Stolen from Infinitepink...

Aw, darn, the animation doesn't work. So much for animated gift theft.

OK, here's another one, sent to me by a friend in Florida...

And then I notice that not only does it not animate, but the bottle says 2005.

Oh, well. Must have been a good year.





Happy New Year, kids!

Oh, and there's always this... (thanks, Uno)
http://www.icq.com/img/friendship/static/card_16961_rs.swf

Orange kitty

An orange kitty has been meowing outside my door for the past 12 hours, on and off.

I put out a bowl of food for him.

Kill me now? What is this, a Christmas present?

Does he know I feed strays? Where did he come from? Is he my neighbour's orange cat? Why is he locked out? Where did they go? Isn't it good that it's only 1 degree C outside?


Oy.

Kleenex guaranteed

More disclosure

ROM would like me to disclose (remind?!) you that I'm an alcoholic and that every deed I've done has been tainted by meanness and that every word I write is to be taken with a grain of salt. Indeed, I must admit I've lived a life without a single redeeming virtue, without a single good turn, without a single act of kindness. But most certainly with a flask in my hip pocket every day, oh, yes. Drunk every step of the way.

She got her money and now she's holding my stuff hostage.

The question begs to be asked: who is the meaner of the two?

Business baron to prison bitch

Our local news stations are all agog about the sentence of Lord Conrad Black, former media magnate, just sentenced to 6 years for fraud with Hollinger Inc.

I can't help but wonder why Martha Stewart got such a light sentence for her insider trading (five months, and wasn't it served at home or something?).

The higher they stand, the harder they fall? Black and Stewart were among the wealthiest people on the planet.

Both of them bilked people, but it seems the sentences are weird, but what do I know.

Another view here.

La teigne and my eyebrows

"They" say I look like Edith Piaf.

Not sure about the eyebrows...

Or the hair

Or the cheekbones

Or the jawline

Or the neck

Or the airbrushing...

But otherwise, yeah! I see the resemblance!

Thanks for the vote of weird confidence, Vic!

On another note... I am afraid my cats have ringworm. (That is La Teigne in French)

I've checked for fleas... they've all been scratching a lot... but no fleas. I know how to find those little fuckers, believe me. Aint' no fleas there, but ringworm is a fungi, and oh ow eww ick YUCK I've been through it before and I DON'T WANT IT AGAIN!

Halp! Vet. $$$$$

Mindy wins!

Mindy wins a to-be-determined prize for the Don Johnson lookalike question.

I must think of something completely unique to send her. *note to self: shop tomorrow.*

This is not an easy feat, because Mindy is co-owner of Regalo Boutique. I can't tell you how much I love that place; some of the best decorative items I've ever owned, I bought from them. So finding her something different is going to be a task.

(Plus, they have a great Fall-Winter sale on NOW. Go! Go, I say!)

New Facebook picture

Any of youse who don't have Facebook yet, well, you don't know what kind of fun you're missing.

I think my new short bangs make me look impish... but only from that angle, of course.

That is all.

Who is? contest

I think Jeni had an idea when she suggested I stage a contest...

After I post this, I'll see if enough people comment to warrant a real-life prize. First person to come close wins.

Who is this man, and who does he resemble, to you?*





*meaning, your best interpretation. You see how open this contest is?

More separated at birth guys

A couple posts back I said David Usher looks quite like Keanu Reeves.

Who is this dude, and who else does he resemble, to you?


Mindy says Scott Baio. She's close... if you keep in mind my proviso of "to you".

Did my Xmas tree

I cannot seem to take proper photos of anything that involves lights, so I can't show you my humble Christmas tree in its real prettiness.

She stands just about 4 feet tall, I'm guessing, and is pretty cute and quite laden with ornaments. The exercise of mounting and decorating it just seems... a little useless considering a) it's not a real tree b) it won't have any presents underneath.

What a waste of time and effort it feels to be, on some level. The exercise cheers me yet makes me melancholy; how weird is that?

Not to mention that the lower half lights stopped working and I had to add a whole nuther set, but still the top half has more twinkling white lights.

Flaming Brit Eddie Izzard

Stolen from DJ, who stole it from YouTube.

Excuse me, I need to wash my hands

1,168,440How Many Germs Live On Your Keyboard?

And now, an Usher moment

Not that pretender Usher rap guy... the real Usher.

David Usher.

Doesn't he look like Keanu's brother?

Well, "BFF" and I think so.

We would just eat him up, we would.

Methinks it's not so weird to wake up crying about a dream in which I go to school to tell the nuns that one of their cherished 8-year-old students has died in a war.

Of course, I was the student.

My dreams have been really unpleasant the past couple of nights.

We're cooking with gas

Subsequent to this post, I am indeed cooking for my friend B., if only to make his co-workers jealous.

Apparently, he and his friends were pretty much living off canteen food. One of his buddies, let's call him Corey cuz that's his name, eats two reheated pizza slices and 2 hot dogs for breakfast. EVERY DAY. Yuck.

So... when Friend B. heats up a lunch of, say, roasted chicken leg and vegetable-fried rice, his friends tend to sniff around him, enviously.

Monday B. had pasta with my Famous Spag Sauce(tm). Today, chicken. Tomorrow, pork tenderloin with a double-stuffed potato and an apple/raspberry garnish.

Like I said... if I'm cooking for myself I won't eat. If I have to cook for someone else, I manage.

Though my new jeans are size 7.

Heh.

I benchpress 18 litres

Of water, that is.

I get a very large thing of water (the big blue plastic containers seen most often in office settings) as needed via the milkman, but up until recently I had the Teen to help me hoist it and funnel pure spring water into 2L bottles, which we'd then keep in the fridge and then refunnel into smaller bottles for various excursions.

Yesterday was my first time tilting the vast blue jug (for want of a better word) on my own. I tried to manage 18 litres in one hand and a 2L bottle with funnel atop in the other. Didn't take more than a few seconds to realize this defied the laws of physics and my own capabilities.

I found a compromise, though. Large 18L jug sorta of leaning on the kitchen counter into a tall water glass; then pour contents of glass into plastic bottles via funnel.

It takes some grunting and a wee bit of spillage, but it works, and it means I don't have to drink tap water.

Post-sales service

You'd think that "regular" people like Heather (dooce) and Jon would be more human? Nope.

Here's the thank-you note I got for ordering their calendar. Note the freaking TYPO.


Thanks for puchasing a Blurbodoocery product! We hope you enjoy it.

Heather & Jon Armstrong
http://www.dooce.com
http://www.blurbomat.com

I love puchasing things. Dooce just lost cred with me on two fronts (not that I am big potatoes or a large carp in a small cow field or backyard koi pond, respectively. ) Just saying: they lost it on the two areas that matter the most to me or, indeed, to any loyal customer/reader : proper supervision of your writing staff and decent customer appreciation. No less a man than Lileks made me walk away from his Bleat as a fanatic reader and purchaser of his books for the very reason that his drive for spending so much time on his blog(s) and late-night TiVo didn't quite jive with feeding his daughter microwave mac & cheese.

I am not holier than thou but I abhor crap customer relations (and btw, Lileks didn't appear to give a shit beyond his Amazon credits.)

It's raining!

It's damp and disgusting out there and it's raining when it should, by all rights, be snowing.

Sheesh.

Plus... I am watching a defective TV movie! (Not for much longer, mind you.) It's the strangest thing... you can hear all the sounds from the various tracks EXCEPT the voices of the actors. Birds are cheeping, background noises of all kinds are there, but all you can see is the actors mouthing their words.

I thought at first it was a stylistic pretension... but now I realize it's just a fatal flaw. Ah, well! Cue the next DVD!

(Later: even better. The next movie on the SUPR channel (remind me not to order that one from ExpressVu) has DELAYED dubbing. Bad, just truly bad... although the movie is pretty crap, too... I'll Always Know What you Did Last Summer... a sequel spawned by a truly horrific first film. Oh! No! I just remembered. I think an actress, was it Sarah M. Geller, who screamed so much in the first movie, I actually cheered when she got the hook? Yeah, I think so. Sick? Not so much. Healthy dose of reality more like.)

Better, thanks

Snide voice mails will not make me want to pick up the phone.

Have rented a couple of Grindhouse productions and those, on the other hand, make me want to blog. So far, Planet Terror with Bruce Willis and Freddy Rodriguez (of Six Feet Under fame) is, well, you know... gritty and gory and as cheesy as the box art. But with real talent on the roster.

I could be the only person I know who can salivate for BBQ ribs while watching a cannibal movie.

Just sayin.' A tad jaded.


I went into work Friday evening and the lights in the store were painful for the (thankfully-subsiding) migraine of the previous day. I've discovered that no-name extra strength acitominaphen (hope I spelled that correctly?) is more effective than Tylenol. Two days without coffee surely helped the headache go away, too... although I've known people who said caffeine withdrawal actually gives them a headache.

So I gambled, and brought a Starbucks iced frap with me. It was delicious.

And the evening at the store went by pretty well after only one crying spell! Just one!

I think I'm over the first phase of empty-nest shock now.

In fact, I saw the Teen today and he's in a good place. More on that eventually, prolly on the other blog which, apparently, more people read.

I got me a piece of Dooce

In an attempt to make myself feel a bit better, I went online and ordered one of Dooce's Chuck calendars. (All rights reserved, dooce.com)

Who says retail therapy doesn't work. Hah! I bought some beautiful original art cards from deej and the Dooce daily-dog torture calendar, and pretty soon I'll be able to pay off the rest of my Xmas order from Regalo Boutique (owners: Mindy & Chris).

It's just if I actually had all these goods in my hot little hands right now, I would feel a whole lot more human.

Le sigh. Yes, I will get over this phase soon. Just as soon as I land on the Moon or get a bit part in CSI: Miami with David Caruso arching his red eyebrows in skeptical fashion at me. Or something. Something unusual. That would be nice, right about now.

PS: Also? Dooce tried to make smoothies with a chunk of frozen fruit! Hah! Done that! Dinnent burn out my blender, though!

She came this close to commanding an Entreprise

I had no idea how really interesting Genevieve Bujold's life has been. Her Catholic school education, her temper on the set, and this: In 1994, she signed on to play the lead character, Captain Nicole Janeway, in the American television series Star Trek: Voyager. However she dropped out after filming just a few scenes of the series' first episode, stating that a TV series work schedule was too demanding.

Go here to read more about her.

She has a co-starring part in a movie that's on the tube at the moment, Delivrez-moi, which is one of those hard-hitting made-in-Quebec films. One of those really depressing movies.

I've always thougth she was a cool chickie. And I always pointed out Bujold to my Teen as an example of an actor who can really act. This woman has more talent in her little finger than 10 (insert name here: who? um... Andie McDowell, Julia Roberts, and a few blondes I won't even mention.)

She was in Dead Ringers with Jeremy Irons, among other roles.

Suggested reading

If you're in the mood for a heart-warming story, go here.

And here's an amusing little quiz: celebrity or look-alike? I scored 80%.

So, the boy moved out.

And so starts a new phase in my life, and his.

I'm not feeling overly bereft... yet... but the apartment seems awfully quiet without the sounds of the ever-present Fight Channel!

I think my biggest challenge will be making real meals for myself. At least when he was under my wing, it forced me to come up with a varied menu at all times and always make sure he got his veggies. Cooking for myself? Maybe not so scrupulous. I will try, however.

My grocery shopping habits will be different, of course. No more granola bars (bleck, for the most part) or cookies or Yop yogurt drinks to buy.

From now on, my mess is my mess and I clean up only after myself. No more stray hairs and fingernail clippings in the bathroom sink. Less laundry to do (although I have a load of his sitting here waiting... since he took the bus into town, he brought only what he could carry). Many fewer megs of HD space taken up with rap music.

His best buddy here in cowtown was upset that he moved. In fact, he reacted in downright hostile fashion. I had to explain to the Teen that Dark was unhappy because he felt he was losing a friend. But I know they'll keep in touch, at least for awhile.

As for us, we'll be in touch by phone and, of course, MSN.

And for Cootie's part... well, I can tell she's wondering what's up. She's been following me around today. She was always very partial to him.

So life goes on. Just a little differently, is all.

PS, later: I forgot to mention.... no more Pr0N on my puter! A few days ago I found a bunch of really sick files the boy had downloaded. I promptly deleted them and gave him a talking-to. This was not rotten.com stuff here or even Britney or Kim K videos... but rather, unmentionables that I figure most teens are curious about. Still, I'll give the kid kudos for cleaning up all the rest of the stuff he had on this machine... photos of online contacts, music, MSN chats which I wouldn't have read anyway. I have this thing about Pr0N ever since I found cache files of kiddie photos on my ex-b/f's computer. Sick bastard denied it all, but I will forever wonder about him.

Closed

One of several tiny country churches in the region; they are much the same in style and size, and many are closed permanently. Since my childhood, when we explored an ancient, rambling "haunted" house in the city where I was born, I've had the urge to break into abandoned buildings and look around.

I'm sure there's nothing much to see in the churches. Most of these 100-year+ houses of worship didn't even have stained glass windows.

What your browser says about you...

Borrowed from Cara's place...

Retail clerk = bartender

On a particular day last week, we had three ladies come in, browse through the racks, and talk about their recent cold/flu/infection/pneumonia/operation/hospital stay.

I am told this happens frequently.

I've also heard about ongoing battles with diets and weight loss, a generalized hatred of turtleneck sweaters, grief for a defunct parent, frustration in the confines of an old-age residence and complaints about middle-age bulges.

Afraid to fly, can't drive

One of the ladies I work with has never had a vacation beyond the borders of our province. Never even taken a road trip to, say, Vermont or Maine or NYC.

I hope to be able to say that sometime before I die I will make it overseas (carrot sticks and Nicorette gum willing). I think it's sad that someone's fear of airplanes and inability to drive has kept her from experiencing a different place.

Mind you, this is the same person who's been working for minimum wage for 7 years. I suspect "change" isn't a big word in her vocabulary.

My butt hurts

Must be something about working on one's feet.

Here's another guy I love to bits, next to Brooce and Prince.



Let the thing play. Guy's a guitar genius.

Brooooce!*

He was younger then, and so was I.

I remember seeing Springsteen in concert, a long long time ago. Four hours of insane showmanship.

He's got a new album out, Magic.

Through the magic of the internet, I have a couple tunes from his new disk. It's an album worth owning. Just as soon as I have the $21 required to buy it at the local store, I will support Broooce!

*(I recall wondering why the crowd seemed to be booing him. Then I was told they were chanting his name.)

Name that drug dot com

I failed at #3... how will you do?

http://www.namethatdrug.com/

(found at the blog of handsome devil Markiss; been calling him <---- that for years now, not that he's noticed...)

About blogging friendships

Stolen from a commenter on another site:

Oh the comfort,
the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person,
having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words,
but pouring them all right out, just as they are
chaff and grain together
certain that a faithful hand will take and sift them,
keep what is worth keeping,
and with the breath of kindness
blow the rest away.

Rehab, the non-famous kind

I don't feel sorry for celebrities who have substance abuse problems (unless they are named Owen Wilson).

I don't feel that they are suffering much when they pay thousands of dollars for a place overlooking the ocean and get access to massages, manicures, pedicures, canoeing, hiking, roller-blading as this little poptart (photo, above) had until she tested positive for cocaine and left her expensive haven.

Louise had a snippet on her blog about this: Watching the Snapple Lady cry on Celebrity Fit Club, and trying to figure out how come if they’re in drug rehab, certain celebrities (not the ones on my beloved Fit Club, that’s for sure) are still able to get massages and manicures/pedicures.

Rehab might be nice if you have the money to pay for a 5-star place with French cuisine, lounge with fireplace, canopies over cushy beds. I remember writing about such a place for PayPerPost sometime earlier this year.

Real rehab is dingy. No-frills. Quite institutional, really.

It's about not going outside at all, except in the fenced strip of backyard facing a grungy alleyway in the most vibrant centre of a cosmopolitan city. Or at the front door (this was the second rehab) where you really could walk away if you chose to.

Watching the even lesser grunge of humanity walk down the alley or parking lot and stare at you like an animal in a zoo, 'cuz you have that bracelet on your wrist that brands you as an "inmate."

It's about wire mesh on windows and windows that don't open more than a foot wide, lest you slip out. Like you couldn't walk out any time you wanted.

It's about no lock on your bedroom or bathroom door.

It's about pre-fab food made by some organization that couldn't muster even the quality to land the contract with Air Canada's food services. When even first-class airline food is borderline in the edibility department, rehab is more along the lines of hospital food. Predictable, bland, without a smidgen of humanity or imagination.

It's about feeling so low and so removed from the rest of the world that you are grateful even for the food, the free tea, the ability to smoke cigarettes, to swear, cry or shout.

I never shouted, mind you.

It's about being treated like a child with a disability. Being talked to slowly and clearly, as though you were deaf, dumb, or demented. Or just old and infirm.

It's about looking at the downtown skyline at night and wishing you were normal enough to share the real world with everyone else who somehow, magically, doesn't have your crippling disease. Listening to morning traffic and snatches of conversation as people walk past the building. Feeling invisible to the world, shut away.

It's about walking out a week or a month later and feeling dizzy from the sudden wide-openness. Feeling like you might just fall down because of those muscles you didn't use in any meaningful way except for a 12-metre hallway from bedroom to office to kitchen to smoking lounge. Feeling the scariness of complete freedom after willingly checking yourself into prison. Knowing you'll most likely fail again. Wishing you could just turn around and go back in for another week, where you know at least somebody's watching out for you. But you have to pay your rent, so you walk out, free.

The Lindsays of this world have no idea how good they really have it.

Midweek odds & ends

Dunno about the "expert" part...

Morning conversation:
Him: I don't know what to eat this morning.
Me: Make hot cereal. It's a cold day.
Him: Meh. I don't feel like making it.
Me: Well, don't look at me.
(later)
Him: What should I eat?
Me: How 'bout ham & eggs?
Him: Only if you make it.
Me: Sorry, not today.
(later)
Him: I'll just have yogurt.
Me: You'll be nauseous with hunger and cranky by lunchtime.
Him: Yeah, whatever.
Me (relenting): At least take a couple of granola bars to school.
Him: Good idea.

Little things make me happy. Like a new tube of Colgate Total (who says advertising doesn't get ya?) and a honking big bottle of Listerine (which, at approx. $8, is actually a luxury item in this house.) Oh, and a new blow dryer.





Is it just me, or does Jake look like Son of Frankenstein in this picture? Or possibly the offspring of Frankenstein and Mel Gibson?


Here's a product for women that I can't imagine was invented by a woman. Then again, there were tampons I tried once that were apparently designed by a female obgyn, and I hated them.

Would YOU use the Diva Cup?

Unintentionally funny, a testimonial from an alleged user:
"Truly the best invention since sliced bread (...)!!!!

First off, I am not a gusher; it’s just not an aspect of my personality, BUT...Oh My God! I L-O-V-E my new Diva cup!!"

Not a gusher? Considering the product she was writing about, she should have reread her email before hitting Send.

And thanks were given

I made a Thanksgiving dinner that involved slightly more than my usual hasty sprinkling of herbes de Provence on fowl or my amazing one-hour chili™ or something equally quick and mindless.

I was cooking for the Teen and a guest, and not only was it a painless meal to prepare and cook, it was also well-received and conversation was fun.

It makes me feel the urge to have guests more often, even though our tiny kitchen table only seats 4... (not to mention just 4 chairs.)

I received the gift of a beautiful, thick, deep-blue carpet today, a rather large one that will fit pretty perfectly on the living room floor. It was donated, via a friend, by a wealthy lady who has too much stuff. She would have thrown it in the garbage. Because that's how the rich are.

The carpet, which is in pristine condition, is most welcome, because when we moved into this apartment in April the floating floor was cold. Made me wonder what winter would be like. Now winter's right around the corner and the timing of this plushy floor covering is good.

My landlady gave me the warm fuzzies, too, yesterday, while I was on my last day at Hotel Hell. She dropped by and left two large sample bottles of Tres Semme hair "Hair Thrive Color Block" product given to her by a friend. Funny how people can be so nice when you least expect it.

I actually enjoyed my first day of unemployment from the hotel job. I had several leisurely chores to do, time to chat with some neighbours, do my groceries, make and enjoy dinner, and even look over old pictures of my kid when he was young -- pictures of himself and friends he'd not seen in ages.

All in all, it was a Thanksgiving with much for which to be grateful.

P.S. The pumpkin pie, with filling from a can but with an added whole egg and evaporated milk, was scrumptious. With vanilla ice cream. Or at least, so I was told; I had only one bite of pie filling, strictly for quality-control purposes.

Thanksgiving

Canadian Thanksgiving is next Monday and I have the dubious pleasure of working. I need to inquire with the labour standards commission if I am supposed to be paid time-and-a-half, but I doubt that will be the case since I've only been on the job 2 full weeks and am, technically, still on "probation."

I was a little dismayed at the prospect of having to work, but then I remembered various siblings who've worked Christmases and other holidays... and while they didn't love it, they didn't complain much. You gotta do what you gotta do, and they managed, so I'm sucking it up.

Fortunately, the Teen and I can still do Thanksgiving dinner together, and I'll ask him if maybe he has a friend or two who'd like to join us. I work until 3 PM that day, which leaves me time to cook (although not a whole turkey!) and enjoy a meal. Although, basically, I could feed the Teen pumpkin pie with whipped cream and nothing else, and he would be thrilled.

RESTED!

Amazing! This is the first day in 2.5 weeks that I have felt completely rested upon awakening.

However, I have a full day of translation ahead of me, so who knows how I'll feel by the time I am supposed to go out for dinner with a friend. I already know I'd rather stay home and veg out.

Cause for severe embarrassment

Ya'll know I've been working two jobs for a couple of week now, and am pretty much always tired and short on leisure time. That includes housework, which has suffered to some extent, although I do try to keep up appearances.

Yesterday (and, I admit, for at least two days prior to that) I'd noticed the toilet bowl was getting, shall we say, grungy.

To my amazement last night, when I went in to clean it, I found it had already been done! I thought to myself, "Gol-ly! The Teen actually cleaned the toilet without being asked!" This would have been a first in his lifetime.

Today, he and his buddy "Dark" (we are not permitted to call him by his real name, but must use the infinitely cooler nickname) came home for lunch and I happened to mention to Alex that I was happy that he'd taken the initiative in the bathroom. But Alex looked at me oddly and said, "I didn't do it." Then Dark raised his hand.

I really don't know what else I can say on this matter.

More photos

Cousin John is a prolific artist. Oh, I mentioned that already, didn't I?

Here is further proof:

A creature very much feared and hated by my Teen ever since he got stung on the earlobe @ age 2.5.

Rather a nasty fierce-looking insect, innit?



all rights reserved John Gillett 2007

Time to catch up on blogging

It's so weird...working Sat-Sun-Mon-Tues! My entire mental calendar is out of whack!

I got home on Sunday after a 10-hour shift and was completely wiped out, burnt, sore feet... but I made dinner, ate it like a ravenous rat, and promptly fell asleep.

The second 5:30 a.m. wakeup (this morning) was not as bad as Sunday's rude and much-too-early awakening.

All photographs copyright John Gillett, all rights reserved 2007

The sun was coming up as I left the house at 6:35 a.m. today and the air was, shall we say, chilly. And I was wearing sandals and capri pants.

About a dozen steps from my front door I thought, "Oh shit, it's kinda cold." Then I looked at the pristine, clear, pale-blue morning sky and decided I would live through the 17-minute walk to work. So I walked up the road, glancing right and left at the enormously thick mist hovering over the fields to the right and the golf course to the left. It was very beautiful and I wished my camera were not fuxored. I usually carry it everywhere, but not in the past 6 weeks or so, since it stopped working for no obvious reason.

I need to get it fixed.

No, I need a better camera that can take a big honking lens like the kind my cousin John uses.

I have posted one picture of his on the other blog, but he regularly sends out several beautiful photos via email, and so I will post a couple, because he said I could and I promised attribution and copyright info. Don't any of ya'll dare copy these pictures, because a member of our venerable family WILL hunt you down and kill you. Make no mistake.

My cousin is a family man and I doubt he has much time to pursue criminals, but I don't mind doing it.

(Lattegirl does Bounty hunting?)

Suffice it to say, my cousin John takes absolutely incredible photos.

I seem to have deleted some of them accidentally from my inbox without having saved them.

Send me more, John!

Suddenly lonely

It's gotta be the music.

Buddha, the trucker dude, has been gone for about 10 days and I have been busy and not missing him or anything else in all that time.

All rights reserved by photographer.


Until just a few minutes ago, when I caught some country music on TV just before I turned it off for the night, and suddenly I missed him.

I had to think about this. Him, or someone?

No, him.

Fuck me. I must be getting soft in my old age.

He will be really surprised when I tell him this, because we'd already talked about breaking up. Like, the day after he went on his last road trip. I think he knew I was unhappy with him, because he brought it up. "Do you still want to see me when I get back?"

But I would rather be with him tonight and NOT be getting up at the crack of dawn tomorrow to handle hotel guests.

Never happy, am I?

It will pass.

And away they go

The geese are leaving town.

Let me know when they get to where you live.

Domestic and professional goddess

I'm coming off 3 days of training at the new job and it's Friday but it's not really the weekend for me...

Because I have to work icky, long shifts for the next four days at the new job and still fit in 3600 words of translation by Wednesday end of day!

By mid-afternoon today I was sleepy as hell and wishing I could nap. But I had a project to put out by 3 PM and I did it. Then I got a ride to and from Canuck Rubber (Canadian Tire, for those not in the know) with neighbour A. because I was lucky enough to catch her as she pulled out of her parking spot across the way from my front door.

I think my napping days are over.

Undeterred by fatigue, I am presently making pea soup and will shortly be chopping stuff for a vegetable-fried rice. The Teen is out for the evening, which is frankly a relief.

Other than that, I have a sink full of dishes, so I guess I'm not the goddess I make myself out to be in my title up there.

But the dishes are sitting there because I have no dish soap left and am quite flat broke.

Am waiting for Friend B. to call and bring money. (That in itself is a long story for another day.)

I don't think I mentioned that I made stovetop blueberry jam a couple of nights ago.

Still a Goddess.

Tired, though. Guess it will take me a couple/three weeks to get used to this beat, as they say in French Quebec (le beat).

I don't think I'll be able to stay awake long enough for an ep of the Sopranos tonight. The one I saw last night was when Tony had just become the capo, and youch! some of the subject matter is touchy. And violent. But saddest of all, to me, was Carmela and Tony at that point in their marriage (not that they didn't go through more of the same later). What a amoral pig Tony's character was/is.

The Teen and I were discussing a different angle to the series ending. Was it possible that the blackout meant that Carmela, Tony, Meadow and AJ really did get wiped out in that restaurant?

Just wondering.

Friday night thoughts... before the penultimate Big Day at the job... working 8 hours with the Big Boss by my side, watching and analyzing.

Not nervous. Not. I can do this.

I'll let you know tomorrow how it goes... here or at the main blog.

UPDATE: Off to bed, just wanted to say I actually managed to do all my dishes. Goddess! Totally!

Hotel stories!

Notice I didn't say "motel stories."

How ironic is it that I live in an apartment complex that looks like a motel, and I work at a hotel that also looks like a motel.

It's really just one small step up from motel status. Except for the suites, which are almost decent. The Presidential Suite looks sharp at first glance, but you can see the flaws without even looking too closely. The whirlpool tub was poorly repainted by the previous owner, and the new owners (who've had the place for over a year) have done nothing to fix it. It's the kind of thing that you'd look at and go, "Ew. I'm not sitting in that." Or the yellow stains on a wall near the front door. Or the slightly frayed carpet. Or the sagging couch cushions.

Sure, it's only $160 a night. It would go for 3 times that up in Tremblant. If all the shoddy details were fixed.

I wonder if I get half price on room rentals. The Presidential Suite would be a mean place for a party.

I do get half price on tanning services. Not that I'd ever close myself into a tanning bed -- not after seeing Final Destination 3.

So, here's a story that's even wilder than someone walking out with the safe.

Such a fine establishment I now work in!

Back in February, a guy rented a room. Then the police showed up and told the surprised front desk clerk that the guy was stashing a bunch of firearms. And possibly a bomb.

They evacuated the hotel and sent everyone far away. Like, across the street. And sent in bomb-sniffing dogs and everything. By the time the dust settled, it was 7 hours later.

Also? Today, when the manager was showing me the tanning room and how things operate, she noticed that the radio/CD player was... gone.

I said, "A guest with a sports bag?" and she shrugged and said, "Yup."

Classy place! Classy people!

More Dooce

Leta had been playing with a new girl in her class, someone who hadn’t yet learned the rules. This new girl was playing a bit rough, and at one point she shoved Leta in the chest and sent her tumbling a few feet backward. (...) a part of me was like, well, maybe this experience will be good practice for that one day years from now when she decides to open up comments on her blog for the first time.

(...) "everything is fine,” (the teacher) said. “In fact, she kept going back to play with this girl over and over again, even though this girl continued to be pretty awful to her.”

“Ah well, that’s good,” I said. “I guess this means she’ll make a great alcoholic?”

Flush or bury?

Ya know, I was wondering idly a few days ago about toilet paper and tissue paper. I blow my nose a lot. I have low-grade, constant allergies to... (heh)... cats (3), dust (endless), and other things.

My last b/f accused me of being addicted to nose-blowing.

We were in his truck at the time, in traffic, and I remember turning to gape at him in astonishment.

"You think I'm addicted?"

I made him back down on that claim... make no mistake.

Oh yeah, I love dust. I love sneezing, dude. I love spending $50 a month on paper products with which to evacuate excess mucus.

So much fun.

So, with Kleenex in mind, I asked one of my more environmentally aware neighbours if it is better to flush snot rags down the toilet or put them into garbage for burial.

He told me burial is better because the bacteria created by the warmth generated in landfill breaks down paper (and, more recently, the thinner recycled grocery store bags) more quickly, rather than the process in water, which is slower.

So there you go.

Bury those tissues.

THIS is the man for me

UFC champion Randy "The Natural" Couture is my mostest ideal man ever.

He's an amazing athlete and has the winningest smile I've ever seen, rivalling even George Clooney.

My Teen and I spent the entire day today watching a UFC marathon.

I don't know why I like this stuff. I hate boxing, I despise wrestling (it's rigged, didja hear?).

But the UFC combines boxing, wrestling, and the martial arts, which somehow makes it so incredibly cool. My son has taught me a lot but watching the pros train and fight has also been extremely interesting.

It is to sigh. Some like Keanu, some like Dep, and I love Randy Couture.

(OK, I like them all, for different reasons.)

Cats and crotchety old men

I was sitting outside petting the stray cat yesterday when the neighbour and wife (apartment directly across the way) pulled up.

Old man: Is he crapping? (pointing to my cat sitting in his front yard)
Me: No, he's just sitting in the sun.

Ensued a long (too long for me, anyway) but fairly civilized discussion about cats in other peoples' yards, my habits and responsibility as a cat owner, the number of cats in the vicinity at night or in the winter, and much more. I held my sarcastic tongue well in check -- mainly because I was too tired to get myself worked up.

I grumbled to myself for about 15 minutes afterward, then deliberately put it out of my mind as too petty to waste energy on.

This morning, I let Mikey outside. Mikey's the wanderer, the hunter, the "free spirit" as my Teen calls him.

When he came back in a couple of hours later, he went...

... straight to the litter box.

Oh, how I praised him!

See, Old Man thinks Mikey might be "crapping" in his garden and elsewhere. At the very least, some cat is knocking over his small lawn ornaments.

So when Old Man drove up, I made a point of stepping outside to tell him my cat had come in and done his business in the box. He just grunted at first. Then he mentioned the complaints from the guy who set up a horseshoes game on the side lawn. Said game has, as usual, two sandpits on either end.

That was easy. Mr. Horseshoes has already told me he keeps catching neighbour Sophie's cat crapping there. Because Sophie goes to work at 7:40 a.m. and leaves her cat outside until 3:30 p.m. every day. Cat's gotta go somewhere, right?

Anyway, long story shortened just a tad, I think I have appeased Old Man with regard to my animal.

Friend B. asked me why I felt the need to answer or explain at all.

I just do. Why not defend myself? To not do so would simply encourage more sniping and gossiping behind my back.

This is tiring shit, though.

Avon calling!

In my ongoing yet rather inconsistent pursuit of more money, I applied for a job online on Sunday night.

I have this feeling that the person I sent my CV to doesn't really want me for the job, but she's not the one doing the actual hiring.

She offered her hotmail address so I could e- her my resume because I can't find my stupid printer cable. (Stupid cable!) Otherwise, I would have printed out the CV and given it to the appropriate person, in person.

And although I sent my neighbour my credentials, I have been trying to reach the people who are really responsible for hiring.

But their phone is hooked up to a fax and I keep getting the fax bloop bleep wheep.

Arsehats.

But even before this attempt at gainful employment, I signed up with Avon a couple weeks ago.

I know it sounds cheesy! Totally! But I figured WTH, why not give it a try? I know lots of women in this hick town. And believe me, they can use some help. They mght not watch What Not To Wear, but they can get some hints from moi about lipstick and such, yes?

So you see, I'm trying my very best to go forward.

(More money, please. Please, Universe!)

Want lyrics?

I guess I shoulda known
By the way u parked your car sideways
That it wouldnt last

See you're the kinda person
That believes in makin out once
Love em and leave em fast

I guess I must be dumb
cuz u had a pocket full of horses
Trojan and some of them used

But it was Saturday night
I guess that makes it all right
And u say what have I got 2 lose?
And honey I say

Little red corvette


(...)

Go here to get all the lyrics to songs you crave!

Buddha comes back

Trucker dude returns Sunday after a fortnight on the road.

If there's one good thing I can compliment Hell Canada for, it's their $24.95/month flat rate for long-distance calls in Canada/USA, 24/7.

Silly me, I was afraid to make any calls throughout August because I owed them so much money (although close to $200 is overbilled error). Then I realized I am paying that twenty five bucks each month, regardless... so I started calling people. Not quite at random, but I'll get there. Just to make sure I get a bang for my buck.

So I talked to Buddha like, 4 times last night, on Hell's dime.

He went to Laredo and back, and promises me a visit w/ meal tomorrow night.

Apparently there was some kerfuffle in Laredo, involving drug lords.

Tony Soprano, move over.

Maybe it's a good thing I did not accompany him to Texas this time.

Doesn't mean I won't go next time.

Truck stops, weigh-ins, diners, bad coffee. What's not to like about the prospect?

Not to mention getting the hell away from my grumpy teenager.

She's a wizard!

My accountant is... amazing.

She showed up with her coffeemaker and yes, it is defective. We ran side-by-side tests and mine made lovely java within mere minutes, while her machine sat there and steamed. Literally. Clouds of steam, nothing much else.

How to describe this lady? Thrown out of the family home at 16, scrapper who endured life on the streets, analytical genius bordering on OCD, single mother, now owns her own duplex and has been running her business for several years.

Tough cookie, survivor, conjurer when it comes to dealing with government authority.

I am so grateful to have her on my side!

Bean counter

I'm waiting for my accountant.

Apparently, she's about as proficient with a telephone as I am.

I've called her twice since yesterday to try to find out what time she plans to show up, but she doesn't answer.

I wouldn't normally care, but she's the one who picked Friday morning. We have to go over my business and I need to show her how to use her coffee machine (same make and model as mine). She liked my coffee so much she bought the same machine, but had so much trouble using it that she said she came *this* close to tossing it in the garbage.

It's just a plain old one-cup Melitta espresso maker ($34.95 at HellMart).

Meanwhile, my accounting has been called "the file from hell."

The government apparently believes I have not filed an income tax return since 1986.

They also believe I owe them more money than I make in any given year.

Good luck collecting, boys.

Blatantly stolen from someone else

I was (am) distraught by the news that Owen Wilson may or may not have attempted to commit suicide last Sunday, and that he may or may not be struggling with a heroin addiction.

Surely not OWEN!

What is the world coming to?

The following incredibly vapid stream of video doesn't help, but it does give me more looks at one of the men of my dreams.

http://www.cnn.com/video/?JSONLINK=video/showbiz/2007/08/28/anderson.owen.wilson.hospitalized.cnn&DPFPR=true&pks=ijsioc080607google

(link does not appear to want to behave properly)

Nobody loves me?

Apparently not. Nobody's answering my emails.

Nobody's leaving comments.

And I still have to make dinner.

Life is unfair, some days.

Life with Buddha

It's hard being the new girlfriend of a long-distance trucker, especially when he's going to TEXAS tonight!

I am so jealous.

Ugh, an update.

Busy with a rather large document… interesting project, but I’m not allowed to talk about it.

Doesn’t that sound perfectly Pink Panther of me? ("I can't tell you, otherwise I'd have to kill you, etc.")

It is true, however, that in the translation biz, you do occasionally get information you’re not allowed to disclose.

In other news here and there at the motel, some absurdities.

The first event bothers me for its sheer pettiness. It has to do with two men, one of whom seems to think he has a monopoly on my time. So he peeled out of here a couple of nights ago in a snooty fit.

Mind you, the second event is not much better. It has to do with cats and horseshoes.

Nah. On second thought, I won’t even bother writing it down.

Maybe tomorrow.

How he calms me down

My son said, "Okay, you've had your drama queen hissy fit for today, now be quiet."

That made me laugh and it worked, too.

I am watching The Grudge 2, which fits in with my recent horror movie preoccupations.

I just think it's cheap how the Murrican filmmakers stole so many scenes from the original Japanese movie.

To Oka and back

Part of the fun of this weekend was driving all over hell's half-acre or more. I'm finding out how truly pretty this part of the world is. Next town I live in will be the next town over, it's just that gorgeous.

I've met about a million people through The New Guy (whose nickname, thanks to Kat, is Buddha.)


More later. Maybe.

$10 a day

Alrighty, so because no money came in this week, I have a grand total of $60 to live on until sometime next week... maybe Monday, maybe later.

Part of my money woes are due to only billing clients once a month. No more!

I've been staggering the invoicing now so that I don't land in this hole again.

My new accountant is working on my overdue paperwork at last. That in itself is a relief.

I do have lots of utilities to pay, though. I should call them and show some sign of good faith, but the overbilled Hell Canada home phone account just depresses me so much, I can't face it.

I might just gather up all the envelopes (some opened, some not) and bring them to a friend's house and at least have some moral support in sorting and compiling them.

I also need to call someone whose birthday I ignored because I did not want to have contact with humanity. I feel badly about that. I feel stupid having to explain that I was, selfishly, having a crappy day.

Same crap, different bucket

I just posted at the other place that I'm not feeling too hot -- it's been a couple of days of sinus headache and lousy sleep -- and this makes me mad at myself.

I know, getting cranky with yourself is just wrong.

When I get cranky, I clean things.

I did the leftover dishes (which the Teen had promised to finish last night) and wiped the counters and bread crumbs from under the toaster and all that stuff.

Grumbling all the while. "God, I'm sick of doing the same tasks over and over every day! Stupid counters! Stupid ants in the cat food! (yes they're still there, and even worse than they were) Stupid dust in corners!"

I cleaned out the cat boxes and put out the stupid garbage -- same things I did yesterday.

Now I don't know what else to do to occupy my day!

PS: To add insult to injury, I've been waiting for a cheque from two clients - one of which I should have received by today at the latest... but was told it was only mailed yesterday. So, no money to pay bills until sometime next week. Great. JUST GREAT. Whatever bit of decent mood I had today just flew out the window.

Maybe it's not love.

What do you do when you finally meet someone who makes you think out of the box for once? Where you think, "uh... maybe I could make this effort, make a real effort to have a relationship?"

I doubt he likes Prince. He might tolerate Prince but would never love Prince. And frankly? Any guy who loves Prince like I love Prince? Would have to be gay.

So I met this dude... he's kinda sweet. And he would have to put up with Prince and Criss Angel (new hair notwithstanding.) and my love of Steve Buscemi and/or John Malkovitch.

But he has a really, really big gut.

I'm not sure how to deal with mental attraction and a really REALLY big gut.

Tom Waits says it nicely*:

There's a place for us
Somewhere, a place for us
Peace and quiet
....
somewhere

There's a time for us
Some day, a time for us
Time together
Time to spare
Time to learn
Time to care

Someday, somewhere, we'll find a new
way of living
We'll find a way of forgiving
Somewhere

*from West Side Story. Which I've never seen.

(also? Tom does it on purpose, I'm sure: He sings "a plathe for uth"

More motel stories!

It would be a dull month if nothing happened at the motel, other than me blowing up at the landlord about my leaking toilet.

Two nights ago I headed out the door with a bag of 20 empty ginger ale cans (I usually give them to Old Wheezing Guy upstairs, but decided I could use 10 extra cents) and lo and behold! A police car in front of a neighbour's door! And a small group of people in earnest discussion, including landman and his wife.

The usual clutch of gossipers was sitting on the swing (you know, the kind of 4 person wood swing you generally see on the lawn at old folks' residences? We have one) and one of folks asked me where I was going.

This is what it's all about, around here... everyone has to know your slightest business. *sigh*

So I announced that I was going to the corner store for more ginger ale! I'm sure this was welcome news to all concerned. I jerked my head toward the police car behind us and whispered, "What's happening over there?"

Turns out one of the two dudes who lives in #19 flipped his lid. Turns out that both guys are schizophrenic and off their meds.

Not one, but too schizos! I can't spell that word, can I?

This is the second time the police have been called in for a disturbance at that apartment. It appears there was lots of noise during the night.

One of the guys in question I have had the dubious pleasure of meeting -- that time in the laundromat, when he got pissed at me for removing his clothes from the washing machine because his load was done.

I hope they get asked to move the hell out.

On cedars

My landlord has been outside for hours, trimming the cedar bushes back into phallic shapes.

Yeah it's nice and all, but it creeps me out. Because spiders love cedar. All of the cedars (including two large ones close to either side of my front entrance) are like apartment buildings, absolutely laced with filmy spider terraces/balconies, even spider penthouses with multiple decks higher up -- all equipped with those tunnels the homeowners scuttle from when a visitor drops in for dinner.

I HATE SPIDER TUNNELS.

So landman is blithely trimming away, most likely freaking out the spiders, which will probably pack their bags and leave home, e.g. decide that the area between my inside and outside windows is a safer place to live.

Why you shouldn't feed stray cats

Oh, dear. I have gotten myself into an emotional entanglement with the stray tabby.

He shows up twice a day (minimum), usually morning and evening, for his meals. Said meals are generally dry food mixed with wet, and a daily teaspoon of calcium pellets. Sometimes, if I have no canned cat food on hand (because by now he turns up his nose at plain dry food) I will mash up a hot dog, or shredded leftover meat, maybe chicken broth or leftover gravy, and animal fat.

Problem is, he wants to come inside all the time. Problem with THAT is, he backs up to various objects (e.g. my bed, dresser) and does the marking of territory thing. I haven't actually seen him spray, I think he's too young for it, but of course it will stink eventually.

Plus, he lies or sits on the porch or walkway and meows for me.

KILL ME NOW.

Still opening my mail

Rom!

Just trying to get Jeni's attention.

Rom opened my mail. Again. Called me, said "oooh sorry! opened your mail!" and all the details.

This is becoming increasingly unfunny. I hate that woman.

Thankfully, there are things like this out there.

Villains have bad names

This upcoming movie is sure to flop first night... straight to PPV or video...

I won't even mention the name or leading characters.

Mmm okay then, here's a hint:

Paris, 26, will play Heather Sweet, the daughter of the movie's villain, Geneco owner Rottismo Largo.

Could you get any stupider, Hollywood peeps? Really?

Young men, volleyball

Yes, I went to the hotel pool today. But I went alone, and felt like Missus Fucking Robinson, I swear.

I sat alone, pretty happy for the most part until a yung guy motioned for me over to the hot sand for a game of volleyball. He was of the dark-haired variety to which I am partial.

I was actually waiting for a different male buddy to show up. He didn't. I am tempted to give him hell for not daring to don a bathing suit... not sure. (I think I will)

See that photo? I am not in there.

Where I hope be that day

THEATRE IN THE PARKS
MOLIÈRE: The Schemer
Saturday, August 4th @ 7pm in English

I like the French title better. As usual, it's twice as long as the English version, but it really gives you more of a sense of the mischievous nature of the play.

Les Fourberies de Scapin.

I have never read any Molière. I have read Dumas and many other French writers, but never Molière. Hell, while I'm at it, I might as well admit I've never even read a whole lot of Shakespeare.

I noticed that the paper advertising the play made a spelling mistake. My friend and client M. tells me I could call them out on this and get free tickets.

This is not something that ever occurred to me.