland and the girl with the most cake. She’s cute, her cakes are cute and it makes me feel nice inside to look at those delicious little cakes as I wonder if today will be the day that I buy one to eat for breakfast (#5 on my Life List).

Truth be told, I’m really only into going to the market for the first couple of Saturdays. After that, I get tired of my fellow market goers. You know the type, the SUV driving, dog carrying, maggot breeding, season-ticket holding, Crocs-wearing pseudo-couple with their Nicole Richie sunglasses and Blackberries. This year, my husband and I have made a Plan B and we’re scouting out the Arnprior Farmers Market.

I’ll let you know how that goes.

but I'll go you one better, if you've got the nerve

2007-05-07T19:21:00.000-05:00

This is just generally a bad idea.

Imagine a bike race.

For families.

With small children.

In the early morning.

On Carp Road.

The Carp Ridge portion of Carp Road.

For those of you who don’t know Carp Road (greetings Poland), think of a road shaped like an S...only not as straight.

So, there I am driving to meet my friend Patti for coffee on Saturday morning when I see a child riding down the side of Carp Road.

Odd, it’s a bit early for a child of 8 years old to be out on his bike but the sky is blue, the sun is warm and there are probably some frogs to be caught.

So I’m driving and singing along to Rearviewmirror (because I do gather speed from you fucking with me) when around the next bend I see another child on his bike and he’s peddling his little 6 year old heart out...but he’s in the middle of the freakin’ road.

If you’ve ever witnessed a child on their bike, you know that they’re not so much cycling on the side of the road as much as they are cycling in the middle of the road and to say that they can be unsteady is an understatement.

Why is there another child on his bike and where is this child’s mother?

Oh wait...there she is.

Apparently tired of cycling at her child’s pace, she’s now ahead of him, her back to him (no eyes on him), cycling her little heart out (no helmet in sight).

Her child’s steering skills are obviously genetic because she suddenly stops, gets off her bike and turns to look where her child is...as she stands in the middle of the road.

(I want to honk at her to get the fuck out of the way but I'm afraid that the sound of a car horn will scare the dozens of little cyclists I see in the distance into the ditch - it's at this point that I realize that there's some kind of planned event happening).

And then she yells something at him.

Now, she very well could have been yelling “You can do it buddy, you’re doing great!” But the look on her face left me with the impression that it was more like “Hurry up, you’re too far behind, you lazy piece of shit.”

I really really hate those parents.

And I don’t know what the organizers of this event were thinking (or where the signs were) but is it really a good idea to encourage novice cyclist to spend time on the local Dead Man’s Curve?

2007-05-01T18:57:00.000-05:00

My husband has the serious hots for her.

...so she buys an instant cake and she burns her frozen steak....

2007-04-26T17:21:00.000-05:00

There are lots of things I like about getting older:

I don’t feel obliged to laugh at jokes because those around me are laughing

I’m not embarrassed to buy condoms (all hail the childfree!)

I can drink without feeling the need to drink to get drunk (though there are days...)

I don’t need to eat what’s on my plate

I can download music by Madonna and At The Drive-In without feeling like I’ve just conformed

I can choose my friends rather than having my relationships dictated by my proximity to the school

I don’t have to go to school anymore (hallelujah!)

I don’t feel I have to tell you the truth just because you ask me to

Wrinkles, however, are not my friend and I swear that I just saw one develop while I was looking in the mirror this morning.

honk if you're high

2007-04-21T08:32:00.000-05:00

...that's what the sign said.

I was driving down Katimivak Road after work yesterday and out pops this teenager from behind a backyard fence with a sign that says "honk if you're high". Actually, I think it said "honk if your high" but if you're actually high (and you'd have to be to hold up a sign like that in Kanata) you probably aren't concerned about your grammar.

So I honked.

why i hate the corporate world, reason #8

2007-04-08T10:34:00.000-05:00

Remember high school?

Wasn’t that a barrel of laughs?

Maybe not.

It usually cracks me up when work gets like high school. Mostly because I’m not involved with the antics and am able to just sit back, take it all in and laugh at the absurdity going on around me.

But this time I’m involved.

I’d hoped I had left high school forever but apparently that’s not the case.

It goes something like this: A hoity toity bitch has a job that she apparently finds too menial for her, she tries to get out of that job by ~~(allegedly)~~ fucking things up on purpose. That hasn’t succeeded because others are on to her and we’re all being paid to do our jobs so we’d better just get on with the task at hand. One day Hoity Toity gets tired of being asked to correct her errors so during lunch with a handful of co-workers she decides to seek revenge and share with them her thoughts on her nemesis and what a perfectionist-stubborn-control freak-cunt the nemesis is.

And in walks the nemesis (me, in case you’re not following my trail).

Now, if you’ve ever been trashed and actually stumbled upon the event as it was happening, you know what’s goin’ down. Everyone gets a weird dazed-and-guilty look, they quickly look at each other with that “oh shit, did she just hear us” expression and either look at the ground or stare off into space.

It’s fun to watch that pack mentality in action.

I’d really love to hear why Hoity Toity tells people she doesn’t like me (I don’t imagine she tells people she’s producing sub-standard work and doesn’t like me because I’m tired of finding mistakes in her work on a daily basis and am frustrated that after working with my group for over a year I still find her work to lack the quality that would be required for me to stop double-checking her work after she’s finished – quality that my VP holds me accountable for).

The real kick in the teeth of this situation is that part of Hoity Toity’s crowd is a girl that I’ve known for 10+ years - we worked together when we were teenagers, she’s been to my house for dinner and she was at my wedding. As if it isn’t bad enough to have a co-worker being slanderous about me, someone I thought was a friend is really a traitor. If she didn’t have the backbone to say to Hoity Toity, “you’ve got her wrong”, then fine. And if she didn’t even have enough backbone to say “I can see where you’re coming from but that’s not my experience with her”, fine again. Not everyone has a backbone but for her to ignore me and look the other way as I passed is a hard pill to swallow.

Fuck her.

Fuck the corporate world.

I survived high school, this is nothing. I survived high school, this is nothing.

I survived high school, this is nothing.

beware...the recipe to crack has changed

2007-03-27T20:06:00.000-05:00

What a glorious Tuesday it was.

The sun was shining, the breeze was warm, the birds were singing and I found the old crack at Costco.

And by “crack” I mean Extra Bubblemint gum...but the old recipe.

If you’ve bought this gum from the grocery or corner store lately, you may have noticed the packaging has changed.

Do not be fooled, my crack-o-holic friends, it’s not just the packaging that’s changed, the recipe has changed also and now it sucks more than an insecure cheerleader on prom night.

It’s just a shadow of its former self. Very sad.

But don’t fret! All is not lost because you can still get the old crack (or Crack Classic if you prefer) at Dollarama and Costco.

Thank you Jesus. Stock up now.

Why do they always have to mess with perfection?

Speaking of perfection, Jim Bryson’s new cd, Where The Bungalows Roam, was released today.

If you’ve ever seen Jim live or heard one of his other two cd’s, you know why I’ve used “perfection” and “Jim Bryson” is the same sentence. I don’t own this cd yet but I have full-faith that it will go into constant rotation in my household (edging out my current favorite, Nightcrawler by Pete Yorn).

And if you haven’t heard Jim before, you suck.

why i hate the corporate world, reason #453

2007-03-21T21:19:00.000-05:00

the office baby shower

“Sara who?”, I ask.

I do know her a bit more than that...but really...she doesn’t care for the riff-raff with whom she must work so why any of us was there is a mystery. Though now that she’s knocked up she won’t have to tolerate us for much longer.

Still, we gave her a couple of cute outfits, bought a gooey cake and made awkward chitchat for an hour (about which species eat their young, no joke) before sending her on her way as we pondered how she’ll cope with her having her insides on display in the delivery room (don't break a nail, honey).

the reckless huggers...revisited

2007-03-19T17:14:00.000-05:00

Remember when I talked about making an effort to have a more positive outlook……that was pure comedy.

And short-lived.

And remember when I said that it’s a sure giveaway how I feel about someone by whether I hug him or her with one arm vs. the full embrace? I’ve discovered that that’s not entirely true. While I sometimes am forced to hug a person with whom I’d rather not talk with let alone have my boobs press against (aka reckless hugger syndrome), I will engage with the one-armed hug, however…I do sometimes hug someone I really do care for with one arm also. So while I always hug someone I don’t like with one arm, the opposite isn’t true in that not everyone I hug with one arm is someone I don’t really want to hug.

Does that make any sense?

And, yes, I’m trying to stop hugging people I don’t really have an affection for but making that kind of statement has its own perils.

i’m just a boat on the ocean, i’m just a ship lost at sea

2007-03-15T18:19:00.000-05:00

The trouble with being lost is that you might be apt to look for a light to guide you…

Morgan Spurlock – this is a good time to make your move.

I wonder where D.A. Pennebaker is these days?

are you finished chewing that gum?

2007-03-12T18:44:00.000-05:00

I've purchased the new Arcade Fire cd, Neon Bible.

Do you wanna hear what I think about it?

(yes Hanna, yes Hanna, please, please, please)

Well, I can't tell you because I haven't listened to it yet.

I've opened it.

I've put it in the cd player.

But I just can't press Play.

Why?

Because I really really love Funeral. Everything about it is magical. It's so magical that there is no possible way that they can make music that matches it magicness. And I’m afraid that if I listen to Neon Bible and don't like it that I will be forever disappointed and it will take away a little of my love for Funeral (and that just can't happen because it's my favorite walking-down-the-country-road-looking-at-cows music).

Don't laugh, I'm fickle, it happened with:

Pearl Jam (Vitalogy to No Code)
U2 (Joshua Tree to Rattle and Hum)
Stevie Nicks (The Wild Heart to Rock a Little)
Babes in Toyland (Fontanelle to Nemesisters)
REM (Green to Out of Time)
The Replacements (Pleased to Meet Me to Don't Tell a Soul)

...the list just goes on and on.

But then again any cd with a hurdy gurdy has to be great. So I should just get over myself and listen to it.

Right?

(someone please tell me that it's a great cd)

what the frickity frack......

2007-03-10T09:31:00.000-05:00

Okay, lets get sci-fi geek'ish for a moment.

There I am on a Wednesday night, just mindlessly surfing the channels, looking for something to watch that isn’t Lost when I stumble across the repeat of Battlestar Galactica from Sunday night that I missed. Yea! So I snuggle further into the couch and prepare to ignore my husband for the next 59 minutes.

So there's Kara in her usual fighter-jock-unstable-drunken-bad-girl-to-repress-her-emotions mode. Nothing new and I start to ponder where they could possibly go with her character if they're gonna keep her stagnant and horny all the time (I had high hopes after the boxing with Lee episode).

But there she is, flying and seeing toasters in the sky (my non-BG readers are now wondering how the toasters fit in) and Lee's trying to save her again. And she's flying down the storm cloud....and flying...and crying…and Lee’s trying to talk her back out…but she keeps flying and then poof.

Oh no she didn't!

What the fuck?

Did they just kill off Kara?

Or did she eject?

And if she ejected could she survive?

Or will she come back as a ghost?

Or is she dreaming?

Or maybe Lee’s dreaming?

And does it really matter? Any one of those options leads me to believe that I’ve just witnessed BG jumping the shark.

Unless maybe Kara is actually a cylon - that would be okay.

all those years of making fun of the shopping channel shoppers down the drain

2007-03-07T19:50:00.000-05:00

I feel cheap and dirty...I bought this from The Shopping Channel today.

(I also felt cheap and dirty on Saturday night but I can't tell you that story)

my husband makes a mean spinach soufflé

2007-03-01T21:19:00.000-05:00

As a woman who has never sprung a baby from her loins, I’m oddly interested in motherhood.

To qualify that a bit more, I’m interested in what happens to women after they have actually given birth and cope with their newfound reality. One day they are the person they have always been and the next moment they are someone completely different – changed for the better and sometimes not so much.

It’s said that the maternal instinct just “kicks in”. Not true. I know a woman whose mental development was halted the day she gave birth (one could argue that it halted a lot earlier than that). To her, her child is competition. Someone with whom she must compete with for the attention of her husband, the comfy spot on the couch and the last cookie. It’s one of the most heartbreaking things I’ve seen because it’s one unhappy person who willing gave life to a child but doesn’t want to nurture that life and is creating deep unhappiness for that child. Though I suppose taking a cookie from a child is trivial when you consider some of the other things that children are forced to cope with. But misery, like love, is subjective.

This whole thought process actually started with my opinion that that motherhood is a feminist tragedy – a bit dramatic of a statement (and possibly offensive to some) but the whole things seems to have been a bit commoditized and while pressure to conform in life is prevalent, I think it’s magnified for mothers.

pssssttt..ya wanna buy a bulb

2007-02-21T21:05:00.000-05:00

First they make us use water savers in our showers and now this.

I’m all for environmental sustainability but I think these are bad news for our mental sustainability. Ten years from now we’ll hear on Market Place that we were all part of a massively evil experiment sponsored by the good folks at Hydro and funded by our friends in the Government.

I see a good blackmarket opportunity developing here.

why I hate the corporate world, reason #3,658

2007-02-18T19:39:00.000-05:00

The "AskMe!AskMe!AskMe!Girl"

Men, don't be upset that I’ve excluded you here but I've never actually seen this behavior displayed by a guy. The need to talk to relative strangers about the most intimate details of your life to people you don't really know and who don't really care is generally a girl thing.

There I am, working at my desk like a good little cubicle monkey when the
AskMe!AskMe!AskMe!Girl walks past. I'm aware of her but I don't make eye contact because I'm busy and she's annoying. She walks past me, looking for The Breeder who sits behind me (if you recall, The Breeder is the one we struggled to replace for a year and resulted in my exposure to four completely useless replacements in the span of her year maternity leave).

Unfortunately for me, The Breeder was away that day and the AskMe!AskMe!AskMe!Girl wanted to talk.

Her: (sigh) Hi Hanna
Me: Hey (not looking up from what I was doing)
Her: Is (The Breeder) here?
Me: No, (little maggot) is sick so she's working from home.

(working from home is code for staying home, drinking too much coffee, watching Oprah and checking emails every couple of hours while your child is in a Tempra-induced sleep.)

Her: (another sigh). Oh. Well, I have to go to the doctors today and I wanted to tell her I wouldn’t be able to make our meeting today.
Me: Sounds like you're off-the-hook because she can't make it either.
Her: Okay.

(At this point she should have just walked away.)

Her: Yea, I have to go to the doctors.
Me: Right. Well, I'll let (The Breeder) know if she signs in.

(though seeing that she's not in the office either I doubt she'll give a rats-ass)

Her: I'm not really looking forward to the appointment. Can I tell you something in confidence?
(pause)
Me: Sure.

(I wont' tell a soul but I’ll write about it on my blog so the good people in the Ukraine can hear all about it.)

Her: I have to go the doctors for a pregnancy test. I mean, I took one at home the other day and it came out positive but you know those things are only so accurate. So, I called today for an appointment and the nurse thought I shouldn't wait to come in to see the doctro because of all the problems I had with my last pregnancy. I gained 50 lbs. with (baby maggot) Jennifer. Did you know that? My breasts were huge! My husband loved it because I’m normally only a B-cup but then I was a D-cup! Isn't that insane?! Anyway, I ended up really really sick and so if I am pregnant I need to be monitored throughout my pregnancy starting immediately. Which wouldn’t make my husband very happy because his boss gave him a hard time about him taking time off for the doctors appointments with (baby maggot) Jennifer so I’m going to have to go alone alot this time. Not that I really mind. I mean, he wasn't much help. You know, he didn't even touch me after he found out I was pregnant the first time. I didn't have sex for seven months! And they say that near the end of a pregnancy that sex can help instigate labor. But I don't get it, he drooled over my big boobs but didn’t touch me. Not that we have alot of sex anyway. We don't even really get along that well. I think he's tired because he works alot of hours but a woman got needs, ya know what I mean. Maybe the baby isn't even his..ha ha ha. Anyway, don't say anything.
Me: About the fact that it's not his baby?

(Maybe she hadn't noticed but I had turned back to my work at the "problems I had with my last pregnancy" stage.)

But the humor in all of this is that we work in a cubicle jungle and the five people that work over the wall from me have just heard a whole lot about a co-workers life that they wish they didn't know.

Me: Yea, I'll keep your secret.

kelly smells a rat

2007-02-12T20:15:00.000-05:00

Today when I hopped onto the treadmill after work I decided to listen to Funeral on my little pink Sony Bean. Choosing workout music is always a bit of a dilemma (like there aren't more worthy things to stress about) because I generally don't gravitate towards happy music but listening to Mazzy Star doesn't really get the heart rate up.

But I love Funeral (despite the title, it's pretty groovy in an non-Chemical Brothers kind of way) and it was the first recording in a long time that made me dance like a maniac throughout my house. I hadn't listened to it in awhile because I was guilty of overplaying it in the months after it was released but being that today was Monday and I needed a little extra encouragement to get my ass in gear, I thought it would be a wise choice.

By the end of the second song, I realized that I was feeling oddly good. The kind of good that makes you jack-up the incline to 7.5 and think twice about the "why" behind why you're feeling so good. I felt relaxed...maybe even content (which for anyone who knows me knows that almost never happens). I realized how long it's been since I felt that way and how far I’ve strayed. I traced back the months to try and piece together what was happening in my life at the time that this cd was a bigger part of my life (I love that music has the power to bring you to a certain place in time you hadn't even recognized had become part of the past). I didn't come up with much but I did realize why I don't feel that way today.

Things are going well.

Huh?

But in the backwards logic that is my mind, it all makes perfect sense....

Work - It's good. They love me, I like them. Things are getting done.
Love - Never been happier, more in love or had better sex.
Family - There's never any drama and everyone is relatively healthy and no worse case scenario's have come to fruition.
Friends - Not seeing enough of them but I’m blessed to have such a wonderful and diverse extended family.

My car is working, my pets are alive, my Christmas bills paid off and my motherf***ing bathroom renovation is complete.

Little wonder I’m a person of malcontent....the other shoe is going to drop in five, four, three, two......

it looks the same as it always did

2007-02-04T21:06:00.000-05:00

I find it really amusing when someone encourages me to express myself but becomes angry and wants me to shut up when they don’t like how I choose to express myself in that moment.

Kiss my ass.

the kanata superstore is pure evil

2007-01-28T19:19:00.000-05:00

You're probably expecting me to get all soapbox-y here and talk about the evil conglomerates taking over our society, how they're ruining our communities, how the big box stores are eating away at the fabric of our lives (though I don't believe I'm prone to being quite that cliche)...nope, not this time.

Why is the Kanata SuperStore evil?

Because I've only been there four times and I've seen five people I know but don't want to talk to (there was a two-for-one day in there somewhere). I've been oh-so-blessed to have seen...

The cute and perky constantly breeding former co-worker (I tried to avoid her but my cart ran into hers and she tried to keep pace with one of her loose rugrats

A friend of a friend who isn't really a friend but a sister-in-law whose extracurricular activities I know too much about

Two former co-workers who weren't there together but as I was actively avoiding one of them, she ran into the other so now I had two to avoid but as long as they were trading stories about how brilliant their offspring was they were much easier to avoid

The frenemy

And when I say "the frenemy", I really mean The Frenemy.

The frenemy who trash-talked me to my other BFF (who was trying to sabotage my relationship with a suitor before we actually began to suit - apparently there were alot of frenemies in my teenage years) and loved me to face but was really an evil little bitch who mocked me in The Pit (if you went to AY Jackson you know what I'm talking about) and sold me down the river (yet came knocking on my door when she found out about her then-boyfriend/now-husband's liaison with a certain little German cutie with good knee pads).

Love to hate to the frenemy because while she was perky and cute at 16 years old, cute and perky doesn't age so well and add to that a (still) cheating husband and two brats...you have one sickly soul. And while I hate to think I get any gratification from that, we all know I'm a jaded and judgmental little bitch myself so, yes, I do think that sometimes there is a little justice to be found here and there (logic would have it that if I can be on the receiving end of such Karma (hi Dee) that I can also be the observer every now and again).

I don't actually love to hate this particular frenemy and I don't actually hate the frenemy but I really really don't want to talk to the frenemy either.

I just wanted some apples, man.

What is it about high school and frenemies? Do frenemies exist because we befriend the wrong people in high school? Or do they become frenemies with the aid of hindsight? Does everyone have frenemies? Am I someone's frenemy? Don't you want to swim with me? Don't you want to feel my bones? On your bones..it's only natural.

See, if we were in person you'd have realized that I just broke into song a-la Judy Garland right there. But, no I'm making an exit from this train of though by evoking lyrics from my current favorite cd (but most hated song on that cd) Sam's Town. I would have never thought that a Killer's cd would be my flavor of the day but it does seem to make it onto my stereo, into my car and onto my Bean on a regular basis...though maybe not for long because I am fickle and March is usually a good music month.

Back to my original thought...only go to the Superstore if you're looking and feeling really great because you may just run into your past.

i pack my case, i check my face, i look a little bit older,i look a little bit colder

2007-01-21T21:09:00.000-05:00

Phew, glad that’s over.

I can pretty much be guaranteed that each and every holiday season I’ll slip into a depression. This year it was a little scarier than most and caused me to cancel dates with friends and stay at home watching TV all day with the curtains closed tight. There was no music coming from the speakers, no laughter on what should have been a carefree holiday and more self-loathing than any normal person could possible take and continue to stay somewhat sane. Had you asked me about this two years ago, I would have said that depression was something I experienced in the past and doesn’t really affect me anymore. Now, I’d have to say that the episodes are happening at an increased rate and that each time they are a little bit darker and take a whole lot longer to fully recover from.

Though whether I actually ever recover could be debated.

I don’t talk about this with people because I can hardly stand to hear the sound of my own voice try to explain why I hate everything and think the world is a vacuous, joyless black hole. I have everything: an amazing husband (whose love only makes me more sad when I’m in that state because I feel like I’m stomping all over his good years and that he should leave me for a carefree hottie whose biggest concern in life is how her ass looks in her jeans), a house I love, money in the bank, more lipstick than I could ever where in a lifetime, a couple of vehicles and other miscellaneous things with motors of varying horsepower, I have family that loves me and friends who tolerate me despite my eccentric behavior (and probably a few friends who love me because of my eccentric behavior).

I am poised on the cusp of being able to accomplish everything I can dream of...and if I fail miserably, I have a soft place to land.

If only I could get my head out of my ass.

And did I mention the world is a vacuous black hole and I am a First World brat?

So, how does all this relate to the picture? While I was in self-imposed seclusion I spent too much time watching the Food Network (because Battlestar Gallactica can't be on all the time) and this guy was trying to convince me that if I didn't have a bowl in which to serve my gazpacho that I should go into my shed and pull out a flowerpot to use. He did recommend cleaning it well but could you image if you went over to someone’s house for soup and you found out they were serving yout soup from a bowl that had been outside, full of dirt, worms, bugs and fertilizer that’s not fit for human consumption and has likely leached into the pot?

Tasty.

what to do if there are no clean slates?

2007-01-01T21:01:00.000-05:00

I don't make New Years resolutions because I know I’ll never keep them. But this year is different, this year I am making a resolution.

Want to know what it is?

It all started with a conversation with Sparkles....I spoke about my love of product and she spoke of her love of finishing a product, of using it to the last drop.

At first I thought this notion a bit odd and at conflict with the love of product and the laws that one must adhere to as a product junkie. Why limit your product buying if you love product? Why not buy something before something else runs out? Why not start using Product #2 before Product #1 runs out? What if you don't like product #2 after all? If a half-empty product #1 is still in your cabinet you have a fallback plan and you are saved.

The idea of actually finishing a product is unheard of for me (why smell like almonds when I want to smell like vanilla?). But Sparkles' love for actually finishing what she started struck a cord with me (mostly because I almost never finish what I start) so in 2007 I will make a concerted effort to finish a product before I start a new one.

To be sure, this will drive me crazy in the beginning but the prospect of tackling some of the other things in my life that need the attention of a resolution will fall to 2008 or 2009, 2010 or years abound).....

eat more veggies, exercise consistently, drink less alcohol, call my friends and family more often, buy less magazines/read more books, get less frustrated, re-discover my mojo, watch less TV, be nicer to my ignorant god-fearing neighbors, donate more time to others, save more money, return phone calls and emails, eat less meat, burn more candles, plant more tulip bulbs, lower the stereo volume, play nicer, stop mocking people, hate less, work less hours, eat only free-range eggs, become less aware of myself, unbegrudgingly ask for help when I need it, step out of the dark, get more massages, roll my eyes in disdain less, spend less time on the computer, find something to like in each and every co-worker, cook more, carry a smaller purse, shop less, be less bitchy, be more patient, spend more time with my nephew, hit the Snooze function on my alarm clock no more than once, plan more road trips, buy Canadian, enjoy each day as it presents itself, change my perception, be fiercely unapologetic for not wanting children, wake up earlier on the weekends, drink more green tea, be less guarded of my spare time, consume less learn something new, get rid of the garbage, smile more, lose the fake laugh, wear a better bra, buy more of my groceries from local farmers, enter a painting into a show, be unashamed of my freak flag, own up and stop lying.

Stop lying?

That's not gonna work well for my relationship with my mother.

a long time ago, we used to be friends but i haven't thought of you lately at all

2006-12-20T20:30:00.000-05:00

Coworker: So, what'd you do last night?

Me: Not much, made nacho's for dinner, watched Battlestar Gallactica and played Uno. I was in bed by 9:30.

Coworker: What, are you 12?

Ah 12.

Such a shitty age.

12 really sucked - pretty much all the pre-teen and teen years sucked. But I think they're supposed to suck so all is good.

Speaking of 12...

When I just a little girl I asked my mother "what would I be?"

(and if you're still wondering what I'm referencing, please stop readying my blog)

No, when I was 12, I loved General Hospital. I watched it every day, I read magazines all about General Hospital (yes, entire magazines devoted to GH) and wished I looked like Laura. All that Luke and Laura goodness. And that crazy Heather: murdering people, psycho wards, pretending to be a nurse and all that grand deception. That was some good tv.

Imagine my surprise when I find out about the Luke and Laura 25th Anniversary commemorative ring available at Sears.

Awesome.

It's a stroke of pure pop culture marketing genius (and some great gorilla marketing by Mel) because I know (despite that nobody will admit it) I'm not the only L&L fan from back-in-the-day.

I wonder if I'll meet someone on the street and notice that they have one and I'll be "like, omg, I loved Luke and Laura too!".

My husband is praying he's not with me when that happens.

Speaking of meeting people, Simon Pulsifer is in Time Magazine. What the fuck?!

Hi Simon.

he doesn't look a thing like jesus but he talks like a gentleman like you imagined when you were young

2006-12-15T08:33:00.000-05:00

"I'll have a rye 'n coke and don't give me that cheap rye you put in other people's drink's. That'll piss me off which'll reflect in your tip."

I'm amazed at the bad manners people display in restaurants.

Some people have atrocious manners in general but when it comes to wait staff and bartenders, the pool widens and people feel it’s somehow acceptable to be rude. I'd like to say that all my experiences in this area have been from observing strangers but friends and co-workers, who seem perfectly well-adjusted, can reveal an ugly side of themselves when faced with the task of ordering their food and drink.

I came across the rye 'n coke girl last night. She caught my eye because she seemed unsteady on her feet as she stumble from one end of the restaurant to the other on her way to the ladies room in her black crushed velvet sheath dress, brown paisley pashmina and red heels.

Ugly on the inside. Tacky on the outside. Perfect people watching material.

She really stood out because we were at a certain sports-type bar/restaurant frequented by the hi-tech community in Kanata. You go there, if at all, for beer and chicken wings and to watch the hockey game or the Ultimate Champion. You don’t get all whored up for this place (or maybe you do if you're looking to catch a new baby daddy).

The dynamic between her and her waitress was classic. The crushed velvet girl would order a drink and make a demand (more ice, less ice, more coke, less coke, etc. etc.), the waitress appeared unscathed but would then stand at the bar with her co-worker and mock the crushed velvet girl while the rye n’coke sat on her serving tray getting warm.

This went on for a couple of hours and it made for a highly amusing night – watching the crushed velvet girl become more intoxicated and more obvious about hitting on a guy that was at the other end of her table. Though it did become a bit sad because no one likes a drunk cougar and it was apparent that she was trying to get the attention of this guy who wanted nothing to do with her. He in his crisp black dress shirt and gray wool pants - a nod to Montreal in his style. She in her crushed velvet and beige nylons - sharply dressed for the early 90’s with a nod to the trailer in her style. She was looking to trade up but there was no trade to be had for her and it became uncomfortably desperate to watch.

But I continued to watch anyway because I was fascinated by all the happenings at that table...and then I ran home to throw out all my crushed velvet.

in my neighborhood

2006-12-06T07:33:00.000-05:00

“If you’re not sending out Christmas cards this year, why are you still hoping to receive cards yourself?”, my husband asks.

Still, yesterday was December 5th and no Christmas cards have arrived. Last year I received my first card at the end of November so I expect the onslaught should start anytime.

I open the mailbox, take out the mail and no cards.

But what’s this?

“Dear neighbors…” the form letter begins.

I immediately start to hope that this isn’t a notification about the fact that someone on my street has just learned that there are plans for a landfill in our backyards.

Nope. Phew.

The letter is from a teenager on my street who has the chance to travel to Timbuktu for a couple of weeks and is looking to raise money and her letter is a plea for cash donations.

My husband and I agree that we wouldn’t contribute. Our neighbors don’t talk to us anymore and actually look the other way if they pass us (after declining their request to pick up their mail while they were on holidays for two weeks a couple of years ago) and the fact that they are now hoping to separate us from our cash is just annoying.

But it must be so much fun to hope and plan for such a trip during the teenage years, the chance to get away from your parents and visit another country.

As I read on I notice she’s also doing a bottle drive to raise some money.

So I think that maybe I could separate myself from my empties for her cause….but then I read on….the purpose of her trip is to do “God’s work.”

She loses me.

What is “God’s work” anyway? As a person who is strongly opposed to organized religion I immediately and cynically joke that she’s going over there to start a war. But that’s probably not the case. Most likely she’s going over there to live with a Timbuktu family for a couple of weeks to try and convert them to Christianity. Highly offensive.

I briefly feel bad for the girl, I don’t know that she’ll raise the money because we’re not the only household on the street that they’ve alienated (when we moved into the neighborhood they “warned” me about the various non-religious families on the street) but I’m pretty sure her parents can afford to send her anyway so I’m not sure why they are asking for cash. Perhaps they think a little good deed will save our heathen souls. Or perhaps they were hoping that we’d be motivated by guilt (aren’t all good deeds motivated by guilt and fear of condemnation?)

I crumple the letter and toss it into the recycling bin and go back to my ouija board.

i hated that fucking wagon anyway

2006-11-29T18:52:00.000-05:00

Boyfriend is dead.

Well, maybe I shouldn’t jump to conclusions because maybe he’s still alive but that bastard shot my baby and I’m mad.

When I ran into my husband on the stairs I told him that my boyfriend had been shot and that I was sad and he said that it was a good thing that he had been shot because he was tired of that particular boyfriend anyway and it was really he who put the word out to have him killed (I love that my husband likes to play in my pretend world).

But William Fichtner is my favorite boyfriend and he should pay the DOP on Prison Break a lot of $$ for making him look so totally fuckable in each and every scene…even the scene where he was digging up the body in his back yard. Fuckable.

So, boyfriend...favorite things...there’s a segway in there somewhere...

I love this chair but how bad do people’s asses look when they sit in one? Even if you had a rock-solid ass I doubt it would look good in this chair….and in shorts?

Shudder to think.

life is funny…aka is this all my fault

2006-11-16T23:39:00.000-05:00

My husband has gotten a little pudgier this year...haven’t we all...but my husband is a fairly lithe guy and this year his tape worm has let him down (he doesn’t actually have a tape worm but this is a guy that can eat three pieces of cake and lose weight)...so I’ve started to feel sad for him and ponder what I can do to help because 5lbs leads to 15lbs which leads to blah blah blah.

Believe me, I know how this goes.

I’m a total hypocrite because I’m no stranger to pudge and my husband loves girls with a figure so I don’t think much of it...but now that he’s gained a bit of pudge, I want to help because I’m afraid he’s gonna die of heart attack - yet he’s at 15 444 steps and I’m at 3442 (do you not have a friend that watches Dr. Oz on Oprah??).

So whose gonna die first? The active-during-the-day-outdoorsy-guy or the it’s-four o’clock somewhere-get me a martini-is-that-a-TV girl?

And then tonight I hear a “Yea!” from the kitchen and my husband shouts up to me (our TV is upstairs), “The dishes came clean!”

How sad is that?

(Though in his defense we’re on a ground-well system and have hard water so it’s a bit of a concern when our dishes get cloudy yet the water softener appears to be healthy).

Am I responsible for killing the spirit of this formerly vibrant and adventurous young man?

Can a guy be vibrant and adventurous and domestic?

Does it bother me that he takes pleasure in spending two hours vacuuming the house on a Saturday? Shouldn’t he be out mountain biking (we own the bikes), fixing cars (he owns the tools) or swinging from trees (I’m pro-evolution)?

Have I sucked the life out of this man (no X-rated pun intended)? Is his adventurous spirit on the decline? Do I watch too much TV? Do I drink too much champagne? Do I like beige too much? Is our best sex really on Monday nights after I watch Prison Break? Why does my foot still hurt two weeks after falling out of the bathtub (now there’s an X-rated story)? Is finding the perfect gray curtains a valid goal in life? Why can’t they create a lip gloss that lasts? Am I meant to examine what happens when something is abandoned? Why are SLR camera’s almost extinct? Is 10pm too early to go to bed? What happens when your dream escapes you? Why is Jim Bryson not a multi-millionaire? Why is it hard to remember my PIN number/my voice mail password at work/my voice mail password at home/my computer ID and my SIN number? Why am I two weeks late? Will the tulips bloom if I plant them in April? Do people who have kids do so because it's expected? Why is the sky blue? Why! Why! Why!

So many questions but good grief Charlie Brown...have I peaked?

I’m numb. I’m void of any future plans and this is actually what started these thoughts...a friend of mine was talking about her “life list” which includes going to Vegas, participating in a game show, having her long-divorced parents break bread together, etc. etc.

I would not have the foggiest idea of what to put on that list for myself.

Am I spiritually dead? Have I concentrated on the wrong things in life? Why is there no dream? No goal? No excitement? Why do I have a house, transportation, a loving family, a good job, great friends....here we go again...

Did I go from “she’s gonna make it afterall” to “highway to hell” in a span of a decade?

Is it time to end the blog?

open letter to my boyfriend

2006-11-14T18:34:00.000-05:00

Dearest Alex,

I’m sorry you didn’t win the election last night.

Despite the fact that I voted for you and encouraged many other people to vote for you it seems as though the citizens of Ottawa were looking for someone with his head up his ass. What to do.

My husband, who did not vote for you, was also sorry that you lost because he doesn’t like to see me when I’m mad…or sad…(or euphorically happy because that means that my bi-polar tendencies have kicked in again and that’s not good news for anybody because I’m pro self-medicating and anti-pharmaceuticals).

Regardless of last night, you could still be Mayor of Ottawa some day so I hope this won’t deter you from running again. And I will volunteer again but I promise to be more reliable next time (maybe my lack of commitment was the reason you didn’t win?) if you get a new photographer for your campaign photos and promise to invite me to the Lord Elgin prior to the night of the event.

I’m a busy girl and I need to manage my schedule appropriately.

Well, I’d better go. It’s dinner time and Bernard will be here with my escargot shortly.

Your loving girlfriend,

Hanna

P.S. November rocks!

ode to the wire coathanger

2006-11-07T20:49:00.000-05:00

She's trying to convince me that cowboy decor is cool but I'm just not buying that kind of crazy today (though I may concede to chartreuse velvet). Her assistants obviously feel the same as I do because they stand stiffly beside her, afraid of disagreeing with her or making any sudden gestures or loud noises that may send little Suzanne Dimma into a rage.

How did this crazy woman get her own show?

In other crazy news....

Sarah McLachlan is releasing yet another recording of non-original material (and this girl still has a recording contract 'cause why?), people continue to post pictures of their kids on their blogs - I'll never understand why (it's extremely uninteresting and a little icky to think that people prowling the internet are looking at your kids) and I sung along to "Baby When You're Gone" by Bryan Adams and Sporty Spice in the car today.

is it time for bed?

2006-10-31T08:28:00.000-05:00

I’m sitting on a bench in a mall struggling with my math homework when I notice Wentworth Miller walking by. I thrust my hand up in the air like I was a kid in a classroom and ask him to help me with my homework.

I’m really bad at math and he’s an architect so he’s gotta be able to help me.

He does. I thank him, close my book and toodle off.

Flash to the next sequence and I’m all baby oiled up, in white boy-cut undies pushing my way through a hole I had chiseled in the prison wall - it’s a small hole about the size of a shoebox, thus the baby oil and absence of any clothes that could prevent me from making my escape.

I get through the wall and fall on the ground when the sirens start to sound. I climb the wall a la Spiderman and I’m free.

But I’m still semi naked.

It’s hard to blend into the public when you’re not wearing any clothes (I’m presuming this is true though it’s an untested theory) so when I spy a hotel and notice a guest has hung their laundry off their balcony to dry, I know I have to get those clothes. I sneak by the reception desk, get into the elevator and press the button to the eleventh floor. I break into the hotel room and just as I’m nearing the door to the balcony to grab the clothes, the FBI agent who has been after me steps into view and says, “I knew I’d find you.”

And it’s William Fichtner.

And I’m still naked.

Awesome.

So we have sex on the hotel bed (I’ll spare you the details) and just as we’re getting up, he tries to arrest me. I run out the doors to the balcony and zipline my way down the laundry line, grabbing the clothes as I go and cutting the line when I get to the ground.

William has to take the stairs.

I quickly put on my newfound clothes, a French Maid costume complete with feather duster and stilettos and run to the road so I can hitchhike my way out of there. Just as I reach the road, along comes a blue 1962 El Camino driven by a girl in a Catwoman costume and accompanied by her daughter in a Tigger costume. I hope in, and we drive off, leaving my FBI agent in the dust.

I look back, and he’s blowing me kisses. I blow kisses in return and speed off with my newfound friends to get some cotton candy.

The brain works in weird and wonderful ways as it attempts to connect your dreams to the events of the day.

barely living but we're living large / it ain't the ending that i fear

2006-10-29T08:35:00.000-05:00

My theory on this blog is that it's not enough information for strangers but too much information for those who know me.

My blog is written under an alias because I need to be able to move about in my life unencumbered by thoughts that the IT guys at work might know that I would love to be spanked hard by Tommy Lee. It's not something I’m embarrassed about but it's just too much information for an acquaintance, especially a work acquaintance and I really don’t think my brother would appreciate knowing that little piece of information.

That being said, I do keep in mind when I blog that there will come a day when I will be outed. Not outed on a grand scale (I don't see it as a CNN newsflash), but eventually someone will put two and two together and come up with a plausible theory.

I recently had that mini-outing. And I was oblivious to the fact that it happened.

During a casual conversation with a friend, she mentioned to me that our co-friend, we'll call her April Spring, mentioned to her that I’ve been blogging and that I’ve had a blog for quite some time and blah blah blah.

April Spring has been reading my blog?

I didn't know that April Spring knew I had a blog and I didn't say anything to her about it because I couldn’t envision her accepting this side of me and some of my opinions (no one in my life would ever accuse me of being shy about my thoughts and opinions but I do let my freak flag fly high and proud in this venue).

So how long has April Spring been reading this? I have no idea but I do find the fact that's she's been quietly absorbing all of this and not saying anything a bit creepy.

April Spring, you've just been outed. I guess this is where I welcome you to the blog (sorry, I’m a bit late).

And I stand by my statement that Sheryl Crow should have her recording contract revoked. She sucks.

been around the world to find that only stupid people are breeding

2006-10-18T20:13:00.000-05:00

...sing it with me, friends.

Me: Did you listen to the civic election debate last night?
Co-worker: What’s the civic election?
Me: Is it the “civic” or the “election” part that’s throwing you off?

And these people are breeding.

Brilliant.

(and so much for being less of a cunt.)

ode to the cunt

2006-10-10T17:21:00.000-05:00

Wow, three nude girls in a row and all hell breaks loose.

There's a nude girl for every occasion, folks.

No more titties for you.

In other news,

I rently met a woman, a woman who was negative beyond all negative - hates sunshine, puppy dogs and feeling good.

I commented on how negative this person was to my husband. He agreed. How sad I was for her. So much to be happy about yet such a cunt.

I pondered what could possibly make her so negative.

And then recognized that I just might be her.

I was a bit taken aback because I do think that the characteristics we hate in others are often characteristics that we have in ourselves. And anytime I feel I hate something in someone, I do a mental check to make sure that I don't have that characteristic within me. But this woman was so intensely negative that I didn't even stop to consider that I might just need to look in the mirror. And then today, after too many vodka tonics I started to ponder her sad existence. And then as I started to recognize the pattern.

She is me.

I am a cunt also.

So begins the extreme effort to become more positive and less cunt-like.

Wish me luck.

...and try finding a non-nude picture for this blog.

in my neighborhood

2006-10-02T20:55:00.000-05:00

Geez, it's been awhile since I’ve shared my neighborhood with y'all.

It's not for lack of action: my neighbor two doors down left her four kids’ bikes at the curb on garbage day in retaliation for them always leaving them strewn across the lawn. Since then the kids have been sure to line their bikes up at the side of the house. As adults we’re wise to this because there's no way you'd want to a) waste all that money by throwing them out b) listen to your kids cry when they discover their bikes are gone and you're to blame or c) waste more money buying new bikes when you realize that lack of transportation for your kids means they’ll be spending more time at home. But regardless of the generation this tactic continues to work.

We also have a mischievous raccoon family living nearby. They do the usual wondering looking for birdseed and garbage. It was cute at first as we watched the mother and three little ones drop by each night and chitter-chatter on the back deck. But we grew tired of their gifts, "Oh I see they ate lots of blueberries yesterday" my husband and I will comment as we leave for work the next morning, stepping over the poop. And last week my husband forgot to close the trunk of his car and they went into the vehicle and stole a package of crackers and ripped them apart on the driveway. Cracker shrapnel everywhere.

Fucking bastards.

Can you tell I live in the country? There really hasn't been that much going on in my neighborhood.

A little further afield, the good people of Stittsville seemed to have forgotten about the Carp dump expansion plans. When all the hoopla began there were standing room only meetings being held and there was security there for the protection of everyone (but most likely the Waste Management executives). Another shiny object has appeared before them and now they barely remember their initial concerns about the environment and excessive waste.

What is that shiny object?

A new Loblaws Superstore! Right beside the other Loblaws that now sits empty so an entirely new building could be constructed to house the selection of vast array of Mexican tomatoes and Joe Fresh clothes from China. Truth be told, I care for the Joe Fresh clothing but I don't think Kanata really needs anymore new buildings. And apparently no one told Ottawa Hydro that they'd be opening up last Tuesday because while I was there the power went out. No surprise to anyone whose ever lived or worked in Kanata (the power goes out on windy days, rainy days, sunny days - it's an equal opportunity blackout community).

I had gone to the new Loblaws with my co-worked, Cookie. As usual, she drove because she wears the pants in our relationship. When we were walking back to her vehicle, we noticed that the woman with the car next to her was resting her car door against Cookie's car as she was loading her groceries. Cookie, never one to let an opportunity for a good confrontation pass her by, made a comment to her about it. The girl didn't say anything and continued to put her groceries into the backseat. Cookie examined her car, didn’t see any mark and we drove off. As we were giving her the evil eye, she mouthed "bitch" to us.

People in Kanata are seriously passive aggressive.

Yes I’m looking in the mirror.

People have been pissing me off left right and center these days and I just keep on smiling through my gritted teeth. All the better to bitch about it later.

And lastly, the run for Mayor in Ottawa is heating up and there’s lots of typical buffoonery to be had. Am I excited that Alex is running for Mayor? Yea. Am I going to vote for him? You bet. But part of me is sad that he's running because I really do believe that the political process - local, provincial or federal - is broken and you have to be broken to successfully work within that kind of environment. Blah blah blah. Is there anyone not touting that same line these days? It's a bit dramatic for me to say I'm not ready to lose faith in another person whom I hold in high regard but I can’t deny that I am a bit disappointed that Alex is running because I don't want to feel disappointed by him. It’s kinda like going out with someone you’ve liked for a long time - you’ve romanticized about the deep and meaningful conversations you would have, thought about all the fun you’d have together as you frolic through your first few years together but three years into the relationship you realize that he’s all talk, his feet smell, he’s really great at pointing out other people’s faults but not so great on working on his own inadequacies….and he calls his mother a little too often.

Maybe it won't turn out that way.

And maybe bats will stop chasing me around the yard.

Off to buy some mercury glass on ebay.

who knew i was a screamer

2006-09-26T17:32:00.000-05:00

(I imagine most of you have figured that out by now)

Friend: I can't believe you actually did that.

Me: Why?

Friend: Well, first you were excited, then as people started to go, you lost most of your color. Then when G went you lost the rest of your color and turned a weird gray color. I thought you were going to hurl or pass out or something.

Me: I thought I was going to die a terrible death.

Friend: I can’t believe you went. And when you left the platform screaming, and then stopped screaming partway through, I thought you had passed out.

Me: I have never had so much fun in my life.

This has been a great summer for fun and adventure and this weekend was the icing on the cake. A group of friends and I went up to La Fleche (it only sounds like a strip club) to help celebrate the upcoming marriage of a great friend. He's getting married next month and I guess he thought all of us risking our lives by flying through the tree tops on a string would be a good idea.......or a good way to kill off your wedding party.

We all did it.

We hiked until we were out of breath and had to take a break, we strapped ourselves into seriously unflattering climbing gear and we hung by the treetops for dear life.

No one had to be rescued by the guide, no one broke any bones, no one had to be brought down by the wussy ladder, no one cried (my $$ was on Dave) and all of us lost some portion of our dignity during the day.

It was terrifying and blissful all at the same time.

blue be gone

2006-09-20T18:53:00.000-05:00

The bathroom renovation has just begun and already there are issues - a piece a molding that can't be removed unless the sink and toilet come out, a bad plaster job on a wall that will mean us cutting into the wall to remove it and putting in a new piece of drywall. And the blue...the dreaded blue.

If I said that every room my husband and I have ever painted had been, at one time by previous owners, been painted blue, I don't think I’d be exaggerating. Blue behind the terrible padded wallpaper in an old bathroom, blue inside a closet, a blue kitchen, the list goes on and on. And not just any blue, that same shade of blue that was everywhere in the 70's that has the same hue of well-chewed spearmint gum that one might find on a sidewalk (or the bottom of your shoe if you missed it the first time).

Unpleasant.

I like home projects but every once in awhile I do dream of hiring a contractor to do it, giving him/her the keys to the house and arriving home after work to a finished job. Then again, it seems as though anytime we have hired someone to do a job, it's a disaster (illegal dumping, lopsided work, damaged walls, etc.). The exception being Cullen Landscaping.

Speaking of blue, Craig and Sophie/Rosie (I can never remember which sister is which) were caught doing naughty things this week on Corrie. That's gotta suck. Thank god the days of sneaking sex in the back of cars, basement floors and car hoods are over.

we may never meet again/so shed your skin and let's get started

2006-09-17T19:32:00.000-05:00

Hunters and Collectors rocked.

Vacations rule.

Vacations suck.

The last time my husband and I went on vacation together was about three years ago when we went to Maryland to visit his sister. It was fun - we shopped at Wal-Mart at midnight, dipped our toes in the ocean and ate some great food. But since then, we've settled for the odd long weekend away here and there because I just can't bring myself to take 5 consecutive days off only to come back to work to 350+ emails and deadlines that have been set for me while I've been gone.

Not to mention that the Sunday before going back is always a dark day full of depression and an overwhelming sense of dread at the thought of going back to my cell/cubicle.

I'm also pondering my decision to volunteer again. I used to volunteer with a certain local environmental organization and found it to be a seriously frustrating experience. The problem with volunteering is that it's too much like work. And by work, I don't mean it's too much work but rather it has too many similarities to work, to the 9 to 5 grind.

There's the usual suspects:

The boss
The person who thinks they should be boss
The brown-noser
the gossip
The fat girl
The lazy coworker
The geek
The beauty queen
The worker bee
And the hanger-on

It's the hanger on that really gets to me in the volunteer world.

They aren't there in the beginning for the really hard work but because of some compelling event - a story on the CBC, a great guest speaker they want to meet, a new boyfriend to impress or a line to add to their resume - they decide that volunteering is a worthy pursuit. My experience in the volunteer world is that it sucks, just like work does, so you'd better really believe in the cause because there's very few "feel good" moments to be found.

The supposed glory of volunteering doesn’t exist and the daily grind ~~has already turned me into a lush~~ is already enough to make me want a drink and I'm too old to be a trophy wife.

I'm a "glass half empty" girl, can you tell?

i'm bored...i'm chairman of the bored

2006-09-04T20:03:00.000-05:00

Is this what Iggy was talking about?

There's nothing like reading your own blog to make you realize how bored you are.

My naturopath suggested I read my blog to uncover clues.

Clue to what?

Clues.

Okay.

So I read my blog and I’m obviously preoccupied with work and the misery that the cubicle creates.

Stability is a funny thing.

We promise ourselves during our teenage years that we'll never sell out or become like our parents but the reality is that after we graduate, go through job and after job to find one that fits, test drive a few boys, and tolerate a few too curious landlords, all we really want is a stable job, a great guy and mortgage.

Years later, I have a good job, a kickass husband (even though he doesn't think too much of my suggestion that my new career path involves, strangers, $$ and latex) and a mortgage.

And ten years into my marriage, I'm not fanaticizing about road trips and heart-shaped beds but rather paint swatches, new facets and tiles.

What the fuck is wrong with me? In my efforts to create a stable life have I become over-domisticised? Should I be following my dreams of being a songwriter or painter at the expense of stability or is that all just a fantasy and I’d end up in hell writing for Celine Dion and headlining exhibits at the Museum of Bad Art? I'll end up an alcoholic in anger management classes with Danny Bonaduce.

Everyone needs a fantasy, right?

Who the fuck knows. I guess for now I'll stick with my promotion, thankful to have a husband that I love almost as much as he loves me and go with Florentine Plaster for the bathroom.

I really hope William Fitchner is a bottom.

did i say you could talk?

2006-08-25T06:02:00.000-05:00

What the hell happened there?

No clue?

Oh I know, work got in the way. Work always gets in the way.

From taking up too much of time during the daylight hours (now quicly ending) to it slowly eating away my insides. Work always gets in the way.

So, what's new in the corporate world this week?

Well, I went golfing with "the team" this week.

So boring.

But really amusing to see how frustrated some people get over a little stick and ball.

Now I can say that golfing is truly a game and not a sport. People would get mad at me for saying that because until now I’d never played.

But now I’ve played.

And now I know I’m right.

And then there was the quarterly corporate meeting.

With the sales team.

Urgh.

I presumed it was going to suck but it sucked beyond all Hoovering.

As I continue to think about my career options (it's like a record running in the back of my mind), I have given up the idea of doing something I’m really passionate about because I’m passionate about things that don’t come with a paycheck: basement art, drinking cheap champagne and bird watching.

So what am I looking for?

Flexible hours, quiet coworkers and lots and lots of cash. So, I’ve come up with an idea.

Dominatrix.

It fits the criteria and I get to dress up and boss people around (although bossiness isn’t a quality I possess at the moment, I am a Leo so I’m sure it’s in there somewhere).

But no intercourse. Just lots of whipping, verbal abuse and water sports.

Maybe no water sports.

But I think I'd be a natural at flogging and I have the boobs for the job, I have lovely feet and I really like being called Mistress and having guys lick my feet.

But I'd need a wig. A long straight, black wig that made me look like Vampirella.

And my memory isn’t always good so I just hope i can remember the safe word.

Okay, I’m off to get a brazillian wax now. I think body hair is a workplace hazard in the dominatrix world.

the time between meeting and finally leaving is sometimes called falling in love

2006-08-10T20:18:00.000-05:00

My husband has another woman.

What an odd thing to confess on a blog to a world of relative strangers.

I'm not a jealous girl by any extent of the word but never in my life did I think I would marry a man and feel the need to compete with another woman.

But since this all started in May, it's become tough knowing that when he's with me that he may be making plans to see her. Excited to spend more time with her. And my heart sinks when I watch from the window as he pulls out of the driveway with intentions to go to her.

But who can blame him. The other woman makes him feel good, she's familiar, comforting, she never turns him away and she already beholds one of my husbands lifelong dreams....she has waterfront property.

As a matter of fact, the other woman is a piece of property.

She's a cottage. The family cottage, just past Wakefield.

And every second weekend, my husband packs his bags, makes big plans and departs for his beloved, leaving his other beloved behind.

But enough is enough.

I don't need to compete...I'm better than the cottage. I'm not musty, mice don't live in my drawers, my plumbing always works and I don't have dead critters in my chimney.

So, after fourteen years of pretending to be complacent, I'm kinda fed up with the competition and I think it's time for a ~~a little retaliation~~ diversion of my own.

This cougar is on the prowl....and I know just who my prey is......

Dear Brian Gluckstein,

I've got the hots for you.

Now, I know that may sound odd because we've never actually met but I feel like I know you and I think that you and I should hook up...or at least get together for a drink to talk about the lighting in my dining room and how to incorporate my ever-growing Hello Kitty collection with the rest of my pieces.

You can take me back to your place and we'll sit in your garden on those beautiful teak recliners you bought from that Danish design place in The Beaches. We'll drink vodka on rocks and mock Kimberley Seldon as we laugh about the return of plaid (please let it just be a nasty rumour). I'll run my fingers gently through your perfectly tousled hair as you tell me about the 100+ colors of neutral you've painted your house. I love neutrals too! Now, maybe that's not alot to have in common but it's a good start.

Give me a call to discuss the details. I know at first you may not think I'm your type but I can be a great Girl Friday. And I love you so what more could you want?

Love always,

Your dearest Hanna

P.S. Please tell me you don't have a cottage.

'cause i'm sick of myself when i look at you

2006-08-07T14:40:00.000-05:00

Somehow I don't think this is what Matthew Sweet had in mind...

Another New Girl.

This makes it, what, the fourth? Fifth? In eight months. I've lost count.

And while she is no Wicked Witch of the West (the infamous former public servant), there is no shortage of amusement to be had because.....wait for it....she's nice.

She's nice?

Yep, that's right, she's nice. Nice to a fault. She's the type of nice that will eventually wind up getting her cued up for a nervous breakdown. Niceness oozes out of her like the cream from a Twinkie. So anxious to agree with you, so anxious to help with your deadlines, so anxious to let you know that she's just around the corner should you ever need anything.

Her sing-song delivery of "No problem!" anytime you ask her to do something just screams "I’d suck your dick if you had one."

She's also anxious to tell you about her and her new boyfriend, who just met on the internet a few months ago, and are already talking about marriage, looking for a house and "playing house" when her parents are out of town.

Creepiness.

Everything about this girl irks me. Her need to please, her icky boyfriend, her need to fit in, her attempt to impress us by overachieving at menial tasks and her yearning to make new friends to have lunch with each and every day of the week.

Yea, it's nice to like the people you work with but who goes to work looking to make new friends?

I also hate her too-short cotton draw string skirts and flip-flops (thank goodness she wears undies...though she does need to wax), the tub of candy she eats each day, her swilling of two bottles of Gatorade by 4pm, her Tim Horton's breakfasts, her Wendy's lunches and the endless supply of chips and crackers she always seems to have. Not to mention the constant Instant Messaging she does to her boyfriend and her surfing the MLS listings for a house.

But even with all this she's unlike previous New Girls because she's lasted almost five months whereas the others have lasted anywhere from only three days to three months. By those standards, she's a lifer. And she's actually not half bad at getting her work done.

So why, with all these months of amusement, am I just telling you about her now?

Because she's looking for a new job and I can't wait to share with you the untimely demise of another New Girl.

I guess she doesn't love the fact that she's not found her new bestest friend in her current workplace.

pamela anderson is my angelina

2006-08-01T21:50:00.000-05:00

You know what I hate?

(I don’t have time to list everything so I’ll cut to chase)

Walking out of the house and realizing you chose the wrong bra for the shirt you chose to wear that morning.

What’s worse?

Realizing your faux paux at 5:30pm when you catch a glance at your reflection in the department store mirror after deciding to do some post-cubicle retail therapy.

Egads! I gotta stop drinking vodka and orange juice for breakfast during the week.

Guys are lucky not to have this issue. Boobs are important and nasty looking boobs, no matter what their size, are not a good thing.

Speaking of boobs, I’ve had some people email me about my Mary-Kate and Ashley reference from my Joiner post. So, here are the answers to some of your questions:

Q: Can I see a picture of Mary-Kate and Ashley?
A: No.

Q: Why have you named them?
A: Because how would they know which one I was talking to if I couldn’t call them by name?

Q: Why Mary-Kate and Ashley?
A: No particular reason but I do think it’s funny because a) my boobs probably weigh more than the real Mary-Kate and Ashley combined, b) it makes for hilarious dirty bedroom talk and c) it just seems to suit them in a weird way. I imagine it’s like naming your baby, you go through a bunch of names until you find the “that’s it!” name. Same idea.

Anyway, enough is enough. This isn’t a blog about my boobs.

(and yes I do consider myself a feminist)

global condemnation

2006-07-30T19:52:00.000-05:00

Global vindication.

Husband: Ah ha!

Me: You found the hornets nest?

Husband: No....the mop.

Me: The mop?

Husband: Yea, the mop. You know, the one you globally ridiculed me for throwing out. But I didn't really throw it out, it was behind the stack of wood in the basement.

Me: Oh good.

(I go back to work at pealing the pesky orange)

Husband: Ah, it's the mop that you publicly ridiculed me for throwing out. You have to write a blog to clear my good name.

Me: I'm sure the readers in Czechoslovakia have been thinking about what a terrible person you are for throwing out our mop, "Those crazy Canadian men."

Husband: No presents for you, my dear, until that blog is written and posted.

Thankfully that wasn't the case and my birthday came and went in a ball of fiery fun that included way too many presents and too much time pondering why I love Hello Kitty so much.

The mop has been found.

The floors are still dirty.

I wonder if there is a Hello Kitty mop?

beware the joiners

2006-07-15T23:56:00.000-05:00

I was never a joiner.

As a kid my parents enrolled me in Girl Guides. I hated it (even then I recognized the absurdity of anyone wanting to earn the Hostess badge when the Scouts got to go camping and made fires out of twigs and caught fish with their bare hands).

Then they signed me up for bowling. Bad idea. I ended up walking down the highway to the mall to the video arcade where I spent my allowance on PacMan.

Then it was tennis. But I broke my toe (a tragic flipflop accident) before I could even attend my first lesson.

My parents became fed up and eventually ceased trying to socialize me.

And as I got older, I somehow became surrounded by friends who always wanted me to join stuff with them.

We’ve all had those friends in our lives at one point or another.

In high school they wanted you to join the drama club or the outdoors club or track or year book…the tediousness was endless.

In college they wanted you to join the rest of the girls and go to the bar with them. There you would sit at the table with your Winston’s and smoke the entire pack in four hours (I wasn’t so much a social smoker as I was the anti-social smoker) while the ~~sluts~~ girls flirted with buffoons and an odd assortment of drunken professors and guys from the animation program (guys that are probably making a lot of $$ now).

Nowadays, they ask you to go to yoga or pilates with them or join a running club (that‘s not a good thing for a girl with boobs...or "Mary Kate and Ashley" as I affectionately refer to them).

I even found a reason to quit my pursuits the few times that I signed up for something I actually wanted to do, such as knitting (I was making a fantastic sweater dress but could no longer take the chatter of the bitter housewives in the class), tarot card reading (I sat in the back of the class with my friend L, drinking coffee and laughing at the inane questions our classmates would ask) or guitar (I developed a wicked crush on my teacher and could never concentrate. Although after quitting I did write song after song about how shitty the world was and how love would destroy us all so I suppose it wasn't all a loss) .

The joiners are everywhere. They are pervasive. They seek out other joiners but don’t have the intuition to pick them out of the crowd so they reign their joiner germs on everyone in hopes that someone will respond so they can join something together and talk about how their husband does this, or their kids do that, or blah blah blah. Then they talk about how much fun they're having in an effort to recruit other joiners. It never ends.

Down with joiners.

2006-07-13T17:51:00.000-05:00

A number of cottage bound friends and co-workers have been asking me for book recommendations for their time ~~in a bug infested hell~~ at the cottage.

I find myself always recommending the same book.

You may have seen/heard me reference this before but I really think it’s my job in life to promote this book.

Nervous System by Jan Lars Jensen

Synopsis: Guy wants book deal, guy gets book deal, guy ends up in mental hospital.

Why should you read it?

Because if you’ve never dealt with mentally instability yourself, it’ll make you realize that the person standing next to you may just be closer to the edge than you may think.

And if you have dealt with mental instability before, well, you should still read it because it will make you laugh (and cry but crying is okay).

Speaking of crying, this Friday night at Ottawa BluesFest there are some great artists playing: Luke Doucet, Metric, Danny Michel and Jim Bryson.

Where does crying come into it?

I won’t be there.

But don’t really cry for me because I’ll be drinking wine and eating my friends awesome homemade pizza as we sit in her backyard and talk about things that we probably shouldn’t get into.

And eat cake...can’t forget that cake. I care for that.

But I will cry for you because even though you will see some great bands if you do go to BluesFest, you'll also have to wait in the port-a-pottie lineup for 30 minutes only to have to wrestle your way into the hut because some lunatic tries to cut in front of you in line.

Bad things can happen from there forward.

I'm sick of these red pills, sick of the dealer's grin

2006-07-11T19:18:00.000-05:00

You’re kidding me?

She has two kids and doesn’t always have time to clean her house, she exclaims.

So she goes down to the basement, to her daughter's playhouse and organizes the playhouse instead of her actual house because if her actual house can’t be clean, at least the doll house can be tidy.

What the...?

Is she this way because of the meds or was she this way before (or maybe she's just letting her freak flag fly high and proud)?

Watching The Mom Show for parental advice is like watching The View for advice on how to be a better feminist.

(And don't ask me why I was watching this show when I don't have any kids of my own)

'cause my name is earl

2006-07-03T15:50:00.000-05:00

When I was in my early early-twenties I used to workout at a certain Kanata gym.

It was typical of it’s time, girls on StairMasters in grey spandex shorts with pink and grey striped g-string leotards and guys who wanted to be Jean-Claude VanDamme.

One day, after a particularly long day at a crappy non-private sector day job, I went to the gym in hopes of coming out looking like Cindy Crawford (instead I get Susan Sarandon). I walked into the change room and went to the same locker I always used.

Inside was a ring.

The gym-go’er before me had apparently forgotten her school ring (in all it's tacky Josten's gold spendor).

I picked it up thinking I would promptly return it to the gym receptionist when I noticed the school name on the ring…it was the same high school I had gone to a mere two years before…only the graduation year was a couple of years ahead of me.

A senior. Hmmmmm.

Did I recognize the initials?

Hope.

Two years ahead of me?

Interesting.

Maybe this ring belonged to one of those girls who used to call me “freak” as we passed in the corridor.

Maybe she was someone who laughed behind my back as I walked down The Pit.

Maybe this was one of those girls who hated me yet had never actually spoken a word to me.

And maybe this person is sad to have lost their ring.

Maybe they were heartbroken at the loss of this special piece of high school memorabilia.

Hmmmmm.

The ring is mine now, bitch.

And into my gym bag it went.

Flash forward to June 2, 2006.

My husband is at his family’s cottage and I’m watching Breaking Bonaduce repeats at 1am when the urge strikes me to do some jewellery box editing. Inside my costume jewellery box I find this ring. I had totally forgotten about it but there it sat alongside my own school ring (silver, not gold thank you very much) and my Clash button.

I was/am a little disturbed at the recollection of my past actions.

Had I found a ring in my gym locker today (which I wouldn’t because I am totally anti gym bodies and pro singer-songwriter/poet/vodak swilling bodies), I would certainly make every effort to find the rightful owner and return their possession. Back in the late 80’s that was not the case. And with high school memories still so fresh (and very little sense of self) that was definitely not the case.

So, horrified by my youthful behavior, the hunt begins for the identification and mailing address of one Ms. JXX.

actually, cows and rabbits do walk down my street

2006-07-01T14:43:00.000-05:00

(I don’t have stilts but I can work on that)

Speaking of streets, poor Jamie on Coronation Street.

Truth be told, I wasn’t a Jamie fan when he first appeared. I thought he was a bit of a skank (can guys be skanks?) and then when he hooked up with Leanne Battersby I thought I’d continue to hate him and lust after Charlie.

How times have changed.

Now I care for Jamie (and I can't wait for Charlie to go missing). He may look rough on the exterior but he’s a sensitive soul on the inside. My heart broke when he found out from his mentally unstable and drunk mother that his dad was fucking his whore/girlfriend. That has to hurt.

Maybe Jamie and Frankie should hook up? Though I guess that's more than a little icky. Jamie definitely needs a rebound girl and fast.

Maybe the new taxi girl?

In happier news, Simply Sean is back on CBC on Saturday mornings at 10am.

There’s no better way to spend a Saturday morning than sitting under the umbrella on the back deck, enjoying the sun/rain, a cup of coffee in hand listening to Sean as I decide what to do with my day.

Paradise.

I’m a simple girl.

Last summer Sean got me hooked on William Shatner cd’s.

I wonder what happy surprises are in store for me this year?

in my neighborhood

2006-06-29T07:54:00.000-05:00

So yesterday was Wednesday and I missed Both Kinds of Music and Drunken Master review.

So sad.

But don’t waste your tears on me because not only did my husband take me for dinner to The Swan for my favourite salmon sandwich, when I got home I caught the best B-movie on the the Scream channel.

By now, I’m sure you’re all familiar with my love of really bad movies and my addiction to Scream channel (satellite is the devil). This movie takes the cake. It has a great title (Jesus Christ, Vampire Hunter), a girl in a burgundy vinyl jump suit, a voice track that didn’t match the actors lips (though both were in English, go figure), it integrated Kung-fu, a lesbian goth girl with a great car and a guy who thought he was Jesus. What could make it any better?

It was filmed in Ottawa.

Ottawa?

Ottawa.

There were scenes filmed in Allegro, the Byward Market and the General Hospital (not the Luke and Laura one).

When I woke up this morning I thought maybe it was all just a dream so I went on to imdb and sure enough it was there.

Has anyone out there seen this movie?

Dee, it’s another one to add to your ever growing list.

Long live the vinyl jumpsuit.

Oh and coming soon....there’s a new New Girl in town.

i think i might have objectified you rather than treating you like the human being that you are

2006-06-25T07:22:00.000-05:00

Oh my god I am a girl.

And I do have feelings.

And maybe I am sensitive after all.

Is it okay to cry?

Last night I watched Shopgirl. Jason Schwartzman is in it and I have the hots for him (another crush that puzzles my husband) and the line in the trailer “I can either hurt now or hurt later” got to me.

It’s something I ponder daily.

Anyway, I think I cried through the last half of the movie. I love this movie. It’s quiet and heartbreaking.

And before you think I’m a “crier”, the last movie I cried in was The Fox and the Hound when I was eleven. Yea, I’ve seen Beaches, I’ve seen Terms of Endearment, I’ve seen the Christmastime Bell commercials. Nothing. I’m just not a crier.

Speaking of crying, I am oh so happy that my copy of Eraserhead finally arrived in the mail earlier this week.

I first saw this movie at the Towne Cinema (pre-Bytowne) back in the mid-80’s when I was in high school and I’ve been a David Lynch fan ever since. It seeded my love for movies where you have really no clue what’s happening.

I think this movie is why I don’t want to have kids (like Deliverance made me not want to go canoeing).

That and the fact that I remember my Aunt telling me that having kids was her biggest regret in life. Yikes. Well, at least she can be honest about that. I think there’s lots of people out there who think that way but can’t admit it, even if it’s just to themselves. And who could blame them. That’s a scary place to be.

I digress.

Man that little Eraserhead baby-thing can cry. If you haven't seen it, you should and if you're thinking of having kids, you should definitley see it. Sleep deprivation is not good.

yea wednesday!

2006-06-21T06:53:00.000-05:00

Not only is it a beautiful sunny morning but today is Wednesday and that makes me very happy because Wednesday is my favorite CKCU day.

Today is Drunken Master Review day.

why I hate the corporate world….reason #1802

2006-06-14T18:14:00.000-05:00

The Nodder

Well, it may have been awhile since my last blog about how sucky the corporate world is but that’s not for lack of things that I hate. I’m a hater (sorry for the strong language, Sparkles) and today, it was The Nodder who set me off.

Everyone knows a Nodder - the person who asks you a question and starts to nod before you even put your first sentence together. The Nodder may also be found listening to the Evil IT Guy talking about IT Architecture, Code and Keys and blah blah blah and The Nodder is nodding away in total acknowledgement of blah blah blah, even though he/she has likely never heard the term architecture used outside the world of bricks and mortar. Arne Kislenko could be giving a talk about the impact of Russia in international relations in 1942 and Nodder would nod away.

Nod. Nod. Nod. Nod. Nod.

I worked with a girl recently who was a Nodder. And to take it one step further, after me answering her question (her nodding her way through my answer), she would say, “Yea, thought so.”

Then why did you waste my time with your stupid question if you knew the answer?

I know, I know, there are no stupid questions (just stupid people).

Then she’d ask me the same question two days later.

So one day my evilness took over, after months of her incessant nodding, and I gave her the wrong answer.

She asked me a question, nodded her way through my answer and then said, “Yea, thought so.”

“You know, that’s actually wrong”, I said and went on to explain why that was wrong.

That was so evil and petty of me but she had it coming and I was low on restraint that day.

Let this be a lesson, the corporate world turns lovely, kind and thoughtful people (my husband says I’m more thoughtful than kind) into passive aggressive lunatics.

Run the other way, friends.

Sadly, my petty point was lost and she kept on being a Nodder+. Serves me right. But I don’t have to worry about her anymore because she’s working somewhere else now and she‘s probably the subject of some other poor corporate citizen’s “new girl” rants.

Nodders, you aren't fooling anyone so please stop the nodding.

Today’s blog is dedicated to Dee (because Dee doesn’t work in the corporate world but loves to hear the stories anyway).

You've gone sketchin' too many times / Why don't you give it a rest / Why must you find / Another reason to cry

2006-06-12T18:39:00.000-05:00

This popped into my Inbox last week and I wanted to share.

Easel.ca is hosting Easel Outside in Vincent Massey Park in Ottawa on July 8th.

I know of lots of great local artists that I hope will consider participating. Ottawa is so full of talent it’s amazing. However, some of this talent is currently distracted by their jobs at hi-tech companies and Government agencies.

Step away from your cubicles!

The email reminded me of a conversation I had with my mother in law a few months back about artists and what it meant to be an artist (it wasn’t at trite as it may sound). Her thoughts were that you had to show your art publicly and have been purchased to be an artist.

I laughed out loud. Great elitist attitude.

Isn't that like saying you're not a writer until you're published? Or you're not a band until you have a recording contract?

To me, no matter if you paint in your basement under the cover of darkness, you’re an artist. I don’t care who sees it and if it ever sells.

She thinks I’m an idiot.

I think she sucks.

Anyway, I hope some of you will take your art out of the basement closet and show it to the world.

(yea, it puzzled me too for a minute...note shaving cream brush on the floor)

you've gone too far this time/and I'm dancing on the valentine/I tell you somebody's fooling around.....(what did I ever see in them???)

2006-06-07T19:41:00.000-05:00

Wow, I really am all doom and gloom.

I re-read my lyric choices form my blog last week and I think I need therapy. But I don’t believe in therapy. Or maybe I do. Oh I don’t know, it’s undecided.

I had to split my list of 10 favourite lyrics into two pieces because I was having a hard time deciding on my last four. There are a lot of great songs in my life.

But then I wondered why I would want to lay claim to a top ten? It’ll change tomorrow anyway.

So here is my rest of my now NotTop 10. Only today I’m not going to tell you who the artist is because it’s just more fun that way (and everyone has access to Google). Anyway, these are 4 more lyrics I really really like....

1. Tonight I’ll dream while I’m in bed, when silly thoughts go through my head, about the bugs and alphabet, and when I wake tomorrow I’ll bet, that you and I will walk together again, cause I can tell that we are going to be friends.

2. I live on a chain, and you share the same last name, as a joke, I sent a bottle of whiskey, as you choked, I knew it made you feel dirty, and I was waiting over here for life to begin, I was looking for the new thing, and you were the sunshine heading my front-line, I was alone, you were just around the corner from me.

3. The waiting drove me mad, you’re finally here and I’m a mess, I take your entrance back, can‘t let you roam inside my head. I don‘t want to take what you can‘t give, I would rather starve than eat your bread, I would rather run but I can walk, guess I‘ll lie alone just like before.

4. Mister Harris Plutocrat, wants to give my cheek a pat, if the Harris pat, means a Paris hat, Baby!...But I'm always true to you, darling, in my fashion, yes I'm always true to you, darling, in my way, yes I'm always true to you, darling, in my way.

And speaking of great lyrics, Jim Bryson (Jim is probably one of the best singer/songwriters you’ve ever heard so go pick up one of his cd's and if you don’t like it, write me and I will consider giving you your money back - but chances are if you‘re not a Jim Bryson fan I won‘t like you and won‘t return your email so don‘t bother taking me up on my offer) is playing at West Fest on Sunday and you should go (even if it does rain).

And maybe in my next blog I will tell you about the songs I love to sing to but would never before admit - there's a couple of doozies.

2006-06-04T14:42:00.000-05:00

My husband threw out my mop.

And I don’t mean that in a feminist "no more cleaning for this woman/burn your bra" way. He actually threw out my mop. And not just any mop, my carefully researched and yet to be used mop (who in the world researches mops???).

It was still wrapped in plastic.

Bummer.

To truly appreciate this event, you must know this husband. He’s the old school “I have a double garbage and workshop so I can fill it with crap that I’ll never use” kinda guy. I love him dearly but despise this quality (not to worry, he's not reading anything here that he doesn't already know).

Why do I despise this quality?

Because unlike many households, I actually do a fare bit of workshoping myself - I cut moulding, use drywall tape, love the handheld sander, etc. etc. So it really does drive me crazy that the nuts, bolts, screws and framing hardware aren’t all in carefully labelled containers. It drives me mad I tell you!

The kicker about the mop catastrophe is that he rarely throws anything out but he was oh-so-proud of himself for detaching himself from a perfectly useful (“it would have been great in the garage”) mop and sending it to the curb for our Tuesday pick up. I wonder if the Waste Management guy thought “What the fuck?” and took it into the truck with him rather than pitching it into the chomper. I hope so. I hope my new mop is being happily used by someone.

And just so ya’ll don’t think I’m a bad person (because I know some of you do), I will tell you something about my husband that I love...

He will catch a moth that is inside the house and bring it outside so it can live another day and be free.

That’s kinda cute.

I wonder how many moth wings it would require to make me a new mop?

in my neighborhood

2006-06-03T07:05:00.000-05:00

I love mornings like this morning.

I live for mornings like this.

It’s Saturday, all my windows are open, it's grey and raining and I have no where to go.

I had been going to go to my parents house to help them with their garage sale but it‘s cancelled because of the rain. And that makes today even sweeter...I had plans but now I don’t. Which is an odd trait that I possess. If I make plans and they get cancelled, I’m oh-so happy. Even if I was looking forward to doing whatever it was that I had planned, (not that helping my parents with their garage sale wouldn’t have been fun...hey, wasn’t that my baby cup?!) and it gets cancelled, I love it. I could be invited to Daniel Lanois’ house to hang out with him and some his friends and learn how to play the piano, I'd be happy if it got cancelled.

Odd, no?

So today, instead of haggling with people over the price of tea cups I will hang out, listen to the birds sing their rainy day songs, clean my basement, make salsa, drink red wine at lunch, do some gardening (gardening in the rain means I’m less likely to get swarmed by mosquitoes) and make a fabulous dinner for my beloved husband.

Enjoy your day.

Oh, and if you're in the West end of Ottawa, Cheshire Cat now has Sunday breakfasts and you can watch Coronation Street on the big screen tv upstairs. Finally!

...speaking of life changing moments

2006-05-29T19:27:00.000-05:00

Okay, this has been under my skin for awhile now. It’s bugging me so intensely that I can’t believe this list was only released on April 18 of this year.

Clearly, if this is the biggest bee in my bonnet then I’m doin’ okay these days.

Check out number 5...
“Look at the stars, look how they shine for you.”

Yea, that’s fucking brilliant. It’s not even clever and the delivery of that line is lame. So why is it number 5? Why would it even be in the top 500?

And the thought that One by U2 is lyrically one of their best songs is just crazy.

I could comment on all of them but I don’t have the patience and this list makes me mad. Almost all these lyrics don’t deserve to be there. The exception is The Smiths and maybe Marvin Gaye.

And because nobody asked, here are my first six of ten (but not necessarily by preference) favorite lyrics.

I want to be the girl with the most cake, I love him so much it just turns to hate, I fake it so real, I am beyond fake, and someday, you will ache like I ache.
Doll Parts - Hole

My head falls backs, and the walls crash down, and the sky and the impossible explode, held for one moment I remember a song, an impression of sound, then everything is gone forever.
Strange Day - The Cure

Is there anything that I need to say, that hasn’t been said before, I have been polite for too long, why should I be anymore, better now than never, better loud than clever, better just to play the fool, it’s times like this, when you just close your eyes and kiss, cause everything after this, is just bullshit and being cruel

So hold me up, I’m going out, and don’t wait up, I won’t be coming home, iIf you lay me down in concrete fields, will I dream of grass and opera, this is the sound and how it feels, to be dead

In the end there will be fire and brimstone, and no one will be there to answer the telephone, you are the only one I’ll miss, you are the only answer at a time like this.
Fearless - Matthew Good (I'm kinda cheating here because that's almost the entire song)

You know he got the cure, you know he went astray, he used to stay awake, to drive the dreams he had away, he wanted to believe, in the hands of love.
Exit - U2

Twenty years ago, saw a friend was walking by, and I stopped him on the street to ask him how it went, and all he did was cry, I looked him in the face, but I couldnt see past his eyes, asked him what the problem was, he says here is your disguise, now he’s hardly getting over it, hardly getting used to getting by.
Hardly Getting Over It - Bob Mould

What have I become, my sweetest friend, everyone I know goes away in the end, you could have it all, my empire of dirt, I will let you down, I will make you hurt.
Hurt - Nine Inch Nails

Truth be told, I’m not so much a Trent Reznor fan (which will probably shock some of you considering my lust for grimy mean guys) but when I heard Johnny Cash sing this song...now that was a life changing moment. Seriously.

The other four will come.

music that will change your life

2006-05-26T19:48:00.000-05:00

Well I suppose that's a bit of a stretch (it's not The Clash, Husker Du, The Glove or Duran Duran afterall) but I picked up a cd this week that I have fallen in love with and want to share it with you.

Isobel Campbell and Mark Lanegan - Ballad of the Broken Seas.

It's David Lynch meets Chris Isaak experiencing a manic depressive episode while on a date with Doris Day. And I care for Doris Day.

I was going to link you to a page about the cd but let's skip that. Find yourself a listening station and check it out without reading about it first because it won't be what you're expecting if you know who Mark and Isobel are.

Love is nice.

2006-05-20T14:13:00.000-05:00

Dear Math,

I hate you.
You suck.
You’re ruining my life.

My lifelong hatred of math is now rearing it’s ugly head.

I’ve always been a right-brained girl, even as a child. My earliest memories of math are sitting down at the kitchen table with my dad beside me madly pointing at an equation that I just wasn’t getting…even after 20 minutes of him over explaining it. I think he was more pissed off about the fact that I wasn’t getting the math than he was when he learned I was a shoplifting juvenile.

No wait, he was pretty mad about that.

For three years, every week night after dinner my dad would go over my math work with me. It didn’t help. After awhile I just shut down and went to a sunnier place in my head as he continued to drone on about division and fractions and blah blah blah. And then in high school I had to take only two years of math before I could dump it and take an elective instead. Here I come art school! So, in Grade 9 I took math, knowing it would all soon be over. I think I brought in a 53% that year. In Grade 10, my final year of math, I spent most of the year daydreaming about what it would be like to date Robert Smith and drawing hearts with our initials inside in my text book. Mrs. Tovey was none to pleased. Then I developed a crush on a real boy I met at Bayshore while working at Fairweather. (yes, Fairweather, get over it). We dated for awhile and he was a really nice guy but I was a) not looking for a nice guy b)looking for a guy with black hair who liked to wear red lipstick who liked to talk about misery and cats and c) eventually the age difference got to us. I was 16 and he was 23. Do that math!

Anyway….math sucks and now I need to produce something at work that’s heavy math and it’s killing me. I should have stuck with art school. Had everything gone according to plan I’d be the new Diane Arbus and math could kiss my ass.

Damn death and chaos!

2006-05-08T06:50:00.000-05:00

Let's just hope my husband doesn't cancel me...

Husband: It's okay, it's okay. It will grow back. It's okay.
Me: But I like it.
Husband: I'm consoling myself.

I arrived back from Halifax with a new spiffy hair-do. And just as I thought, when my husband heard the slam of my car door, he came running to greet me.

And stopped dead in his tracks when he saw me and my new short hair (it isn't Felicity-short; it's more it's more Catherine Zeta-Jones-in-Chicago-short).

He's not a fan.

I think the lights might have to be off in our bedroom until it grows back.

ugly on the inside

2006-05-01T21:27:00.000-05:00

Me: Am I unfriendly?
Husband: You can be friendly.
Me: Are you saying I’m generally not friendly?
Husband: You can be friendly when you want to be.
Me: Isn’t that true for everyone?
Husband: Yes, but.....

Serves me right for asking.

I think while one person might say that I’d cut off my right arm for them, others might say that they’d actually take pleasure in cutting off my right arm. Maybe that’s a bit harsh. But I think I might be one of those people you either love or you hate.

I’ve always tried to br genuine. If I don’t feel friendly towards someone why should I fake interest? I don’t want to laugh at people’s ugly jokes or pretend to like the latest Julia Roberts movie. And I really don’t want to hear about people's crazy kids and how they blah blah blah (SAB and LD this does not apply to you).

The path of phoniness is well paved and every time I hear my own fake laugh it makes me want to vomit.

But as I get older, I’ve begun to recognize my inability to be friendly to people I don’t think I care about. And it all happens so fast. I can go into a room, pick out the people I want to spend time with and the rest fall away. Out of those people I’ve targeted (sounds scary), I test for similar cultural/social references and make fast friends with those with similar frames of reference (usually people who watched The Prisoner, listened to Husker Du and ate wax lips).

Maybe this is a survival mechanism?

I grew up with a dad in the air force and as a kid, we had to pick up and move whenever my dad got a transfer - about every three years. I always loved moving because there was no stupid and embarrassing incident that followed me around for my entire school career. Sure, I’m the girl who had a bee fly down her shirt in Grade 4 but since that took place my last year in Toronto, I wasn’t known as “the girl who had her shirt ripped off by Ms. White right in the middle of the school hallway” for years to come. A couple months later, I was in another school in a different town (and keeping a watchful eye on those perverted bees).

I digress.

Point is that I had to make friends fast but in the end everyone falls away anyway so who cares. Oh wait, no that wasn't my point.

I’ve got no where to go with this thought now - I think I just made my husband’s point.

..and the dead lay in pools of maroon below...

2006-04-26T17:21:00.000-05:00

The seven most feared words in the English language:

"Didn’t we go to high school together?"

Mental note, never leave the house again and learn to fake a Russian accent.

I don’t know what it is about running into people I used to know (it rarely happens because if I see them first, I’m gone). I guess it all comes down to the phoniness - the "what’s new?" bullshit that everyone says they hate but in which pretty much everyone seems to participate.

Well, let’s see, I haven’t seen you in about fifteen years so where do I start?

Well, I graduated high school, went to college, got my first car, fell in love, had my heart broken and then fell in love again (making me realize that I wasn't really in love that first time) and have a mortgage. Oh and I have a job now, too and friends that I actually like because they are great people rather than just hanging out with the girl from English class on Friday nights because she lives nearby.

You know, the truth is, fifteen years ago I didn’t care about you and you didn't care about me either so why bother?

Just leave me in peace to fondle the tomatoes.

in my neighborhood

2006-04-23T19:30:00.000-05:00

Yea, there was lots going on this weekend in town, including the Kanata Garden Show, the Kanata Art Club’s Spring Show and Sale (but they mostly suck so why bother) and a gathering to protest the expansion of Mt. Trashmore in Carp. But really, it’s grey and raining outside and...hmmmm...I wonder what’s on TV?

Good god what did I do before satellite TV? On at the same time, was Veronika Voss, Nightmare (some obscure British movie that apparently has no www reference) and Atom Age Vampire. Awesome. The only thing that would have made this afternoon better was Invasion.

Invasion?

Yea, Invasion.

I care for that show.

I care for that show mostly because I am hot for William Fichtner and there's nothing better than sitting down with a vodka on the rocks and starring at William as he wears his super sexy uniform pretending to be fully human when he's really an alien.

My husband thinks I have really bad taste in men.

And he’s a bit worried about what that says about him.

True, I don’t go for the typical guy that everyone else seems to think is good looking (never liked Brad Pitt, George Clooney or Leonardo "I'm twelve years old" DiCaprio ). I’d rather sit across the dinner table from a suspect looking subversive guy than an a clean cut guy. Case in point:

Henry Rollins (before he sold out)
Vincent Price (imagine his voice in the dark...meow, a little lower)
Adam Glasser (you want me to what?)
Vincent Gallo (wtf, you vote Republican?)
Viggo Mortensen (have you seen The Reflecting Skin?)
William Fichtner (oh baby!)

William Fichtner is my favorite these days.

Not sure what it is about this guy. When he comes on the TV, the world around me falls silent and it’s all him. I can hear my husband's voice in the distant but William is drawing me in like sluts to a puck.

If I was still doing Boyfriend of the Week (which I'm not, so stop asking), he'd be Boyfriend for two months straight.

2006-04-13T17:48:00.000-05:00

Dear earnest gardeners,

If you’ve Googled “endless summer hydrangea” or “trim spirea” and wound up on my blog (and a picture of the fabulous Bettie Page (please Google Bettie before Gretchen Mol ruins her for all of us), I’m so sorry. This is not a gardening blog.

But I do love gardening, hummingbirds and the smell of dirt so here are links to some great nurseries in the Ottawa area...

Rideau Woodland Ramble
Reilly's
Make it Green
Acorn Creek (Andy and Cindy grow a ton of produce but early in the season they have great plants)

...and please embrace your inner Bettie Page.

You know you want to.

2006-04-10T21:18:00.000-05:00

The dryer
The fridge
The furnace
The fan on the woodstove
The computer
My hair dryer
...pretty much any white noise

All sound like a raging hive of hornets heading directly for me. It’s amazing the tricks one’s mind can play.

So, we managed to find the little buggers. Safely nestled in the soffit above my kitchen window. They’ve either chewed their way into my house (yes, they will do that) or it was just a happy coincidence for them. Either way, it matters not because we’re in the process of evicting them.

I told a friend today that I estimated the length of the hive to be about two feet. When my husband got home, I told him my estimate.

He looked at me like I had two heads.

“Too big?”

“Uh, no. Two feet at least.”

Fantastic.

in my neighborhood

2006-04-08T07:45:00.000-05:00

Tonight you should go to Barrymores because it's the Kelp Records 12th Anniversary musical bonanza.

It'll be oodles of fun.

Alas, I will not be there because tonight is Operation DeathHive.

We've killed two dozen hornets in various rooms in our house throughout the week and it's time for the takedown.

And yes, I have lots of Benadryl.

Until then, I'm busy bidding on these on ebay...

2006-04-03T19:21:00.000-05:00

"Once you become a pickle, you can't become a cucumber again".

That's Steve Earle. Ya gotta love him. And ya gotta love satellite TV because a person can learn a whole lot of useless information in a pretty short period of time.
Like for instance, did you know that during the first trimester of pregnancy, babies actually have small gill-like formations on their necks. Those later disappear and that tissue gets re-absorbed but in some cases, bumps are still visible in children's necks. Glub Glub.

Speaking of love, I hate hornets.

Yea Spring.

Boo hornets.

I have killed eight hornets in my house since Saturday.

Imagine not being able to go to bed without a thorough inspection of your sheets first (at least I found that missing earring).

Imagine walking around your house, eyes darting all around like your waiting for Cato Fong to attack (our ceilings need painting).

Imagine being sound asleep and then walking up with a jolt because you feel a tickle on your cheek (just my own hair).

Imagine sitting at your computer and feeling like something is crawling up your back (just the friendly ghost).

I'm a little jumpy, to say the least.

And those hornet fuckers are silent so you never hear them coming...just like tiny bats.

I want to find where they are coming from but who the hell wants to search out a nest of hornets? They must be coming down through the chimney but there is no way in hell that I am putting my head up that fireplace to check things out because I subscribe to Scream (channel 332) and I've seen what happens to those girls.

today is laundry day

2006-03-26T17:45:00.000-05:00

I’m currently trying to decide which of my dirty little secrets to submit to PostSecret.

So many options, so little room on that one little postcard.

But I do have one that I don’t mind sharing with ya’ll.

I like the music of Prince.

Yep, there it is. That's my secret.

When I’m cruising the isles at HomeSense and “U Got The Look” starts to play from their corporate soundtrack, I’m all “Oooh, I love this song.” and I’m groovin’ on the inside as I put into my cart crap that I don't need.

Hmmm, odd. I don’t feel any sense of relief letting you know that I'm purple on the inside.

And speaking of “U Got The Look” and more specifically Sheena Easton. My husband and I broke down last weekend and had satellite TV installed...I think we’re the second last people in North America to do so. Anyway, I’m loving DejaVu because they play all the greatest TV shows like Batman, Simon and Simon, I Dream of Jeannie, Magnum P.I. and...Miami Vice.

Well, actually I really don’t like Miami Vice but there was a series of episodes with Sheena Easton where her character and Sonny Crockett were lovers and it was tortured and sexy and sad. But it wasn’t really sexy because Don Johnson is gross.

But man that’s great TV.

And speaking of TV, is 24 the new Love Boat?

Peter Weller
Julian Sands
C. Thomas Howell

How many "has-been/almost-was" actors can you write into one show?

Anyway, you’ll have to stay tuned to see if one of my deep dark secrets gets posted.

2006-03-23T20:13:00.000-05:00

My fantastic friend’s fantastic mum was in town recently and I stopped in to say hello.

While my friend was in the kitchen making one of her delicious beverages, her mum and I got into a conversation about life and what we wanted to do when we grew up.

You gotta love these kinds of conversations when they happen with someone you speak with once a year.

I said that my true calling was as a Domestic Engineer and that I should have been born in the 1950’s - I love the clothes, the hair, the pseudo-formality and the kitchen. I don't even think I'd mind the facade since we're all still facading (not a word, I know) now anyway.

But, as we all know, I hate kids.

And how stupid would it be for me to stay at home when I have no child rearing to accomplish.

Damn the women’s liberation movement!

Their oversight has enslaved us to the workplace and the home front. There's still little choice - now we have to work in and out of the house.

What about the choice?

And god forbid we don’t want a corporate life.

What must be wrong with the girl who doesn’t want not only a job but a career and to be upwardly mobile. We must strive for that corner office.

We must be grateful to our feminist pioneers for this great advancement.

All hale the CEO.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for voting, driving and the ability to get a patent but where are the extra hours in the day?

I just want to be happy.

And mum had a good point (though she may have been thinking that I‘ve been reading too much Camille Paglia), this is actually the perfect opportunity for me to stay at home because I don’t have kids...or the expenses that come with them.

Good point.

And then I thought back to a time when I got laid off from my shitty Leggett Drive hi-tech job. It was the happiest damn time in my life.

I kept thinking that I’d go crazy at home all day. Not so.

Then I thought that I’d eventually run out of home improvements to work on. Not so.

I though I might go stir-crazy having no one to talk with for 12 hour stretches. Definitely not so. I think I could go the rest of my life without talking to another sole.

Get bored? Never did.

Restless? Nope.

And I think of now. I hate my fucking job. I hate hi-tech. I hate the office environment and the ten hour work days that go with it. This could very well be my most disgruntled time in life.

When I got home that night I shared this exchange and my thoughts with my husband. And he recalled how great it was when I was home. Everything was always taken care of. The bills were paid and our time together after work was our time together...no laundry, no mowing the lawn, the gardens were beautiful, we could go canoeing in the evening and have a picnic on the rocks.

Pure joy.

His wife was happy and all was right with the world (except for environmental destruction, senseless wars and poverty, of course).

So...am I quitting my job?

2006-03-15T22:03:00.000-05:00

This is why I hate leaving my house and venturing out into the wild...

My husband and I were out and about tonight. We’re in Barrhaven and realize that we are hungry and should eat. So, like I said...we’re in Barrhaven.

For those readers in East Chezzetcook, Nova Scotia, Barrhaven is a maze of houses. Miles upon miles upon miles of suburbia, complete with SUV’s, soccer moms, and Wal-Mart. Think American Beauty.

Where to eat?

We see a burger joint.

Fine.

We go in.

That was the first mistake.

We order our food and wait in line. And wait some more. The line grows. I start eyeing the place for somewhere to sit and notice that seats are becoming sparse so I tell my husband I’m going to grab a seat by the window.

I find a seat beside an unassuming teenage girl. She seemed like any other teenage girl, sitting all slumped over, sipping her diet soda with her eyes fixed firmly on the floor. Unhappy to be anywhere if it's not her bedroom where she can listen to music and talk on the phone with her BFF.

Man I hated that stage.

My husband comes with our food and behind him is a guy who sits down at the same table as this girl. It’s her dad.

Dad: I don’t know why you couldn’t have just met me here. Now were going to be even later than we already are all because you couldn’t walk.

(silence from the girl)

Dad: You know, it’s human nature. People are constantly trying to get by in life by doing as little as possible. You’re just the same. You won’t be able to get by in life like that forever, ya know.

(girl shrugs)

(silence at the table for a minute)

Dad: These fries are too salty. Why did you have to put so much salt on them? Are you trying to kill me? (there was nothing tongue-in-cheek about his comment).

(silence from the girl)

Dad: Have you only eaten one piece of your chicken? You don’t like it? You better eat it because it’s going to get cold and I’m not wasting money on food if you’re not going to eat it.

Girl: It’s too hot.

Dad: Drop it? I’m not going to drop it. I don’t work all day to spend money on your dinner and give you money for movies with your loser friends for you to talk to me like that.

Girl: I said it’s too hot.

Dad: Hot spicy or hot temperature?

(girl mumbles)

(Dad takes a piece of her chicken)

Dad: This chicken is too tough. I hate the food here.

(he throws the half piece of chicken back onto her tray)

(silence for another minute)

Dad: How are your friends. (the absence of a question mark is intentional)

Girl: Fine.

Dad: You know, I’m trying to take an interest in you here and you’re not making it easy. I’m tired of you disrespecting me.

(girl starts to sniffle)

(dad folds his arms and sits further back into his chair)

Dad: Hurry up an finish your dinner. Your mother is expecting us. And we’re not getting anything else on the way home so eat your dinner.

It's was just a barrage of parental bullying.

At this point, I’m hoping that this asshole will go to the bathroom so I can say to the girl something along the lines of:

Run!
Honey, I'm so sorry.
Hide in my car and I’ll get you out of here.
Your dad is an ass. Don’t listen to a thing that comes out of his fat-ass mouth.
Not all guys are like that and when you grow up you don’t have to settle for a guy that treats you like that.
Hang in there, you’ll be out of the house in a few years and this will all just be a distant memory.
Maybe he’s not your real dad?

He was destroying what remained of his daughter's self-esteem right in front of us.

Fuck I hate people.

2006-03-09T19:25:00.000-05:00

Danny Finkleman
Anthony Germaine
Mary Lou Findlay
Brent Bambury
Sean Eckford
Sean Cullen
Terry O’Reilly

Good lord, who’s next up to the CBC guillotine? Shelagh Rogers?

This has been a tough twelve months for dedicated CBC listeners.

What the heck is happening?

As the new reign takes hold (think Darth Vader’s death grip), will we - the poor CBC listeners - be forced to endure more Jian Ghomeshi?

Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure Jian’s a good guy, but I liken him to costume jewellery; you fall in love with it at first (who can resist that sparkly shiny charm), but after a while it loses it’s bewitchery and you wish you had invested a little more and gotten the real thing.

Thank goodness Alan Neal and Hallie Cotnam are still there. They’re modern but old school. It's all good (did you hear Hallie's interview with a cranky Jan Harder this week?!!).

And at least Brent is still on Go. Though All In A Day hasn’t been the same since he left and Robert Fontaine is not nearly as clever without him.

It’s like the world has lost it’s mojo.

On another note, for lunch tomorrow at work I’m going to try and pass off my French Rabbit box-o-wine as a kiddie juice box. I’ll let you know how it goes.

2006-03-01T22:12:00.000-05:00

You know you’re a nerd when you find Merriam-Webster’s list of word's with the most look-up's so fascinating that you feel the need to share it with others.

It has a kinda archaeological feel to it. I think those words tell us a lot about where we were at a certain point in time and if you looked to the lists of years past you‘d get a glimpse of what was going on at the time and where our heads were at.

...and there's a joke in there about people not knowing the meaning of word #1 but I don't want to spoil it for you so check it out.

(you may also be a nerd if you like Doctor Who)

Oh, and I went downhill skiing last week for the first time in my life (see whiny post from February 9th) and I now know the meaning of the word humiliation.

me: i think i need a date with a hot bath, a bottle of vodka and some sleeping pills / fruitloops: you're very Elizabeth Taylor circa 1968 today

2006-02-20T21:39:00.000-05:00

If I was going to commission someone to paint a portrait of little ‘ol moi, it would be Camille Rose Garcia (and it would probably turn out to look much like the accompanying image).

If I was going to be muse to someone, it would be Leonard Cohen (I lost my virginity to a Leonard Cohen song - hey wait, that was grammatically erroneous - I lost my virginity while a Leonard Cohen song played in the background - yea that makes more sense).

If I was going to have someone drive me to work each day, it would be Hello Kitty. What do you mean she's not real?

If I could only eat one food for the rest of my life it would be Cadbury Mini Eggs…

Oh wait, what I meant was that I think I just ate enough Cadbury Mini Eggs to last me a lifetime.

Dear Fruitloops: When I recounted our Instant Message exchange to my husband, I used the original line, "I think I need a date with a hot bath, a bottle of vodka and razor blade". To which he responded, "You want to shave your legs?"

Dearest Pam: Upon saying goodbye tonight, my husband said that French and German should actually be called Gerench because he liked that better than Phremyn. I say Phremyn stays.

ding dong the witch is dead

2006-02-15T19:43:00.000-05:00

Which old witch?

The wicked witch!

New girl is gone. She’s been invited back to her former workplace so she's mounted her broom and flown away.

Can you believe that someone actually wants her around and had missed her so much that they would go out of their way to entice her back?

I’m still stunned.

Apparently she found her current work environment too stressful.

Of course she did...she had to actually work. She had to come in on time, not take a break every 1.75 hours, sometimes she’d have to eat lunch at her desk to meet a deadline (who am I kidding - she never went out of her way) and come to work even though she had the sniffles.

Would it surprise you to find out that she’s going back to work for the Federal Government?

Didn’t think so.

I know people who work in the Canadian Government hate to hear that private sector folks think badly of the work ethic within the Government but give me a break. Not to say that there are not alot of hardworking people there as well but for the most part you've got the reputation that you've collectively earned. Deal.

I know I’ll look back at the Wicked Witch's time in my work life and laugh. Hell, I laugh about it now. But a person can’t be all bad news and I fear that I have painted an unfair portrait of her.

I should say something nice about her.

Something nice.

Anything nice.

Just one thing.

Something.

Nice.

Well, the truth is that the very sound of her voice drove me mad so I’m glad she’s gone.

I guess my New Years resolution to be a bit less critical has gone the way of the Dodo bird.

In other work news, the receptionist told me today that she’s on Prozac and that I’d be surprised at how many people at work are on Prozac.

How did this conversation begin?

I asked "Did you cut your hair?"

Yep, she's clearly on Prozac.

And no, I probably wouldn’t be surprised by how many people I work with who are on anti-depressants.

2006-02-13T21:04:00.000-05:00

Wow, maybe there is god after all...

my prayers have been answered and Alex Munter is running for Mayor.

Yea Alex.

I love Alex. Let’s hope he has a great campaign manager and kick ass PR because we all know a winner is crafted through clever marketing.

Unfortunately, the City of Ottawa has already started plotting against him. Alex was set to throw his hat into the ring at a press conference today at noon. I checked the City of Ottawa website mid morning today and they already had him listed as a candidate. They are either really excited about him joining the race or trying to undermine him. I’ll go with undermine.

I also learned today that a bunch of shows that no one watches on CBC have been cancelled - DaVinci’s City Hall, The Tournament and This is Wonderland have all been axed. Apparently the CBC prefers to waste it’s cash on bad journalism, cheap backdrops and polyester...and, no, I'm not referring to Terry David Mulligan this time.

I say the CBC needs to get their collective heads out of their asses and bring us a new series starring Don McKellar.

Alex and Don are my new boyfriends. Just in time for Valentine's Day.

2006-02-09T18:11:00.000-05:00

Inspiration.

Or lack thereof.

Hello February.

Actually, this is chronic problem for me. Lack of children in my 30's = too much time on my hands to ponder “what it’s all about.”

The good thing is that I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s about nothing (maybe Jerry was onto something) and now I’m trying to move on from there.

But it isn’t easy because everything is meaningless.

I was at the grocery store the other day and I ran into a guy I used to know in high school - back at good ‘ol A.Y. Jackson in the 80’s.

We’ll call him Frank.

Frank gave me one of the lasting memories of my high school career. It was probably Day 2 of Grade 9. My second day of high school. I was walking down the main hall, books in hand, having just said goodbye to my BFF (who I no longer talk to - big surprise) when Frank came running down the hall and smashed right into me. My books flew out of my hands and onto the floor. I was mortified. Doesn’t seem like a big deal now but back at 14 years old I was ready to crawl under a rock. Frank, being the kind guy that I would later know him to be, stopped and helped me pick up my books and apologized profusely. Still, the hallway echoed with laughter and I slunk into History class.

Where does inspiration fit into all this?

When’s the last time something happened that made me feel that way?

It’s been awhile. And that’s probably a good thing because wanting to crawl under a rock isn't a good thing. Except I started to think about those emotions of high school, the depression, the embarrassment, the excitement, the wonder, the anticipation, the depression (wait, did I already say that?).

I worked so hard to get away from the high school years - and I’m glad I did - but in the process I kinda numbed myself out. It’s painful to feel stuff at that level of sensitivity but I think I’ve blocked myself from some of the good stuff too.

Last time I was excited? Two weeks ago having just finished painting my study and having the satisfaction that I picked out the right kick ass color of beige.

How fucked up is that?

With all this time and disposable income on my hands, shouldn’t I be excited about something a little more worthy? Like say, breaking my wrist trying to snow board, getting turned down by a gallery because my art sucks, going downhill skiing and actually making it down the hill for the first time without wiping out, running a marathon or posing nude for the creepy photographer down the street.

I think I have some work to do.

2006-02-01T08:25:00.000-05:00

Remember my home vasectomy kit of September 2004? I’ve been gently trying to get my husband to seriously consider the option of a vasectomy (though not necessarily the home version).

Me: So, are you getting a vasectomy tomorrow?

Husband: No.

Me: Just so you know, if I get pregnant because you wouldn’t have a vasectomy, I’m having an abortion.

Husband: Stephen Harper won’t let you.

Me: I have lots of coat hangers.

Husband: I’ve seen your closet. All your coat hangers are busy.

(I think I’ve probably alienated a good percentage of you, no? So crass of me to joke about abortion, the threat that women’s rights might be in jeopardy and the dark alley procedures that some women had to endure in the past.)

I can understand that the requirement to think about a vasectomy is likely to lead to an early mid-life crisis for dear hubby.

But I’m okay with a new car, a better stereo, a bigger TV and a boat.

On another note...Charlie must die.

2006-01-22T20:52:00.000-05:00

Dear cranky bitch sitting at the dinner table next to me Saturday night:

Lose the navy blazer and the nude tights with the navy skirt in January - you’re on a date with your husband/boyfriend/lover not in a meeting with your government agency employer.

Lose the dirty looks - yea, my husband and I have things to talk about other than work and the kids (partly because we’re happily childless). We have friends. We like music and art and planning our future adventures. We like to laugh and talk to each other. I’m glad to know that you found our conversation so fascinating that you had to eavesdrop on our every word.

But you really should learn how to be less obvious about it.

You and your husband/boyfriend/lover were sitting there for about 30 minutes before you finally stopped blabbing on about the behavioural deficiencies of your offspring and your husband got a word in to ask you how you enjoyed your dessert. It’s painful to see a well dressed, well groomed, attentive man sitting across the table from a boring cow like you.

I’m gonna ask the Sommelier for a recommendation - I see this not as a sign of my ignorance but rather proof that I value a good wine/food matching. And if I’m going to spend $xxx.xx on a bottle I haven’t tried before, I want to know it’s potential.

Yea, I was sporting some cleavage that night but with cleavage like mine, it’s not only my right but my responsibility to bodacious women all over the world to celebrate the orbs.

So fuck you.

calling all ottawa corrie fans

2006-01-16T20:21:00.000-05:00

It looks like my dream may be coming true...The Cheshire Cat Pub will be having a Coronation Street breakfast some Sunday in February. I'll post the date when I get it.

My husband and I debated whether or not it would be fantastic to have people come in character.

I fantasized about coming as Cilla. Husband could come as Les.

Steve and Tracy? Husband does kinda have the hots for Tracy and I usually have a smarmy look on my face and I do think that pretty much everyone else is useless. We could do it.

Roy and Hayley? No, husband doesn't want to wear a cardigan.

Charlie and Shelly? I could wonder around asking everyone if they've seen husband/Charlie whilst carrying a too-small dress and eating nothing.

Rosie? I have the wardrobe, the lipstick and the black eyeliner. It would be like a blast from the past...my Siouxsie Sioux worship days revisited.

Oh the fun.

And would it be wrong to drink beer at 8am?

Didn't think so.

On another note, people's reckless use of exclamation points is getting to me.

aboriginals are the root cause of poverty

2006-01-09T21:24:00.000-05:00

Aboriginals are the root cause of poverty?

That doesn’t even make sense, Mr. Prime Minister.

The election is an endless source of amusement on so many levels but televised debates take the cake.

Speaking of the election, last week CBC interviewed Bonnie Jean-Louis who is the Green Party candidate for Glengarry - Prescott - Russell.

When asked how long she’d been involved in politics, she said something like (I’m paraphrasing here)...

"Last year I was an artist, an adventurer...a free spirit. Today I’m in politics."

Yep, that’s just the kind of dedication, experience and commitment I look for in a politician.

Now, I don’t feel we have a lot of potential in the Big Evil 3 and I do ponder the "vote with your conscience vs. vote strategically to kick the crooks to the curb" debate so I’d be tempted to vote Green if it wasn’t for this kind of "we’ll take who we can get" process the Green Party seems to take when selecting their candidates.

The Green Party may have candidates in every riding but how valid are these candidates?

It’s a rhetorical question, you don’t have to answer.

And sadly, I feel that Bonnie Jean-Louis is actually an insult to some her Green colleagues who must be more qualified. At least some of them anyway.

Then I got to thinking about Tom Manley who was running for the leadership of the Green Party of Canada in 2004.

I have alot of respect for Tom because of his involvement with the Canadian Organic Growers Association and his own business Homestead Organics. He's intelligent and articulate. I like that.

So I Googled Tom to get his official Green Party bio.

I landed here.

I clicked on Tom’s name thinking the hyperlink would take me to a place with more information.

Yikes.

Good marketing, folks.

What was I saying about the Green Party?

Oh yea, Bonnie Jean-Louise doesn’t have a phone either.

No phone? I’m all for living off the grid but if you’re stepping into the ring, you’d better have the basics.

Politicians are already difficult enough to reach.

2006-01-04T22:01:00.000-05:00

This is Lucky...my new favorite anti-hero.

But sadly, like my old favorite anti-hero, Curtis, I have little faith he will be around for long.

The CBC can put some great shows on the air but they really suck at keeping them there.

there's gotta be a pill for this

2006-01-02T13:20:00.000-05:00

Me: Why do we drink so much?

Husband: Because we love it.

Me: Why do we love it?

Husband: Because we enjoy it. When I go to the kitchen for a drink, the first thing I think of is "what can I put booze into?"

Me: Is that good?

Husband: It sure feels good.

Me: Back to my question. Why do we drink so much?

Husband: Joy. It’s artificial joy.

Me: You and I need to manufacture joy for ourselves though alcohol? That doesn’t sound healthy. We have jobs, money, a house, transportation, families we love and we’re stupidly in love considering we’ve been together for 14 years. Why do we need to create joy through alcohol?

Husband: True. But we love to laugh and that makes us laugh.

Me: We need alcohol to laugh? Besides, it makes us tired, we sit around doing nothing and that's not making us laugh.

Husband: Well, it is kinda expensive. Imagine the money we’d save if we drank like normal people. We could buy a stellar new couch every six months. We could pay someone to landscape the backyard for us. So...are we agreeing to drink less?

And so begins another "set yourself up for failure" scenario. Irresistible this time of year.

I think alcohol is a Government-sponsored conspiracy to keep us all lazy and complacent and busy with things other than keeping our eyes on them and trying to proactively better the country. It’s the same reason they want us to have families - it keeps the tax paying population growing at a good rate but it also ensures that parents (a huge portion of our population) are too busy with raising their kids and trying to find daycare to concern themselves with thinking about trying to fix our broken political system.

If we have kids and/or we're drunk - that pretty much takes care of 95% of the population. The Government has labelled the other 5% of concerned citizens as radicals. They’ve convinced us that the system is too hard to navigate and that we should leave all that hard work to the intellects on Parliament Hill. And we believe them. They think we’re idiots. And maybe we are.

It’s enough drive a person to drink.

I give my husband and I until Friday.

2005-12-31T08:29:00.000-05:00

Thanks to Frogpajamas for the inspiration.

Last night I had a dream that I was somewhere in a futuristic industrial Asia in an era that looked like a cross between Eraserhead and Blade Runner. And while the world was coming to a horrible, environmentally catastrophic end, I was on a decrepit boat, floating in murky water, getting it on with a suit wearing Clive Owen while I was sporting a pair of stilettos and a thorough wax job. We were both sporting very naughty attitudes.

And this morning I am one happy girl.

And I should be even happier around 3pm because I’m off to pick up some champagne this morning with which to whip up a batch of champagne cocktails this afternoon so I can make New Years dinner for me and my husband while "half in the bag".

Life is good today.

Oh, and to my long suffering husband who always asks, "Where was I in your dream?", darling, you were swabbing the deck. And, no, "swabbing the deck" isn't a euphemism for something sexual, you were actaully scrubbing the floor of the boat as Clive and I enjoyed ourselves during the end of the world. Sorry.

2005-12-24T11:49:00.000-05:00

Well, my single favorite moment of the Christmas season has arrived.

My husband has locked himself in the spare bedroom and is proceeding to wrap the presents he has bought for me.

Why is this my single favourite moment?

Because he’s in there for hours (so I guess that qualifies as more than a moment) and at some point during the event, his whistling will stop and it will sound like he’s in a life and death struggle with the wrapping paper and double-sided tape. The things we do for love.

If I could wrap something up to give to you, I would give you four things:

Music
1. Funeral by Arcade Fire: You should own it now because I’m 85% sure their next release will suck and it’ll taint Funeral forever.
2. Has Been by William Shatner: I heart William Shatner
3. The Occasionals by Jim Bryson: It’ll break your heart and mend it later.

and

4. A copy of Jan Lars Jensen’s book Nervous System (but I'll get you the original Canadian cover with the silver nuts and bolts - I don’t know why it bugs me so much that they changed the color of the bolts for the US release but it really really bugs me). This book will make you think about your everyday interactions with people in a different way. It’ll also make you think twice about your own stability.

That’s all for now.

P.S. Dee, we miss you.

jack layton is one sexy bitch

2005-12-18T18:47:00.000-05:00

Ah the election.

Stick with me here...I have an idea rather than just a general rant about the idiots that are vying for our vote in the upcoming Canadian election.

One of things that drives me mad about the political process is that it’s all so temporary. Strides/progress that the country makes with it's existing Government are mostly lost as soon as they're voted out and the whims of a new order are put into play - out with the old and in with the new political party's objectives. Let the paper shredding party begin!

As a country, this is a really bad idea for all of us. How can we think of moving forward as a nation when we can't be confident that yesterday’s issues (women’s rights, for instance) will stay yesterday’s issues? How can we even think of giving everyone the right to marry (which, is a human right’s issue, folks, and not just an issue for the gay community) and then rescind that when someone else comes into power who holds the opposite belief.

Totally absurd.

Maybe we’re going about this the wrong way. What if the election was actually a two-part process?

Let’s do away with the political parties altogether. There are good and bad things about each of them but none of them wholly represent who I am as an individual and I’m pretty sure that’s the case with our entire population.

What if we first voted, as a country - yes, that includes you Quebec (but, please go already if that‘s what you really really want but don‘t be knocking on our door again to come back in when the going gets rough because we‘re gonna shut the door and swallow the key) - on the issues that we want addressed during the next Government’s term? We’d enter the ballot station, take a look at the 25 issues on the ballot and check the 10 that are most important to us. The votes get counted and the 10 issues with the most votes are the issues that get worked on during the next Governments term.

Our second step is to search for candidates to run for the leadership. These candidates must be willing to take on those 10 issues most important to Canadian voters (they can have a posse to work with them on the issues at hand), qualified to intelligently tackle the issues and willing to work towards resolving them within his/her term as leader.

We'll know the issues that we want resolved and can go about finding someone we think possesses the ability to get those particular things done. Think of it as a job interview on a national scale.

Then at our second vote, we vote for a leader.

Everybody with me?

Oh, and yes I really do think Jack is a sexy guy. But what the fuck do I know, I also think Don Cherry is hot.

So, what's with the image, you might ask. My husband has a good point...Sam the Snowman does kinda look like Don Cherry. Let the jokes about Hanna and her snowman begin.

2005-12-12T21:07:00.000-05:00

If Diana Krall takes the honour of having the worst Christmas cd cover, Harry Connick, Jr. gets the honour for having the Christmas cd with the worst title.

Harry for the Holidays?

Seriously?

Even if he did come up with this title after indulging in a few too many smart eggnogs alone one night, how did this title get past his manager, his friends, the record company marketing department or his wife (a former model who's probably spent a decent amount of time trying to remove unwanted hair so she wouldn't be hairy for the holidays)?

I'm stumped.

give me crack and anal sex, take the only tree that's left and stuff it up the hole in your culture

2005-12-11T20:44:00.000-05:00

There are few great versions of the Leonard Cohen song Hallelujah.

A few months ago I was at the Chateau Laurier drinking Champagne Cocktails with a friend.

Champaign Cocktails + girls out on a Saturday night at the Chateau Laurier = trouble for the pianist.

We asked the waiter if the pianist takes requests.

He does. Fantastic.

The pianist came over and we proceeded to berate the poor boy with requests to play songs by Wham ("Who?", he asked...ya, he was that young) and other crazy shit that we would normally never ever listen to on own volition (stop me if I'm repeating myself).

The pianist - clearly exasperated with having to deal with us - started to rhyme off songs he could play for us on this piano - strangely, it included Pearl Jam…at the Chateau Laurier?…on piano?…we should have taken him up on it just for the shear curiosity of what that would sound like.

I digress.

As soon as he said Hallelujah we jumped all over that. It’s a great song. And when it’s done badly, it can be pretty funny. And I was expecting funny from this lounge lizard.

I was surprised at how decent the rendition was. And that made me ponder, what makes a good rendition of Hallelujah?

Flash forward to today. I headed out this morning to try and finish-up my Christmas shopping and in the car I heard a truly hideous version of Hallelujah on CBC. Turns out it was Alison Crowe (and not Alison Krauss, as previously reported - thanks Mr. Dina). I have no idea who this person is. But it started me pondering once again, what makes a good rendition of that song?

And I got it.

Anyone wanting to prove their vocal range should not sing Hallelujah . The beauty of this song is in the restraint (and quite possibly the self-loathing).

Jeff Buckley gets it. Rufus Wainwright gets it. And so does k.d. Lang.

But for those who don’t get it, their version of this song will always sound like they're from the Mariah Carey School of Bleeding Ears. It’s range for the sake of range...

"Listen to me! I can SING! Now give me fur, diamonds and promise me you'll worship me forever because I have a talent like none other. Pass the butter."

We all need to listen to Leonard Cohen more often.

what...is it contagious or something?

2005-12-06T21:28:00.000-05:00

Last night - got a hair cut. I didn't really need one but still kinda did. I decided to go with bangs after being bangless (insert lame comment here) for probably ten years.

Bad move.

And all the girls in the audience know the heartbreak of making a bad decision about bangs. I blame it on Carol McNeil. It worked for her. It doesn’t work for me.

Today, I get in my car, pop in Stars, pull out of the garage and then remember that my garage door remote is no longer in my car but in the car of my husband and his car is currently parked at his work. So, I get out of my car, walk back into the garage, press the switch to close the garage door and bolt out of my garage in an effort to a) beat the door and b) try not to trip the sensor that senses when an obstacle is in the way (that would be me) and opens back up. I did this three times. I was wearing a too-long skirt. Not cool.

I escape garage and door finally closes.

I buckle my seatbelt and realize I forgot to grab a lunch from the freezer in the basement on my way out and the lunch bag I have sitting beside me is empty. I’m not doing the garage door thing again and reside myself to the fact that I’ll either have to eat dried noodles for lunch or go out and get something.

I drive past four houses and realize that neither our garbage nor our recycling was brought out to the curb this morning…and hey, isn’t that the garbage truck coming at me. Yep. Oh well. I’m late for work and don’t have time to turn back.

My cell phone is dead and after tearing through my glove box (is there another name for that because I don't think that's relevant anymore) I remember that it too is in my husband's car. Thief.

I get to work and try to hunt down the newer new girl on my team to have the “performance adjustment” conversation with her. It’s her second time in three weeks being the recipient of such a conversation. I wonder if I can go back to being pure execution and forget all this management crap? Conversation goes fine and she agrees she has issues to work on (though my belief is that she'll be gone shortly after Christmas because I don't think this is the job for her).

Day goes as usual - the sound of the new girl’s voice (the other new girl) gets on my nerves, one of the two co-workers I actually like is actively looking for another job, newer-new girl continues to fumble and people were laid off...plus I don’t have time to get out at lunch to pick anything up so I eat dried noodles that I’ve attempted to revitalize but really, how much can a person expect from boiled water and salt?

I use my mantra "First world problems, first world problems" in an effort to get over myself and put these stupid things in perspective.

Work day ends.

I arrived home to my new favorite magazine in my mailbox and two Christmas cards.

Things are looking better.

I sit down to Shanghai Noodles from the take-away in Carp (who would think that Carp would have great tasting Chinese food?), a bottle of red wine and Mr. & Mrs. Smith. In my defence, I would normally not rent such a movie but I was really looking to flake out on the couch tonight and thought that a little eye candy would do the trick.

Angelina was never naked in the film.

My husband arrives home from Montreal. He tells me I look hot with bangs and that Angelina would look better if she gained 30lbs.

All is right with the world.

2005-12-05T20:47:00.000-05:00

There are so many things wrong with this cover.

The stiffness of her body on the wicker chair. The position of her arms. Her stringy-looking hair. Her joyless face. Her legs spread wide apart. The dress hiked up.

Maybe she’s supposed to be the drunk slutty girl at an office party.

Speaking of slutty office girls….ah, no, nevermind. I’ll save that story for later.

I heard a reviewer describe Diana Krall’s delivery of the jazz classics as being about as exciting as listening to a porter read a telegram. Kinda fits - but since I’ve never had a porter read me a telegram I can’t say for certain.

And who brings out their wicker furniture in December?

Anyway, I'm in the market for some new Christmas music so if you have any recommendations, please pass them along.

And if you suggest Trans-Siberian Orchestra I will know you are a loser with zero taste in music.