sugar

Just as sweet, just as pure, just as necessary with your morning coffee.

Ma Uncool

Flashback...

I went to my mom's last Friday and was helping out with some intensive yard work. I did not really arrive dressed for manual labour of the likes, but, fortunately, I had left a pair of really old sneakers perfect for the job at my mom's a while back. My mom dug them out for me; arriving down the stairs, she handed me a pair of sparkling white yet 14 year-old Nikes.
Ma Uncool strikes again: she had put my perfectly-old-so-cool sneakers through the washing machine, just like she did when I was in high school, causing me merciless shame with their 'more than white' clean. Now, I'm trying to remember if she used to iron my jeans...

New Moon

The New Moon, according to the lunar calendar, took place Thursday night at 19:44. It brings with it the unexpected, that yields surprises far better than ever would have the expected. Or so it says.

Strange things have happened...

"The girl detective won't eat her dinner. Her father, the housekeeper-they've tried everything they can think of. Her father takes her out to eat-Chinese restaurants, once even a truckstop two states away for chicken-fried steak. The girl detective used to love chicken-fried steak. Her father has gained ten pounds, but the girl detective will only have a glass of water, not even a slice of lemon. I saw them once at that new restaurant downtown, and the girl detective was folding her napkin while her father ate. I went over to their table after they'd left. She'd folded her napkin into a swan. I put it into my pocket, along with her dinner roll and a packet of sugar. I thought these things might be clues.
The housekeeper cooks all the food that the girl detective used to love. Green beans, macaroni and cheese, parsnips, stewed pears-the girl detective used to eat all her vegetables. The girl detective used to love vegetables. She always cleaned her plate. If only her mother were still here, the housekeeper will say, and sigh. The girl detective's father sighs. Aren't you the littlest bit hungry? they ask her. Wouldn't you like a bite to eat? But the girl detective still goes to bed hungry.
There is some debate about whether the girl detective needs to eat food at all. Is it possible that she is eating in secret? Is she anorexic? Bulimic? Is she protesting something? What could we cook that would tempt her?
I am doing my best to answer these very questions. I am detecting the girl detective. I sit in a tree across the street from her window, and this is what I see. The girl detective goes to bed hungry, but she eats our dreams while we are asleep. She has eaten my dreams. She has eaten your dreams, one after the other, as if they were grapes or oysters. The girl detective is getting fat on other people's dreams." - Stranger Things Happen, Kelly Link

To Kraft or not to Kraft...

My dinner comes in box format tonight. But which one? I was almost going for the soup, telling myself Kraft was crap, when the Kraft box told me it was a 'Sensible Solution'. With my trashy frame of mind (see below), who was I to argue?

To Phallus of not to Phallus...

I am in the process of writing a mini-huge-thesis for a class whose professor seems to quiver with an odd glee (that I would rather not comprehend) whenever the words 'erect', 'phallus', 'gynocomorphized', etc., etc., are breathed. I feel some shame, yet pride, at the 'literary jewels' (seen in following example, among my best), I have explicitly littered throughout my essay:
"The theme of Fertility, the male and female, their seed and growth, explodes onto the building's façade. From the roof of the entrance, these man-made piers hold two erect phallus-fountains, spewing fertile eggs suspended in a foliated bed."
Too much, eh? The catch: I have to present this paper in front of a group of esteemed professors and colleagues, with a straight face.

Ehhh, what's up doc?

I have lost all faith (already, it was holding by a thread) in doctors. How the bloody hell can they prescribe you an anti-biotic to cure you which has EVEN WORSE side effects than your original problem???!!! The farce of it all is that the doc KNEW it had this side effect, the pharmacist knew, hell, I think the tall scrawny-looking teenage boy/cashier-in training at my grocery store (who charged me 2.49$ for a ruttabaga! Whoa, nelly!) knew.
Even worse, how can they (docs from hell) scold you for taking the anti-biotic right away??!! A feeble "but, see, I, euh, wanted to get better?" didn't help things. Never, ever trust a doc who punches things into his palm with a tiny pen in order to prescribe you something...

ADDENDA: No one in my entourage is surprised by this brutal side-effect, not even my brother (and, um, this is a female thing, so double freaky). The fact that such knowledge is commonplace and I had no clue is bothersome, and puts into question the entire 'adult and mature woman' vibe I've been trying to keep up. Imagine what else I don't know? *shudder*

Primal

Ever notice, when you are in that end-of-semester rush, your primal self comes out? Nothing but the basics (working and peeing) matters (crumbs, dishes, hygiene, balanced meals just fly out the window) and you find yourself doing/accepting things you never EVER would normally. Why are there socks jammed into my printer paper feed right now? I don't know, but it seems a great place.

You know you are extremely tired/bored when...

Online karaoke, for those lonely late nights. Funny thing is, I regret having registered now and only having a 7-day trial (and so little time in the next seven days to try it out). ok, ok, one 'Careless Whisper', then I am off to bed...

I take it back

H&M sucks shit. I just got this message: "Sorry, there is no item size which would fit the measurements saved in your profile." WHAT??!! This is impossible (and I think they are just trying to deter me from eating more chocolate!). And what about that poor woman who is a 52 I? Do the clothes fit her? As much as I think they are waif-hugging fuckers right now, I know I will have to go to the store and prove them wrong. Somehow, pulling on a pair of jeans and going up to the H&M sales lady and saying "You see!! You see!!! THIS would FIT my virtual body!!!!" and then storming off, muttering under my breath "No item for my virtual self, my ass, real self begs to bloody differ..." will surely not have the impact I wish it did...

All nighter

Waiting for the chocolate to kick in, just started a 500g bar. Somehow, when I hold this GIGANTIC bar in my hands, I am convinced that I am teeny weeny and can afford to eat more than the suggested serving of 1/12th of a bar.
Having taken a previous mini-break on H&M'S website and made a virtual model of myself in order to waste real time and virtual money (whoaaaa, you can enter a breast size up to 52I!!), I know for a fact that I am not teeny weeny. Bloody depressing, even virtually, nothing looks good on me! Nonetheless, this is cool, for the financially depraved.
[No, I did not finish the chocolate! Sheesh!]

Yoda to OB1

Dang. I miss my galpal in Portugal. I spill my heart out in emails that sail way over the big blue ocean, and she rips hers out as well and sends it right back. Well, at least there is email (big bonus for shopping pics), a relief from major hand cramps.

Ode to Tampax

This one is for all ya gals out there...
Easter always reminds me of when I 'became a woman'. Now, I was but a wee lass of 11, naive, and not too quick on the whole birds/bees concept (I still had a cabbage patch doll, for Chrissakes! Kimberley Michele I think her name was...). Anywho, let's just say I was slowwww and I stretched out the good years, probably knowing that teenagehood was bad news!
A few weeks before came a 'false alarm', right in the middle of Woolco. I told my mom I had cramps, she just looked at me and asked if I felt wet. Felt wet? Hmm...Well, I imagined myself in a pool, compared it with what I was feeling, and decided that no, I did not feel wet. We went along our merry way... (fuck I was a stupid child!)
When I REALLY 'became a woman', it was on Good Friday, I was on the toilet, saw blood, and freaked out (OMG I'm dying, I thought!), and my mom came to see me (answering my hurling cries, in the midst of the family flurry to leave for Ottawa for Easter weekend to visit my grandparents). Once in the bathroom, she kneeled in front of me and explained the whole ordeal to me: this, according to her, meant that some day a great prince would come and marry me.
Ok, so my mom isn't too technical and wasn't the 'guiding light' insofar as sexual education (us kids also had to teach her about the effects of pot) and this might explain alot about my childhood, but nonetheless, this moment is engrained in my memory. And the irony, with my previous blog, 22 years, almost to the day, and 264 periods later, is striking.

[Of course, my mom blabbed, and right after, I got the teasing 'soooo, you're a woooo-man now' from my dad, bro, and baby sis. I think my baby sis even flatly said something like: 'Oh, you got your period'. How the hell did she know all this time!!!]

I'm in the mooood for blog!

I have figured out what I want from love. Now, this may seem like a BIG thing, finally, she sees the light, you all say, but in fact, it is not a big deal at all. I want the fairy tale. Now, as you all know, in any good fairy tale, the how often,where, and when do not matter. What matters is that some kick-ass prince magically rocks Sleeping Beauty's world to the point of waking her up. How this mysterious prince (who?) rocks her world cannot be controlled or determined. He just does, and she just wakes up, just because... In my particular case, this leads me back to square one, comatose, waiting for my prince to come. (And sneeking in some quality nap time in the meanwhile!)

When all else fails, eat easter eggs!

Well, once again, I have struck gold and found the solutions to all my problems. To forget my woes, I enjoyed Easter dinner at my mom's. Enjoyed as in: drank and ate a ridiculous amount, including many many tiny 'poo/egg' chocolates strewn around table in Martha-Stewartesque/bunnies do Fraggle Rock manner. I ate them during pre-dinner drinks, snuck a few in during crudités and dip, had some with the salad, waiting for the main course, during main course, with a roll, during poker, and finally had the biggest chocolate eggy of them all for dessert. I collected enough of those small coloured foil wrappers to build those fraggles a state-of-the-art discotheque.
This morning, I feel like crap. Doesn't help that I smoked like a chimney and drank like a fish either (Is it me, or I was so drunk that baby Jesus kept on coming out of the drawer and making an appearance all night? All I remember is that my brother RUINED Easter, that my sister and I looked like two stoned freaks rubbing every shiny object on the table on our cheeks (including the tiny chocolates) in a nasty Angela Lansdbury attempt at solving the ' G for Glitter mystery', that there was NO STUFFING (since when does Easter not allow stuffing?), and that Bianca is a diaper-wearing biatch).

Happy Easter. Chocolate Rocks!

Big shiny Isa-light

I am so impressed when someone understands me better than I can ever hope to understand myself (just like others must be impressed when I uncover their Caramilk secrets and call them on their crap) .
What I know, for sure is: I am confused. I am not 100% ready to love someone, no matter how utterly remarkable and so very very good hearted and adorable this little critter is. I was very bad. I'm sorry. I want to be the very best that I can be for that future love. For whatever it is worth, Red Delicious (ie little critter) makes me want to be a good person.

As Meg Ryan would say (and I would say to .exe) : "Why weren't you the one, Charlie? The one who turned on this big shiny Kate-light that burns so bright?"

Enough.

Whoaaaaa...

I just noticed my microwave turns one way (clockwise)...then the next time, the other (counter clockwise). Who would have thunk!

Things people say...

Most ridiculous thing someone said to me recently:
.exe :"I'm sure everything would have been fine in our relationship if we had lived together; then, I would have been forced to spend time with you and not to be alone."
Are you on crack??!! What kind of reasoning is that? Oy!

Sweetest thing someone said to me recently:
Red Delicious: "It reminds me that you were here"
Awww... shucks!

Most 'sarcastic-but-true' things someone said to me recently:
G: "The Fukluv Law, that's what it is [...] Move to a remote island"
Quite literally...

What would Dilton do?

I have found the solution to all my problems, thanks to good old Dilton Doiley: I will build myself The Perfect Man. Mr. Perfect, according to current specifications, will (keep in mind, 'perfect' and 'man' are in the same sentence, already a stretch):
- Cook (a 'making' dinner override button could be a temporary substitute should the 'Cook' part be on backorder)
- Do dishes
- Have a tidy robot home, close to mine, but far enough
- Give incredible sex at least twice in a row, preferably mornings
- Eat well, exercise, love breakfast foods, eating out, and coffee
- Have a job he/robot loves yet be a dreamer
- Love roadtrips (but let me drive) and travel
- Dance, sing, and enjoy any music
- Manage to surprise me, despite me having a robot remote control
- Camp, walk, skate, other activities optional
- Talk to me on the phone
- Love (this is a special import part, it seems)
- Understand me (I might have to weld this part myself)
- Be social, meet my friends and family and woo them with he/robot’s charm and incredible goodness
- Pet me, tell me I am beautiful, support me, kiss my booboos, adore me
- Let me do all of the forementioned to him, and then some
- Be curious about everything and NOT boring (De-programmed of any possible “I don’t know, what do youuuu want to do?”)
- Physically (since I have to choose), he/robot will be caucasian, have brown hair, light green eyes with ‘I want you now’, ‘you are my everything’, and ‘puppy-dog look’ options, broad shoulders (in both senses of the word), 'few extra pounds', hairier than me, 5'-9'', great ass, and, *ahem* big feet. He will be squeeky clean and cute as hell to boot!
- Be a 'catch', according to anyone and everyone, all of whom will be green with envy at my perfect bot-toy.

I am sure this list will be perfected, this is but a preliminary sketch…a question of getting a jump on the ‘special order’ parts before tinkering with the details…

Pretty...

...but prickly. Would you touch it? Or admire it from afar, knowing full well it can hurt?

Today, I got closer (and further at the same time) to alot of people. Funny enough, I re-iterated things they had told me, but now it spewed from my mouth, experience and frustration, and I realized how it must have felt to be in their shoes. It is odd and ironic to be in someone else's vicious circle... but despite this, each choice is own to make. *sigh*
[I know I should be more entertaining in my blog, and will be, once I find the humour in this irony]

In a jam

I am at home, in comfy clothes, working on my project, window open, music accompanying the pigeons noises, all the while making apple-strawberry-blackberry jam. Endless back and forths between computer, bathroom, fridge, and stove. And it comes to me. This is what I want. I love this, I need it, whatever you can call it.

Things I have learned/re-learned today:
- styrofoam has static and once in pieces sticks to everything you don't want it to. If I can manage NOT to get some in jam, all will be good.
- red delicious apples, as silly-cute as the name is, take a bloody long time to cook. Note to self: do not be swayed by cute names.
- the CCA library staff is awake 5 days a week (I did not know this), they just come out of hiding for 3 of those days. Sneeky little buggers.
- the building height of 29.2'' on the city plans refers to the wee east side and my dear old friend stands +/- 40'-0'' tall instead.
- my cabinet of curiosity/mouldosity will have to be 68'' wide, extensionable to 140". Geez Louise!
- Madonna's Get Together live is meant to be a shared experience, no matter the price. (Insert Mastercard here)

What goes *bump* in the night

I never realized that what it all came down to was what I wanted. Dear old .exe is still horribly confused and confusing, still MSN bound (well, at least he keeps his phone nice and fingerprint free), drunk or brutally sober, lonely or loner, there and not there, tu'm vois, tu'm vois pas, and what it all boils down to is...nothing. If .exe was a real estate listing on MLS, he would be a 'carpenter's dream', your typical 'fixer upper' (flashes of the movie 'Money Pit' and the word 'vice caché' seems oh-so-appropriate...). Hey, I love renovations, but the foundations have to be solid, and here, we are on some damn shaky ground.

I never realized that what love all came down to was people making choices. I'm a work in progress right now (with actual work not progressing, eeek!) and life is forcing me to slow down for a couple of speed bumps. This is one of them. *BUMP*

Mmmm, cho-co-late!

I am of course chocolate...YUMMY!!! But I do take some offense to the whole 'or just good at pretending' bit! And, well, as far as emotionally stable...sensible...eeeek!

pensive

Today, I feel like her. Floating on walls, a thin layer, weak, stained, barely there but there, disappearing and re-appearing. Spring is made for walking... not disappearing acts.

wake up

wake up
you don't want to sleep through this

Meanwhile, in a faraway land...

...another knight is preparing an entire feast of baked goods. Now really, is the choice so mind-boggling? Why hold out for a morsel when I can have two-dozen's worth? Ah, it is quality, not quantity, you say. Well, they were really good pretzels...
[note: I LOVE LOVE LOVE seeing a man in the kitchen, don't you?]

I'm all ears

*Sigh* Oh, .exe, I'm all ears. Thing is, he never utters what I want to hear. Once again, today, MSN summit whereupon I am lead to follow some sort of trail of bread crumbs and realize, having turned around myself a few times, that I am the one leaving the trail! Of course, dear old .exe would not even spare a morsel, what was I thinking!?
[Now for those of you who are not into subtleties and who are obviously having problems keeping up, .exe, as in executable program, would refer to my EX...]

April showers bring May flowers

On the 4/4 it snowed.

Night Balcony and Bumblebees

- My balcony is back, the sunshine on rendez-vous, and that little place, my private space, has returned to be mine and mine only. [Must shop for plants, sweep, take out table, and start reading/eating breakfast there in mornings]
- I've been stung by a bumblebee. No, I am ok, fret not, I don't mean in the *ouch* real way, it is a me-ta-phor! I don't know how it happened, but last night, somewhere between burnt marinated limes and jello, it just did. He always said he was a good thing for me, I've always sort of smiled and nodded. Now I truly believe it... and I told him so this morning. Who would have thunk. April Fool's...

Neat or Freak

I have come to question my neat-addiction... and am starting to notice that I tend to freak out for petty, materialistic things. Anal, that is the word (in a non-penetration way, of course!). I have systems, places for things to be (and not to be), things that can wipe some things and not touch other things, and dont' even start with my clothes (sticky fingers on my t-shirt do not make for foreplay in my book).

My freakish obsessions are making for cringing crisis' during what should be quite fun and liberating activities. Some days are better than others... will I be able to triumph over my compulsive behaviour? Well, I am testing these limits...

April fool

[that would be me]
I have to find out where this tradition of secretly pinning red paper fishes to other people's backs comes from...

Needs and wants

I neeeeeed a digital camera. Yup. Neeeed!
Now as for what I want...well, I don't quite know. But I am sure a digi cam would help :)