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30 July 2006

The Race is On!

I told myself no blogging until I get my shit together today. And finally, said shit is together. Here I am, at 11:42pm. It's a little later than I expected and I'm a little less full of piss and vinegar. Hopefully, I will entertain someone out there.

I heard from my partner early in the afternoon. He was calling from a small city about 2 hours west of my hometown. This means the easy part is done. Now comes the hard part - driving through Ontario. It would have been incredibly easier to simply drive through the States but they do not have any proof that they are NOT doing shows there. Otherwise, they would technically need a work permit to cross the border. Instead, they painfully cross the large province of Ontario. I wish them luck but what I really wish is for them to be home...NOW.

You see, the race is on. Yes, they all want to be home. Yes, they all want to see their significant others. However, I am full-on PMS monster. The race is on, bitches! I'm going to get my period anyday and, sweet baby Jesus, I want me some dirty sex. Damned period. I'm not what you call a regular girl. The only thing regular about my cycle is how it always seems to come whenever something relatively special is going on. Fuck you, Aunt Flow, fuck you! *shakes fists to heavens*

I wish I knew exactly when they were arriving, because I'm neurotic that way. The house is tidy. There's food in the house to eat. I will shortly finish watching the "things" I've downloaded and I'm too embarrassed to watch in front of my partner (it may or may not be Big Brother 7 live feeds). Also, I can just see him coming home when I'm taking out the garbage in my pajamas - while, not to mention, being incredibly bloated from PMS. I want him to come home and see the pretty me. Not the bloated whale in unsexy pajamas handling a bag of garbage, haha.

All in all, I am so very happy that he will be home very soon! It's exciting actually. It brings me back to a time when we were doing the whole long distance relationship thing. I feel like that girl of two years ago, getting off the airplane to see her lover again! I'm all giddy inside and elated! My knees are weak! I want to look extra pretty for him (even though I'm sure he thinks I'm always pretty, even in bloated pajama pants)! I just want to give him that long-at-last kiss! My best guess is that he will be home either VERY late Monday night or anytime Tuesday. Sigh...kisses!

The rest of the day flew by. I spent the majority of the day completing my last lesson on my online French course. I need a break. There is too much to remember about past and future tenses, too many verbs. My head is toast. I'm surprised I can write in English here tonight because the French honestly kicked my ass tonight. I don't think I have learned too much but I'm proud that I stuck to it nonetheless. I wasn't too pleased with the Barnes and Noble class anyway.

Other than the French, the rest of my day was great. I lingered at the bookstore, caressing the spines of gently used books. I picked up some groceries in a, believe it or not, relaxing environment. I talked to my plants. I talked to an old friend. I may or may not have done a short and spontanious robot dance to Gnarls Barkley. The sun was shining, the temperature was very comfortable, and old men ogled me in my neighbourhood. I feel sassy! Maybe a little bloated, but definitely sassy!

Perhaps it was the wine and estrogen - I had a couple of girls over last night for a soirée. It's nice to be surrounded by girls, as strange as that sounds. Our apartment is usually full of boys, which would probably appeal to my single girl friends. I'm usually swimming in testosterone and band sweat. It was my first time buying white wine and I ended up with a bottle that had a drawing of a monkey (not a member of the 60s band) eating a banana on the label. It screamed quirky, even though I dislike monkeys. It was also my first time buying a bagette. Does that mean I am now officially a true resident of this city?! Anyway, it was a lovely evening of drinking on the patio and girlish gossip. I look forward to more nights like that before summer is over.


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29 July 2006

Power Cleaning - A Romance with Mr. Clean

One of the great things about having the house to myself is that I can freely dance like an idiot and not feel ashamed. Tonight, I slapped on my track pants (or something close to being track pants, I'm just trying to make myself sound gangsta) and threw on a Kanye West cd...and power cleaned. Holla! Usually, I listen to heady depressing music when I'm alone but I figured I'd "raise the roof" *insert Arsenio Hall dog calls and hand motions here* and kick it up a notch. Actually, I just wanted to make sure my power cleaning went quickly instead of listening to mopey music while tragically scrubbing the bathtub.

Yeah. Power cleaned. Everything is sparkly shiny. I think Mr. Clean loves spending Friday night with me. He reassures me that I am not a loser for staying in on a Friday night. So there.

I'm afraid I do not have any witty and captivating cleaning stories, unless you get off on girls who clean in low-cut shirts. Cleavage heaving away, with each and every scrub. Meow! Actually, I guess I got some more lipstick on the bathroom floor somehow. No big surprise, I get lipstick on everything. When I mopped - cleavage heaving, by the way - lipstick was smeared everywhere. Oh, Mr. Clean! Our love affair continues!

The guys are playing in a small city out west tonight. I wish I was there. There have only been two venues that I have been jealous about. Obviously, back home was one of them. Party with my friends, get drunk with my sister. Then, there was tonight. The only reason I want to be there is to meet my close online friend. No fair. I want to drink out of sour cream containers with her. Le sigh. Regardless, I hope they have a fantastic send off to the road home. They are missed and I hope they can return to the city in good spirits. And not wanting to kill one another.

Soon, soon, soon!

28 July 2006

Friday's Ferocious Female - Mabel Stark

I came across Mabel Stark through reading what I thought was a fiction novel. It was called the Final Confessions of Mabel Stark by Robert Hough - you can find it listed on the right hand side of my blog. Though it is written as a faux memoir, a lot of the facts were actually true! Being intrigued by the circuses and sideshows of yesteryear, this book left me pleasantly surprised.

Here's a blurb from
Wikipedia:
Mabel Stark (real name Mary Haynie) was the worlds premier tiger trainer of the 1920, specializing in highly sexualized circus acts. Born in Kentucky, a single child, Stark led an isolated and difficult childhood including corporal punishment from her mother. At the age of 13, both her parents died leaving her an orphan. She spent the rest of her youth with an aunt inLouisville, Kentucky; at the age of 18 she ran away to become a nurse, but ended up working as a stripper at the Great Parker Carnival instead taking the name Mary Aganosticus and later Mabel Stark.

When the manager of the Carnival's menagerie left to form his own circus, he invited Stark, who had shown an interest in the animals, to join him. She was originally slated to teach a troupe of performing goats- but failing that went on to replace the recently-killed cat-trainer Marguerite Haupt.

Choosing to work with the more difficult breed of tigers, rather than the more docile lions, it has been surmised that the solitary Stark preferred the company of one of the few solitary creatures in nature. There she met her new companion Rajah who would become her trademark tamed tiger.

She would later reveal in her writing that when she appeared to be tussling with Rajah, it was actually Rajah trying to copulate with her - which was her reason from changing from an all-black leather ensemble to an all-white bodysuit, to hide the resultant semen.

She was approached by, and joined the Ringling Brothers Barnum and Bailey Circus, though in 1925 they announced they were discarding the large cat portion of their travelling circus and terminated her employment, instead introducing Clyde Beatty as their stand-in tamer for the occasional act. The following year, working for a much smaller circus, Stark was mauled by unfed tigers - an event some claimed was an attempt at suicide on her part since she'd previously displayed her desire to die at the claws of tigers; she spent the next two years in hospital recovering from the event.


Stark appeared occasionally on television in the 1960. For example, she did a stint as one of the guests with an unusual occupation on What's my Line, the popular Sunday Night CBS-TV program.

Her final job was as a menagerie-trainer with JungleLand in Thousand Oaks, California - but in 1968 the park was sold to a new owner who disliked Stark and promptly fired her. Three months later she killed herself by a combination of an overdose of barbiturates and carbon monoxide poisoning.



Five Reasons to Like Mabel Stark:
1) Her acts were highly sexual and daring. Yes, it was the circus - but she was the cream of the crop!
2) She found passion in her career and would not give up on working at something she truly loved.
3) She successfully worked in a very male dominated industry.
4) She worked that white leather jumpsuit. Men used to go to her shows to see her! And clearly, her tiger liked her as well.
5) She worked with tigers. I can't even think about working with people without groaning!


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27 July 2006

Boobs!

So, I think I've had enough of this Tour Widow business. It was fun while it lasted; those sweaty girly sleepovers where we all lounged around in our panties and cooled each other down with ice cubes, those strip poker nights with all my oh so lonely female friends....

(Okay, so that didn't actually happen. I just wanted to impress any male readers. Hey, I can dream!)

But seriously, I've had enough. I want my partner home already. I'm sick of eating for one. I'm annoyed at going to bed alone. I hate having no one to talk to in bed. I haven't had any dreams since he left, probably because I only dream to amuse him in the morning. I loathe this whole having no one to rant to when I have PMS thing. I think this is the first time I have had no one really to lash out on while having PMS! Maybe that is why I feel so ill lately.

Yeah, once again, I am not feeling well. I don't know what it is. It feels like how I felt after drinking that Corona a while back. It just so happens that I drank red wine on Saturday night and felt this a day after - just like the beer. Except, this time I drank more wine and this time the feeling is sticking around a few extra days. I don't know what it is and it bothers me. It feels like heartburn combined with the physical feeling of having a panic attack - you know, that weighty feeling on your chest. Plus, I feel kind of tired. Being my own worst enemy, when it's late at night I go online and investigate my possible ailments. It's not really healthy to sit in front of the computer at two in the morning and question, "what if I'm having a heart attack?". Of course, thinking that way ends up making me feel panicky for real which doesn't help how I physically feel. And if anyone makes a "maybe you're pregnant joke", you'll win a free punch in the throat. Tong!

The good thing is, it feels better when I'm in bed and after I eat. At least my sleep isn't robbed from me.

It doesn't help when you feel sick and exhausted. I'm now picking apart everything I haven't done while my partner has been away. Maybe I'm not doing enough...maybe I have failed...See, I completely need someone to check in on me and supervise me! I always seem to choose to dwell on all the things I haven't done rather than focus on what I have done. I've faithfully done these online French courses. I have something to be proud of. Dammit.

So yeah. Sick of being a Tour Widow. I want him home. I want to make a bookcase with him or maybe even lay down some new hardwood flooring, if you know what I mean. I'm tired of overestimating my dinner portions for myself. My boobs are in dire need of fondling.

The only good thing about him gone is the fact that the mornings have been so quiet. It is as though those construction workers and the neighbour's poodle were up to something - a plan to disrupt his each and every morning! It's strange. Ever since he left, it's been very quiet. No poodle barking at 8am. No construction work. If there is a bit of construction work, they are extremely quiet. I'm convinced they knew he was gone. MwaHA!

You know what I'm also tired of? Portly cross-eyed groupies trying to pick up my boyfriend just because he plays a guitar on stage. That's all. Also, I'm happy to report that so far on tour - the Boobs of the Prairies have been the nicest, according to him. I should write some sort of Farley Mowat-esque illustrated novel called that. Hahaha...ah, I think my humour is deteriorating since he has been gone!

Instead of more complaining, I'll leave with some good news: I'm coming home August 16th for two weeks. Yay! Gin! Friends! Prairie boobs! Air conditioning! I'll-be-broke-so-buy-me-a-coffee-and/or-gin! Mom food! My cat! Oglin' with my buddies! Yippee!

25 July 2006

Groupies

What is it with girls and musicians? If someone has an answer to that, I'd really like to know.

I understand that when you settle down with a guy in a band, you have to learn to deal with the "fans". There's no way around it. Yeah, it's not fun to have flashes of secret jealousy but it comes with the package deal - and it doesn't help when the band's lyrics praise naked boobies and anal sex. Though it's all in good fun for the boys, I'm certain there are fans who naturally assume that these four guys are swinging playboys and mansluts who are just waiting to take a groupie back to the van and then it's on their way to the next gig.

That is the concept that creeps me out, only because I know the band personally. I'm aware of their personal lives and I know who they are when they aren't plucking guitar strings or singing into a microphone. They are far from playboys and mansluts - heh, maybe only for their patiently waiting partners at home!

I know I didn't lead the life of angel in my single days. I know I got myself into some pretty messes. Like most girls, I can be attracted to musicians. I can also be attracted to postmen or waiters or athletes. Heh, I don't discriminate! Maybe I am just a shy person, but it never really crossed my mind to set my drunken eyes on a musician with the goal of fucking him. Well, maybe young Leonard Cohen...but that's another story.

The other night, a cross-eyed hefty gal tried to pick up my man. She was cool at the beginning of the night. She had a boyfriend and he was to stay with them, as the others were at another house that was full of cats. Fine. She ends up dipping into the sauce and suggests that they "screw in the van". Don't worry...her boyfriend was only in the house with her four year old child. Yeah. The night before that, two girls tried to pick up him and another guy from the band. At least they backed away when they said they were in relationships.

Screw in the van? Jesus H. Christ. That irked me. I keep reminding myself...this is what happens when you're with a band guy...this is what happens when you're with a band guy. I threw it back at him. What if a man said that at the party I went to on Saturday night? Would he be pissed off? He said he wouldn't be, especially if the guy was that drunk. I know the truth, however. He would be very pissed off. I'm not into these games that make other people jealous but it will never happen here. I'm invisible to the eyes of Quebecois men. Back home, I was on fire. On fire!

This is the bottom line. These girls are only after them because of the fact that they're on stage and playing music. Would they be approached if they were simply that guy in the crowd enjoying the band? Probably not. Place an instrument in their hands, add some hair grease, and show your tattoos - and they're Gods. Take away the instruments and they are just any other guy with styled hair and tattoos. Dime a dozen. If you overanalyze that to death, there's not much compliment to be had there. Like I mentioned before, I know I've been through some pretty lil messes in my past. Now, I would hate to know the only reason why someone wanted to fuck me was because I was on stage. I would hate to know that I am just another girl that was unfuckable beyond the stage. There is so much in between to discover that goes unnoticed - and I think it's kind of insulting that all the in between stuff is completely disregarded.

Of course, I'm not a man in a band. I'm sure they probably get off on simply knowing that these girls are stupid enough to put out - and that's how these guys usually think, my dears.

It used to really make me crunchy when they coaxed girls into showing them their breasts. I've threatened to do that myself but I'm a little uneven, if you will. Then it hit me. Not my boobs, haha. I would be way more hurt and jealous if my partner actually sat down with one of these fans and had an intense conversation about those little but significant details. I would be hurt if he deeply asked her what her favourite book was.

So anyone, please tell me - what is it with girls and musicians? Why is it that they can say they are in a relationship or married, but these girls still try to weaken them into "screwing in the van"?

I would really like to know.


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22 July 2006

By the Power of the Prairies

Day nine...and I'm trying to be a busy lil bee. Well, I'm probably doing a horrible job at it! I slept in and I woke up feeling at peace. I find that I am sleeping on my partner's side of the bed now, with my back facing the wall. I wonder if it's a territorial thing? I usually sleep facing the wall, with a body behind me. I have yet to spoon with my baseball bat, haha.

This afternoon has been all about tidying up, while fitting in my pathetic attempt at exercising - HAHA. I must laugh in all-caps. Basically, I've ate a lot of pasta while he's been gone. The carbs are all going to my thighs! Well, not really. I'm doing situps and some other type of exercise that is probably not even considered an exercise. I'm also lifting 10 lbs weights. HAHA. It's getting a little easier. Maybe by the time he comes back, I will look like Arnold and challenge him to an arm wrestle...heehee. Oh yeah, I'll tell you which way is the beach!

Everytime I go to the store, I forget to buy Mr.Clean. Or M.Net, if you live in Quebec. My floors are kinda grubby and it doesn't help that our hardwood floors are all scratched up - at least it hides the grub. Now, I'm paranoid if my tour widow friend sleeps over. I don't what to be known as the girl with the dirty floors...and I don't want her socks or bare feets to look like she's been running through a field of dirt...

Tonight, I am conquering my fear of parties...HAHA. Another loud laugh in all-caps. I should go as it will be good for me. I need to start being more out there. I'm sure it won't be as bad as I dream it will be. It should go smoothly and it will probably be fun. Maybe I'll surprise myself with some witty banter! Maybe I'll be on fire!!!!

By the power of the prairies, I will be on fire!!!

21 July 2006

Learning French and (almost) Breaking Things

Being the sassy broad that I am, I decided to stir up the proverbial pot and use my French at the grocery store. Instead of saying a mumbled "merci" - I added a semi-loud "beaucoup" to the end of it. Heh...it's something. As well, when I asked for cigarettes (yes, yes...smoking again) I proudly said "aussi" out loud. The cashier looked at me blankly. They're not super friendly at my local grocery store. Whenever I hear people ask for cigarettes, they never say "Players, aussi!". Ah well, it's something.

Actually, I don't care for this Barnes and Noble French course too much. I think it's truly meant for people who just want to order food in France and get by with random sentences. It bothers me that I am reading over these lessons and not getting the full explanation of proper verb uses. I know my verbs in present tense but I can't talk about the future or my past. Who does anyway?! I'd really appreciate a lesson or two on that, even though it would simply be there to refresh my rusty ol' memory. And don't get me started on their message board - it's so difficult to navigate.

When I got home from the grocery store, I decided to shut off the computer for a while. It wouldn't. I silently freaked out and became glad I bought those cigarettes. I hate the computer. If it was mine, I wouldn't care as much. It is not my computer, however, so I have to be extra careful. The last thing I need is my partner returning home to lost files and blood curdling screams as I curl up on the couch crying. That's not a good way to say hello after three weeks on the road.

Anyway, I called my father-in-law and he talked me through shutting it done properly. I'm not a dummy - I know how to do this. I just wanted him to guide me so that my partner doesn't think I just did what I thought was best (and then having it fuck up). Everything is okay. Whew.

The only issue is that when I am shutting down the computer via that window that says shut off, restart, etc - the screen goes black and white. When I hit cancel, it returns to color. I'm gonna keep my fingers crossed and hope that something tragic does not happen. According to my astrology loving friend, we are in a mercury retrogade and we should back up our computer files.

I'm with headache tonight. I feel better from my little breakdown this morning, but I am feeling a little lonely. I'll survive. A party tomorrow night will probably change that fairly quickly.


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20 July 2006

My Zit and Mr. Cohen

Today, is my partner's birthday. He is now officially half-way to 40! Like Willie Nelson, he is on the road again. No birthday blowjob for him, nor cake - and I love to decorate me a mean cake. I am without cake and cock!

Regardless, I am enjoying the place to myself. I must admit the first couple of days, I may have overdid on the porn. When I get into something while I'm alone - be it smoking cigarettes or listening to a particular song or watching a dvd box set - I completely over-endulge. Perhaps, it's the mild obsessive/compulsive disorder that runs in my family.

The most interesting pieces of news have been freely flowing towards me. My favourite singer and poet, Leonard Cohen, has been spotted in my city. Not just once. I have heard this from tons of people. Even from people that I thought despised me - well, I'm only on their slight shit-list - wrote me to say that he is floating around town. I like this thought.

If you do not know me, you will shortly discover my tremendous love for this man. I love him. I love his voice. I love his words. I love his poetry. I love how he can put together a simple sentence. I bet he could casually say he was going to get some bread at the corner store and make it sound luscious and seductive, make my heart beat a little faster. I love this man. He has stuck by me since high school and watched me blossom into that complicated woman he wrote poems about. Okay, not really...haha. I only wish. Le sigh. I'm such a girl when it comes to him. I imagine myself walking down a snowy street on a winter evening, a scarf wrapped around my neck and wearing a classy peacoat. My red lipstick staining the end of my cigarette. And walking towards me is a man...that man is Leonard Cohen. He would say something simple to me. Maybe ask me to walk alongside him or to go for a quiet glass of red wine. And then we would fall in love and he would write songs about me and we'll live happily ever after.

*insert stupid smile here*

I must admit here that I don't particularly enjoy his newer stuff. The words are still powerful but the plethora of synth keyboards cheapen it, in my humble opinion. It was okay in the 80s but it's not acceptable in this day and age. I would like to see him do something like he did in the 60s - just him and a guitar or at least a string band. I think that could reach a whole new audience. And I also know that it's probably not normal for a 29 year old to have a crush on a 72 year old. Unless you are Anna Nicole Smith.

So Mr. Leonard Cohen is in town. Walking about. Enjoying the city. I am tempted to seek him out, as crazy at that sounds, just for a simple glance at this man I so admire. Of course, I am here at home. There's a very good reason for me being here.

Due to my own physical circumstances, I am positive that I would run into him. My first reason not to seek him out is because it is too hot. These past few days I have been heat stroke queezy. I sit still and I'm sweating like I ran 5o miles. The last thing I would want is to stand before L.Cohen and sweat. I wouldn't know what to say in the first place due to nervousness. And when I am nervous, I pick apart every single motion my body makes. That makes me break a little sweat which makes me pick apart why I am sweating. I have ruined perfectly fine conversations just by holding another one in my head, obsessing about the line of sweat on my brow. Hi, Mr Leonard Cohen, I'm Elle and I have a sweating problem.

The second reason is truly obvious. I have the biggest and reddest zit....on my fucking nose! Jesus Christ, it's awful. I know I don't have the best skin but I can deal with it. This is embarrassing. It's the brand of junior high embarrassment that is really hard to take! All of a sudden I feel fourteen again, for all the wrong reasons! Hi, Mr Leonard Cohen...I'd like to introduce you to my friend, the monsterous and reddest mountain of a zit. I literally look like I am growing a beak. It's on the bridge of my nose and accurately in the middle. It's bright red and I am a pale gal. Just a little higher up on my nose and I would like a bindi. The only good thing about it is if I do choose to go out - my dark framed glasses will hide it, to a certain degree.

My zit, I've called him Rudolph, and I will go on to finish this hot cup of coffee before conquering the day. Who knows, maybe one day soon I will be writing about my saucy love affair with a certain Leonard! (not Nimoy.)

18 July 2006

Francais, s'il vous plait!

The break from the heat has given me a better opportunity to take full advantage of the day. Sure, the bedroom looks like a shopping mall vomited all over the floor again but I think I have made a good effort at my time off.

I entered the virtual class room. I am taken an online course at Barnes and Noble University. It is French for Beginners. I have gone through lesson one all afternoon and it stretched into the early evening. I'm proud of myself! I still have to complete to writing exercises and perhaps I should practise on here. Thankfully, a lot of it makes sense. Those two damned years of French in junior high paid off. I still regret not using my paid - gulp - course to the full extent. That was a good waste of $300. Ah well. It's never too late.

The biggest hurdle with learning French is becoming more confident. It's hard to just strike up a conversation at this point. Everyone knows me as English. What would they think if I, all of a sudden, started parlez vous-ing at them. It makes me laugh, because in my head I can see my brilliant expertise. Ah, that is only a dream. One day, I'll show them. I'll be mais oui-ing and s'il vous plait-ing until the cows come home. You'll see.

Another thing is, with a lot of these beginner French courses, is that it is Parisian French. It is far from the Quebecois French they speak out here. It's more chewed up and spat in your face. That's not an insult to the Quebecois. I'm just calling it like it is.

On a side note, I am completely and utterly jealous that my partner's band is playing in my hometown tonight. I want to be there! I told a few friends to grab my man's ass and tell him I send my regards. I hope that happens. I hope my hometown proves them wrong, oh yes. Often, it is a city that is at ease with complaining. People complain there are not enough good shows or events to attend. When there is something finally great in the city, no one shows. They are much more content to sit on their couch and complain until winter-time. I hope for a fun show and lots of people. If the city disappoints them - I will take it personally!

I just want to be that girl surrounded by friends and loved ones, enjoying the music. Bah!

Speaking of my love, he is stressed out. I don't like to hear him in this state. I sincerely hope that it is just the lack of sleep that is talking. I just want to rescue him and be along side him. He is a typical Cancer. He loves being at home. He loves his space. He gets cranky when that is denied. And boy, does he ever love his own bed. Meow!

I will, hopefully, hear from him tonight. I lined up a place for them to stay. There will be beds and a hearty breakfast in the morning. Selfishly, I hope there are a lot of good wishes for me from my old friends that I miss so dearly.

A Less Overheated Update

Who's kidding who, the last few days have not be fun. I'm missing my very own musician, but I'm dealing with it. It is humidity/heat that I have the problem with. If humidity was a person, I would punch him or her right in the neck. Ha-zah! I

t's still very warm and sunny out. The humidex reads 32C (89.6F) but compared to the last few days, this is like the damned arctic. If it's one thing I hate, it's sweating like a marathon runner when the only active thing I am doing is simply sitting still. Not hot. I think I have suffered from bouts of heat stroke over the last few days in my sweat-box of an apartment. I have been very lethargic for no other reason. I set out to have a very enthusiastic and active day. By mid-afternoon, I am done. My sinuses get blocked, my head aches, and my stomach becomes very unsettled. I am normally the type of person who does not get nausea so it causes me to become very whiny and needy. Heh, it's easier to control when you have no one to complain to! Anyway, whenever I get a bout of nausea, I end up becoming paranoia. Did he plant a seed? Did I drink bad milk from the fridge? Do I have worms? Nope, it's just the damned heat. I guess I should be happy that it's not a case of the worms.

My in-laws brought over two fans. Unfortunately, they did not want my autograph (Hey-o! I'm here all week!). I have three fans in total. My living room is like an 80's model photography shoot - my hair blowing around in the wind, while I wear my Jordache jeans and neon tube top to the sounds of Michael Sambello's Maniac. Ah, paints a lovely picture for y'all!

Seriously though, this heat is causing me to become a great sloth. I can't think. I can't do anything with such an uneasy stomach. I can't focus, even on the most easy tasks. At least I cleaned up the apartment yesterday, before my fellow Tour Widow came by for dinner. After my surprise in the garbage though, I had to retire from everything. I was done for the day. Blarg!

It was lovely having my girl friend over last night. She brought over a bottle of chilled white wine and strawberries - she claimed she was not going to seduce me, haha. I don't think a guy has even done that for me before (I do recall, however, trying that out on a man in the past. He was more interested in the television. At least, I didn't have to share my damned strawberries)! We sat outside on my patio and talked for a few hours. It was really nice and I appreciate her company. I'm no master chef, but I like making dinner for friends. I made a cold pasta and bean salad - which doesn't sound like much. Originally, I was supposed to make chili but after sitting in my apartment, otherwise known as the fiery depths of hell - I imagined the both of us spontaniously combusting due to being overheated.

I'm such a cheap drunk, it's not even funny. Half a bottle of wine and I'm fuzzy headed. This is the reason I care not to drink in public anymore. When feeling the booze, I get warm and loving and social for a good half hour. After that, I just want to sleep. I've always wanted to be that wild and crazy drunk. Well, it wasn't my life ambition - I just wish it didn't hit me in such a sleepy way.

After my tour widow company left, I went online and chatted with a friend I haven't talked to in YEARS. This was a girl that lived back home. We used to go to this particular bar together and dance our asses off. We used to have a blast together. She's a very kind-hearted girl and I always wished the best for her. When she moved back to her reserve in Ontario, I was very sad. She ended up falling in love with a French man and now she is "with seed". It was nice catching up. The only stupid thing is that I found out her partner's family is from here and they were out here last summer! If only I knew, we would have hooked up for a coffee!

Tonight, the band plays in my hometown. It's the only stop on their tour that I am rather bitter about. I know my old crew will be there. I would have been in MY environment if I was there. I would have been the one dancing and getting my boobs grabbed by my friends! I would have felt a lot more comfortable and into the music. I hope my town treats them well. I know, sometimes, there is a lack of spirit and participation. I want to prove the band wrong! I want them to love playing there. They better put on a good show for my friends...or else! I'm certain I will get the full update later on tonight or tomorrow. I really wish I could be there.

Le Sigh.

Too Hot

Forgive me and my pink panties, I know I have been a stranger around these parts lately.

Recently, my partner-in-crime left on a musical tour of duty. The weekend before he left was a stressful one. A bunch of us went to a show about eight hours away and the first half of the trip went just fine. I was having fun and I was being chatty. Everything was smooth and fun. Then the combination of heat, sun, and social anxiety kicked in. I was a bit on edge, if you will. A passing comment made me irritated and the swarm of invited people to our hotel room made me even more irritated. I do not function well without sleep. The second half of the trip was quite uncomfortable, but mostly due to my own prior mistakes. Not a single person talked to me and I built up an even bigger wall around myself. I shut down. It happens when you are surrounded by people who are more comfortable to speak a language that you are not familiar with.

We came home to a monster blowout. I heard a lot of words that were very bitter to swallow. I am with someone who is very much into tough love. It hurts at the time but in the long run I appreciate his ways. You see, cuddling and sweetness only goes so far. It's the tough words that cause a reaction - hopefully towards change. He's looking out for me.

He has left and I feel alright. Actually, I enjoy this time alone. Before he left, I made a list of things to accomplish. I admit that I am failing. Like the great Steven Tyler of Aerosmith once said, my get up and go must have got up and left! It's only day five though, I suppose I shouldn't worry. It's not like I am being a lazy television watching sloth anyway.

What's holding me back is the heat. There is a big block of humidity hanging over this city and by the middle of the day, I am messed up. I wouldn't know how it feels to get heat stroke but I think I have suffered it! Currently, I am okay. I have just got out of bed - a little late, at that - so it has yet to hit me. In my little sweat-box of an apartment, the last few days have been a stunted hell. My sinuses get blocked up. My head begins to pound. I get very queesy. I'm never queesy so the first thing my paranoid mind assumes is - what if I'm "with seed"?!

I sincerely hope this heat passes because I find all I want to do is sit in front of my very small fan and close my weary eyes. I want to have something to show for being alone after all these days. I have convinced my partner that I will write, goddamn it! So far, the most creative thing I have come up with is a short tale about taking a bath that is full of ice cubes!

I have requested more fans. I hear they are on their way. Maybe I'll actually be able to get things done!

15 July 2006

Thoughts on Porn - After the Fact


You know what I should be doing? Something productive. That's what happens when you download a handful o' porn and have an inviting pack of cigarettes. I indulge. If I had a chocolate cheese cake before me, I'd probably eat the whole damn thing while I'm at it. Perhaps, all at once for comic value.

I watched my plethora of Rachel Rotten porn. I can see how people think she looks like me and I am certainly not complaining about that (minus the fact that I am more fleshy but with less boobage and have a big ol' Eastern European head). She's a very pretty girl - and there are not too many girls in porn I can freely label as pretty. Of course, I'm no porn expert either. I don't know much about her but what I do know makes me like her "work" (is that the proper term?) even more so. The porn she shot was with her boyfriend Rob Rotten. They look cool - these are the kind of couples I long for in porn. She has a nice hair style, complete with bluntly cut bangs. He's covered in tattoos (and not crappy tribal ones) and has a big mohawk. She's got real boobs. He's got, um, a tattoo on his penis. It's different and I appreciate that. They look hot together and you can sense their attraction to one another. And that is what makes watching this enjoyable. Though, you know they are aware of the cameras - you can tell that he actually likes going down on her and it's not just for show. You can tell he was being careful to not mess up her bangs or ruin her makeup - I found that genuinely sweet. I wasn't utterly repelled when I saw him naked either. That's always a good sign.

The only thing I found a little unsettling was how thin she look when she was spread out this way and that. I'm going to say that it's the camera angles, but I almost wanted them to take a break so she could eat a sandwich.

I wonder how she manages to give head without messing up her cherry colored lipstick? I wonder how her hair stays so perfect? Good God, if ever I leave my lipstick on...I end up looking like a clown with rocker hair. Kudos.

I watched another one that I had to turn off shortly after. It was three girls enjoying one another. I could deal with this, even though one of them had strange looking fake breasts. Two of the girls were fine. The other one moaned as though she was undergoing an exorcism. It, quite frankly, disturbed me. I kept thinking about that movie, The Exorcism of Emily Rose. She kept moaning and inserting a few, "Do you fucking like that?" grunts. It scared me. Not only did it seem like she was undergoing an exorcism, but she had this look on her face that most men would be afraid of. The face of a crazy, drunken, and obsessive ex-girlfriend. Not hot.

Ah, at least the phone didn't interrupt me this time! I win!

Thoughts on Porn

So I'm downloading porn. Oddly enough, this is the first time I have ever downloaded porn in this apartment. A first!

I love the cock, don't get me wrong. I just don't think the majority of men out there have lovely ones. I don't think there is much to admire about that part of the male. Yes, it sounds horrible to say. It's there, I like it, but in the long run what I find sexy about the male isn't just that. It's more of how their body responds to mine. The way they look at me with their eyes. The way they move. You know, the subtle gestures of nakedness and two bodies entwined.

I like girl-on-girl stuff. I have never ventured to that possibility myself, so perhaps it's a curiosity of mine that is hidden deep down. I don't question my sexuality. I just find the female body much more appealing. There are curves and delicate features. Much more of a handful, if I do say so myself.

The problem with porn is that I am far too picky. I like realistic footage, but I find that amateur porn is way too realistic. I don't need to see hair on a man's back. I like women to look real - I don't need to see a good boob job and glossy pink lipstick. I don't even like ultra thin women. I like real women with curves, with a raunchier look. I don't like blondes, unless they look real. And boy, that's hard to find.

What bugs me the most is seeing two women together who look exactly the same. It's far too strange. I can't seem to let go when I am watching two blondes go at it with the same pornstar makeup and the same color eyes. It's weird and like watching two drunk chicks from North Dakota or Minnesota at a party. Not my scene.

Yet, I am guilty of it. I am downloading something starring Rachel Rotten - someone once said that I look like her. I find that kind of hot. We'll see how I feel after seeing it.

Yep, not a deep post here. I thought I would last a little longer, being apart from partner. He's only gone a little over a day and I'm already getting my own hands dirty!

14 July 2006

Inner Complications

It's always hard to hear from someone you admire that you are fucked up. The worst thing about it is actually knowing it.

There's a good reason why I do not go along with the boys, when there is room for me in the van. I feel like I stick out like a sore thumb and I feel social anxiety kick in full throttle. I'm not one for team sports.

Last weekend was no exception. In fact, it was a rough one. Well...only half the time.

The first part of the voyage was great. I felt very positive and I pumped myself up for the outing. It's not like I'm some sort of recluse or wack-job in the first place. I just have to encourage myself to not fall into a pile of anxious messiness. I try so very hard but my inner demons always seem to win!

I know it's probably not healthy but I tend to stick to the people I am most comfortable with. Being in Quebec and not French, I lean towards the English people. It's a comfort zone, though I realize I should try a little bit harder with the French. The only reason the first half of the band trip went smoothly was because I had another girl friend there. An English girl friend and one that I understand when she speaks French. It calms me and, besides, I honestly enjoy her company. We chatted, we laughed - it was a good time on the road. Eventually, everyone fell asleep in the van with the exception of the driver and myself. I felt at a loss for words, but there's so much you can say when you are in the backseat.

The show went just as well. I chatted up a storm. I was friendly. I felt good inside. It was a hot summer day and I felt my skin getting redder and redder. I tried to revive myself with my good friend, Beer. I drank a quarter of a can and felt uneasy. It was one of those days where I couldn't hold down alcohol. I shouldn't be drinking in the first place, given the heat and the lack of food in my tummy. Sometimes it is either drink and be a part of the crowd until I black out (low blood sugar) or stay sober and healthy. At least I know better to not listen to the Beer Demon, that lurks inside each and everyone of us. I floated around here and there, but mainly stuck to the people I drove in with. I made a couple of rounds, talking to a girl from back home (what a pleasant surprise!) and another girl I met off Myspace. Everyone was having a good old time.

Enter inner demon.

At the end of the night, I was tired and sunburnt. I just wanted to chill out and relax. Take it easy, if you will. I should have known better because before I knew it, people from the outdoor show were being invited to our hotel room left and right. Insert the beginnings of social anxiety here. I fell into a less than pleasant mood to say the least. It took forever for everyone to pack up their vans and I got stuck manning the merch booth. I have no problem with that. A local approached me and we talked about the town we were in and I casually mentioned how I would love to see Niagara Falls as it was only 15 minutes away. I figured that while we were this close, we may as well see one of the world's biggest tourist spots.

He replied, "It's only fucking water!"

That was almost the straw that broke the camel's back! It's only fucking water? What the hell? It's freaking Niagara Falls! I tried with clumsy words to explain myself. I proudly stated that I was from the prairies and you don't, obviously, see landmarks such as that. He looked utterly bored. He turned his attention to the French girls and they all began to rave about Quebec. It's the best, it's the greatest, the woman are the best women. Yeah. I felt like a big ol' prairies reject! After that moment, this guy did not speak another word to me nor did he acknowledge my presense - even when saying goodbye the next day! I have to say, it kind of kicked off that mood and offended me.

We all piled into the van and it's drunken French people everywhere. And it's also drunken French people singing drunken French songs. People are laughing. They understand. I sit there, clued out as usual. Frustration is beginning to rear it's ugly head.

We get to the hotel room and there's a good number of people. I am instantly cranky. Cranky like a little child who has been stuck in a mall or out in the sun all day long. I just want to crash. I don't want to socialize with a bunch of drunken strangers. They sensed that, I assume, as no one approached me.

There's always a kind of awkwardness when you are the only sober person in a room full of drunks. I was glad that they were all having a good time. I just felt a little disassociated, a little disconnected from that brand of fun. I know it was my choice to come along and not drink, I know it's not my say to what the band wants to do. I tried to swallow my seemingly selfish feelings but it was next to impossible. I know I showed a look of irritation on my face. I felt isolated and in my own nervousness - all I wanted to do was flee. I seem to always want to flee when I am far away from my own shelter.

You know, I don't like this about myself. It's a side I have always known but it seems to have come into bloom upon arriving to this city. I'm the sober one. I sit back and watch people being asses. I see them having fun and taking silly photographs and grabbing boobs and doing stupid dances. I sit back and what kicks in is a longing to return home. I used to be like this, I recall as I sit back. Now, I am stuffy and stiff and awkward. I cannot seem to let loose. I know I'm fun. I know I am interesting. And I certainly know I am downright silly! However, with the majority of the people in this city, I cannot seem to break out of this very tough shell I have built around me. I feel left out and I know I have made myself feel left out all on my own.

I go for a walk. I would prefer to go on my own but I do not know the city well. I long for a visit to a trusted 711. They don't have any here. I settle for a lacklustre convenience store. I curse the postcard situation. My partner is not impressed. I can almost tell that he wants to keep away from me.

As we return, I latch onto two younger girls who are very nice and sweet. They are sober and tired - they, too, are waiting on their boyfriends to quit partying and head back to their hotel. I sit there, smoking endless cigarettes, and outright complain. I vent and vent and vent. They feel bad for me. Not only can they see the tired expression on my face but they can see the irked expression that comes with the other kind of younger girls who think it's so fun and cool to flash their titties to a band in front of a camera. Ah, the sweet icing on the cake. These girls I sat with felt so bad for me that they took it upon themselves to take me to Niagara Falls. I tell them how appreciative I am for their gesture and thank them for listening. I bond with these girls, even though one of them said she was age five in 1990. Upon hearing that, I imagined myself as a complaining old hag! I get to see Niagara Falls. Just my luck, there were no lights on. Still, something amazing before my prairie eyes!

We return to my party and the token completely fucked up girl was awake (again). She had this shrill voice that made you want to spontaniously do roundhouse punches to the neck region, to anyone in your path. A lot of people were gone, but they were still in and out of our room to rescue beer. I clenched my fists, tried not to storm into my room(but probably did), and went directly to bed to the sweet sounds of shrill voiced completely fucked up girl yapping away about something to gain any kind of attention.

Sleep. Sleep is always a beloved companion.

In the morning, I was full of rise and shine. I had another one of those sympathy hangovers. My head was killing me but I was happy to get out and enjoy the drive back. It was a waiting game. Hungry and anxious, I paced about but was in a calmer mood. It was morning. And then we went for breakfast.

I'm all over breakfast. Nothing makes me happier than a greasy breakfast and that first cup of coffee. A group of 12, we were. We get two seperate tables. I, of course, get stuck at the French table. Usually, I enjoy listening in (though it has taken me a long time) and I sit back. Eventually, the words are translated. I sit there in silence and gobble down my grub. I think only a few words are spoken to me. I get pissy at the rude comments they say about the waitress in French.

We drive for eight hours, plus rest stops along the way. All French, once again. No one says a word to me. Once again, I shut my doors. I feel a sad storm brewing inside. No one talks to me and I barely understand (only insults and dirty comments about women, I seem to get). I just sit there. I sit through the long drive and nothing. I come to the point where I pretend to read and sleep because what's the point, I figure. I know I cannot speak French and I know it's my own damned fault. I could have tried harder. I know it's easy for them all to fall into it. But I just sit there. I feel unimportant, left out, cast aside. It's an incredible lonely feeling that I have only tasted since moving here. It's bad enough when someone is involved in a fun conversation without you, but it's worse when you barely understand a single word being said. It's incredibly lonely and I do not think anyone in this circle of acquaintances can relate. I come off as a grumpy snob when all I feel is tremendously left out. After eight hours of that, I fell into another round of sad.

Not only did I mope around with a little angry cloud over my head on Saturday night, but I stared off in my own silent world for hours upon hours. I know it's mostly my doing, my own odd feelings. What was I suppose to do? How was I suppose to act after that many hours of non-stop language that I just did not understand? How was I suppose to react when the only English spoken was in regards to the young attention whores displaying their naked boobs? The only thing I could think of was a good swig of homeopathic anxiety remedies.

I know I was a bit of a pain in the ass, this past weekend.

When we got home, we both exploded. And when I say exploded, it's honestly not that bad. Perhaps, the proverbial pot bubbled over. It was long and messy and full of tears. Sigh.

I reacted to the whole weekend and chose to bring it up by turning into a wingnut. I brought up the naked boob attention whores. Not cool. Just insecure. Whenever I try to verbally explain myself, sludge flows out of my mouth. Nothing works. I sound like an insecure idiot. I tried to explain that I just couldn't fit in and I felt left out, so I reacted harshly. I told him that I felt lonely. That I used to be cool and fun and wacky. I told him that eight hours in a van and not being spoken to once drove me crazy. I told him that I do not know what to say to new people, especially when they are not sober. He told me next time to stay home.

He told me that it is not normal for me to be here for two years and not have a set of friends. He's right. He told me that it's not normal that I have been here for two years and haven't tried to learn a stitch of French. He's right. He told me that I haven't tried hard enough and that I sit to watch the world go by. He's right. He's right. He's right. He told me that I am not well adjusted. He's right again. He told me that I have a lot of potential and he wants to see me use my talents. He's right - problem is, I have no idea what this potential or talent is. He told me that I am not a very happy person. He's right. He told me that he is afraid to go away for three weeks, in fear of me going insane. That hurt.

(Of course, being the paranoid person that I am...I actually wondered "what if I do go insane!?")

He compared me to his friend the schitozphrenic. Yep, and that hurt too.

The thing is, I know he is right on a lot of levels. Maybe I just don't like hearing it spoken so bluntly.

Sometimes, I am so afraid of letting loose here and getting close to people. I feel like I am on a constant first date with a lot of people. You know, those wonky gaps of silence and that small talk. I'm fine with that, only until I start thinking about home and I get very lonely. I recognize that change within me and I am not sure it's a good change. I just want that old set of friends like I had back home, like people have here. Sometimes, I am afraid of letting those old friends go in order to accommodate the new ones - yet I know there's no reason to why I can't have both. Sometimes, I am so very afraid of losing my own identity here in the sea of French. I want to be that prairies girl for a long time. I want to be proud of where I come from. I never want to forget my home, my background.

And that is the reason why the Tour Widow doesn't go on tours. I complicate things. I complicate things there and in my own damn head. I make a molehill into a mountain. I panic. I want to be at home or in private. I desire my own schedule. I don' t want to socialize with girls who are barely legal who have no shame to piss in a parkade or flash their tits at every guy who holds a musical instrument. I'm better off left at home. I may go insane but at least I'm not miserable.

11 July 2006

20 Questions Meme

I recently read this on the great Sexeteria blog. It only took me four days to finish it.

1.You are in the Witness Protection Program and must invent a new first, last, and middle name. What is it?

Vivienna L'Amour. Sounds mysterious, if I do say so myself. Wouldn't you wonder about that new stranger in town, in a sleek black dress and painted red lips who calls herself Vivienna L'Amour? I know I would.

2.You are in a threesome with two famous people, alive or dead. Who are they?

Personally, I would like to have Leonard Cohen all to myself. Otherwise, I would not complain about having some sort of delicious romance with a couple of silent movie starlets. My headache is not allowing me to come up with actual names. Oh, perhaps Rachel Rotten who is a porn star. People have said she looks like me. That would be kinky. Oh, for a jock type of kick - I wouldn't say no to Vince Vaughn (Swingers era) and Billy Zane (without hair).

3.You are in charge of naming your new band. What's the name of the band?

The Tour Widows, in honor of dating someone in a band, or The Misfettes - an all-girl tribute to the Misfits.

4. You are going to get a free tattoo. What would it be?

Honestly, what I would get is a combination of Maneki Neko cat and snowflakes - but done in a very specific old school type style. I've been hankering for a snowflake or two for a while now.

5. You are being forced to listen to one song over and over, ad infinitum, as a form of torture. What song is it?

Oh, there are so many songs that cause me to become very crunchy. Oh, so many songs. If anyone was to torture me at this very moment, the soundtrack would be be all French sing-a-long songs. I don't know the names of them, but believe me - when they are sung by drunken French people, it's enough to make your ears bleed. I'd rather work in a daycare than listen to that. Oh, and non-stop Celtic music.

6. You are leaving your state/province. What state do you move to?

There are too many places I would adore to try on for size. London, England. A lone villa somewhere in Europe. Vancouver, only for the school I dream about attending. Back home, for the honest comfort and love. The French Quarter in New Orleans, but chances are that idea would wear a little thin. A city that has a great wax museum.

7. You are leaving your country, where would you move?

Though a lot of people here cannot admit it, I have to say that I love Canada. I can't see myself moving. However, there are many places I would spend time in. I would love to see the homes of my ancestors in Poland and the Ukraine. I would love to see Russia (and I would have a translator!). I would love to see Japan. London, England. Even Spain. Ole!

8. You get to choose one book as the best ever written. What book do you choose?

The Stone Angel by Margaret Laurence. I realize it is not a worldwide classic, but it is a book that I will never forget. It has stayed with me for many, many years. Nothing beats the companion of the written word.

9. You get to choose one movie as the best ever made. What movie do you choose?

Sigh, quite difficult to answer! I don't even think I can answer this. I'll suggest old B-movies and Japanese monster movies. The first monster movies to come out. And Cinema Paradiso.

10. You get to spend one day each as a bird, an insect, and a mammal. What bird would you be? What insect? What mammal?

Although it would be tempting to lounge around in a coat of pink feathers and stand on one leg like the flamingo does, I think I will choose to be a Great Horned Owl. Hopefully, I will still have the mindset of a human and I will know exactly who I would like to randomly attack. Actually, owls are quite interesting creatures. Unfortunately, they have a tendancy to fly into wire fences and die that way. Hopefully, that wouldn't happen to me as an owl.

As for the insect, I think I would like to be a dragonfly. I don't know much about them, other than the fact that they eat all the annoying insects. They look very pretty and peaceful. One sat on my finger once, while in a rural cemetary. It was a very calm moment.

And the mammal. I want to be some sort of cat. A domestic housecat or a wilderness cat, I don't care. I just want to be a cat, even though that answer sounds like what a 10 year old girl with a bedroom painted pink would say. Meow. I'd also like to be a sloth. There's no denying it, I like moving slow and sleeping in.

11. You must relive one year of your life. Which would you like to relive?

Though it turned messy, I would like to relive July 2001 to March 2002. I felt very alive then and, sometimes, I miss that feeling.

12. Which year(s) would you least like to relive?

There are no whole years I would like to erase. Just moments, I'm afraid. Perhaps, those awkward junior high/high school years when I was teased a lot because of acne and had an obsessive and jealous boyfriend. I could have done just fine without all his guilt tripping suicide notes.

13. You have a time machine that will take you backwards anywhere from 1800 to the present. What decade do you most want to visit?

Ah...I would love to visit any decade from the 20's to the 50's. Of course, I wouldn't necessarily want to live in those decades, but would love to get a taste of it. The 20's seem so alive and raw, sexually. One of my favourite things to observe and create is vintage looks with makeup (I'd do the hair if I wasn't so hair-stupid). I love the looks from the 20's to 50's - my favourite era being the 40's. I wouldn't want to live with the war, the depression, or the hidden sins but I would love to take a stroll through those decades. Or go shopping!

14. You must choose to go skydiving or very-deep-sea diving.

Though I do not know how to swim very well, the thought of skydiving and bursting like an overdone Pizza Pop on cement sounds frightening. Deep sea diving, please.

15. You get to return to the past (using that handy dandy time machine we were talking about before) and have a sexual encounter with a rock star who is no longer alive. Who do you pick?

I think I would opt for Jeff Buckley, even though it would prove complicated. I would just love him to sing to me and then I would melt all over the place.

16. You get to be a contestant on any game show, airing today or in the past. What show do you want to be on?

I think if it was the 70's or 80's and I had big boobs stuffed into a tube top, I would totally go on the Price Is Right... just so I could jump up and down and knock over the dashing Bob Barker with my gigantic boobies. Preferably, during Plinko. Or else, I would go on that lame Canadian game show called Supermarket Sweep.

17. You are given $1 million dollars but you must give it all to one charity. What charity do you choose?

Oh, there would be so many to choose from. I think I would like it to go to something back home however. I'm really too tired to think right now.

18. You must ban one word from the dictionary and all usage, to be no longer uttered or written. What word do you ban?

Can I ban a phrase? Because I really hate the term "Getting your dinky stinky".

19. You can have 100 million dollars tax-free but if you take it, you'll die at the age of fifty. Do you take it?

No, because 50 ain't that far off! I'd rather be happy and healthy and poor.

20. There is no number.
And how!

07 July 2006

Book of the Week - Subversive Cross Stitch!






















I love Subversive Cross Stitch. I cannot express this enough!

One day while searching for fun things to do that leviate the boredom of domesticity, I did a search for kinky, offensive-to-the-masses crafts. I came across an impressive site for dirty latch hook rugs called Made With Sweet Love. I advise you to go there - you will be amused! In the section for links, I came across Subversive Cross Stitch. It's a completely fun site that sells kits, a newly released book, and note cards all with the naughty and surly sayings. Not only did coming across Julie Jackson's Subversive Cross Stitch website inspire me to learn how to cross stitch, she showed me that cross stitching craftwork is not just for grandmothers. All this time, I thought cross stitching was all about cutesy teddy bears and positively quirky sayings. It honestly never crossed my mind that you can do something wickedly cool and humourously offensive with this form of needlework. I ran across her website and even wrote her a quick email, thanking her for showing me that there is more to cross stitch than teddy bears and home-sweet-home type of sayings. If I didn't run into her site, I would not have found such a relaxing hobby that appeals to my comical side! Learning how to cross stitch has successfully helped me stop biting my fingernails, I might add!

I ordered a pattern off her website, in support of what she does. As well, I acquired her new book called Subversive Cross Stitch - 33 Designs for Your Surly Side. The book is great - inspiring, amusing, humourous, and simply perfect for a beginner at sassy cross stitch. It has many sayings like "Babies Suck", "Happy Fucking Holidays", and "Homo Sweet Homo". And I have to say, I think the coolest thing about her book is that she honestly encourages you to go out and try something new on your own instead of following her patterns. I just love Subversive Cross Stitch!

Therefore, highly recommended! Not only is this an amazing book that is guarenteed to inspire your inner surliness to succulently bloom, the author and creator seems like such a great gal to deal with. Get yours today!

02 July 2006

Five Years



I read over the past poetry with a curious heart and a hungry eye. It’s been over four years. Times are different now. People move on. Ideas formerly titled perfect are viewed conflictingly. Your spirits alter. Feelings change. That’s it, feelings change. The world is in constant change actually; constant motion, whether it is on a grand and worldly scale or within your own little life. As they say, change is inevitable. I wonder about the strength and power of my old words today.

It’s been over four years now, I remind myself, since we said goodbye. I was the one with the tears in my eyes and you; you were the one looking helpless in your Bill Cosby sweater. We made a lovely couple at the airport that day, I’m sure. Saying goodbye gave him the permission to live in the forest as he unrealistically wished for. For me, it gave me something to get over for a good year or so, with the assistance of a stack of outdated self help books from my small town library. I’m sure the librarian thought I was a certified crazy person.

I was in the right town for it anyway.

01 July 2006

Walking Self-Help Book

Call me a victim of the self-help section at a bookstore - I dare ya!

At the end of every day, I write down one thing that I am grateful for. It could be that explosive session of late afternoon sex or it could be that long nap I took on the couch with a book on my chest or if could be a simple exchange of smiles with a passing stranger in the grocery store. At the end of every day, I write down one thing I have felt grateful for.

I realize it sounds like a suggestion Dr. Phil would make, while being the guest star on Oprah. As silly as it may seem, this little task has encouraged me to see the next day differently even if I have that little angry storm cloud over my head to taunt me. I go through each day with the reminder to appreciate all those small things that make each day fantastic. It helps, especially when you find yourself in those dark blues as I do at times.

Today, I began a new routine. At the beginning of every day, I will write out an open invitation. Yep, I'm sounding cornier by the minute. Everyone has wishes and hopes. Usually, the genuine and pure ones are kept hidden away. I'm not ashamed to admit out loud that I wish for a fantastic digital camera or the discovery of a plentitude of cash while walking down the street. Yet, I'm slightly embarrassed to invite personal wealth into my life or wish that all those seemingly lost friends of mine are doing well, wherever they are. Today, I invite those lost friends back into my life. It doesn't matter if it happens (though I would welcome them back with open arms). What matters is that I am putting something positive out there to start my day, instead of burrowing it away in my heart.

Like daily flossing, I hope I actually stick to this routine!

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