37 Going On 90

I saw my new next door neighbour the other day. I had developed a bit of an initial hate-on for her as the first few days after she moved in she thoroughly and consistently annoyed the hell out of me by letting her front door slam shut in the early morn, all day and well into the night. Slam , slam, slam, slam, slam…and every time I jumped a foot in the air. I do not like loud and sudden noises and I just couldn’t understand why she didn’t hear and feel the shock waves every time that door flew shut. As suddenly as the slamming started it stopped a few days later. I now think it was either friends or relatives helping her move and unpack or somebody beat her ass down teaching her a much needed lesson. I am betting it was the former as it turns out she is a Professional Old Lady. You know one of those somewhat hunchback types who have carefully set blue hair and fancy coloured coats with matching hats. Basically she looks like The Queen. Outside her door she has a spiffy brass umbrella stand filled with several umbrellas. Probably one to match each of her hat/coat/hair combos. She also has fresh flowers in a nice pot which seem to die within 3 days since there is no natural light in the hallway. She is obviously very good at her profession and has been An Old Lady for quite some time. There is a lot I could learn from her.

I am going to re-enforce my Curmudgeonly Stinky Bum status by crapping on the obvious joy many people are experiencing over the upcoming The Police reunion. I admit I am not a huge fan of The Police but that is not why I think this is a very bad idea. I love The Rolling Stones but totally wish they would retire because it is getting a little embarrassing, frankly. Kinda like watching your parents dance to that new fangled Hippy Hoppy music. I think Mick looks like a caricature of himself is no longer even remotely rock and roll. More like sit and snooze. I loved them when they were young and nasty. Not wrinkly and arthritic. I find Sting fairly creepy (in a ‘He Is Old Enough To Be My Dad But Thinks He’s Sexy’ sort of way) and the horrifying contrast one will witness watching him sing songs he sang as a much younger lad promises to be sad and unsettling. There is something noble and wonderful about letting sleeping dogs lie (or letting aged pop singers lead tantric sex filled existences) and remembering the band the way they were at the height of careers. When they were sexy as hell, totally fashionably current and had all their hair. Band reunions or bands that just won’t go away are a recipe for disappointment. I am dumping on your pleasure for your own good.

Yoshi (presently named The Ungrateful Shit) has totally abandoned The Snoozen Housen. All of a sudden she will sleep ANYWHERE but there. Anywhere being the hard wood dining room chairs, awkward high traffic carpeted areas, where I like to sit and my lap any time I am still for more than 10 seconds. I have heard parents say that there is some sort of divine karmic irony where their children have the same annoying characteristics that they had themselves as kids causing them bitter regret but providing much glee to the grandparents. So I wonder if this is some sort of cosmic cat reckoning for my childhood behaviors and idiosyncrasies. Apparently being childless does not let me off the hook.

Crush Your Cat's Head Friday-More Vintage Yoshi

Back when Yoshi was less than a year old she used to get time outdoors to explore her inner beastie. This is her 'Fierce Feline at Rest' imitation.

Ring My Bell

I have one of those telephone numbers that results in a great deal of misdials connecting total strangers to my line. And an especially large amount of long distance wrong numbers at that. When I was given my phone number I thought it was going to be soooo great as it was very easy to remember as it consists of a repetition of a very simple series of numbers. Apparently this very same repetition of numbers is exactly what happens when somebody starts dialing and then loses his or her place and starts over again.

I literally get 2-4 wrong numbers every day.

As a result I have become somewhat of an expert on how one should not deal with the unfortunate realization that one has, indeed, dialed the wrong number.

1. Do not slam the phone down when you hear my greeting. Especially don’t do this if you have dialed me in the wee hours. I have call display and I am not above calling you back at an ungodly hour in the near future to return the favour.

2. Do not argue with me. I am not fucking with your brain. I have no hidden agenda. I would know that Steve does NOT live here. Trust me. I’d know. I’d probably smell him.

3. In reference to # 2. Seriously, I don’t care if this is the number Steve gave you and that you wrote it down right. STEVE DOES NOT LIVE HERE!!! Why would I lie? Stop smokin' the herb.
   

4. Almost as bad as #1 do not hang up the phone on me after I kindly and sweetly inform you of your misdial. It puts me in a grumpy mood and when I am grumpy EVERYBODY is grumpy. Somehow it will trickle down to you and you will pay.

5. Do not flirt. I am not going to meet you for coffee. I am not charmed by your spastic fingering that brought you to my world in the first place. Romance only starts this way in movies featuring Meg Ryan. In real life this is how serial killers find new fodder.

6. And NO! I am not cheating with your boyfriend. I am not answering his phone and then trying to cover my tracks. I live here and live here alone. Maybe you should address those trust issues in a more appropriate forum. Like an insane asylum.

7. Do not hang up and then immediately hit redial and then act surprised when you hear my slightly peevish voice again. I mean, DUH!

8. Do not just stay on the line after hearing that you misdialed and mouth breathe in my ear. Think on your own time, Neanderthal Boy.

9. Do not laugh manically when you discover that you have the wrong number. It is likely you have disturbed my very important TV watching or a much anticipated nap or, God help you, my blogging time. This is in no way funny, fucker.

10. OK…DUDE!!! No need to get pissed. I understand you are calling long distance but this whole thing is not my fault. I will not reimburse you. I don’t care.

If you have misdialed I highly recommend apologizing to your wrong number victim. Even a charming, “Ooops!” will suffice. Then say goodbye and hang up. So simple yet so rare. I wonder why.

Sadness...

A very sad time in my city’s recent history is prominently in the news today. This date marks the first day of the trial against Robert (Willie) Pickton who is charged with murdering 26 women at his pig farm in a nearby suburb. These women were for the most part living high risk lives of prostitution and/or drug use. As a result the fact that they were missing was not really acknowledged by the police for many years. The families are angry and our police force has been criticised a great deal over this issue. I can honestly see both sides in this situation. Most of these women were from the Downtown Eastside, Canada’s poorest neighbourhood. They lead dangerous and transient existences and I can understand why our already overtaxed police department were unable to dedicate a great deal of time to tracking down people reported missing who were perhaps not in regular touch with their families and not in a position, due to their lifestyle, where they really wanted to be found anyway. Yet I totally know that society in general doesn’t place the same importance on the rights and safety of women like these and as a result they are often pushed to the wayside and suffer for it. It is a lose/lose situation for everybody and that is further emphasized to me by today’s newscasts.

It has taken several years for the prosecutors to amass all the evidence needed to go to trial and during this time our media had to follow strict black-out regulations so the evidence wouldn’t be tainted and a jury could be successfully gathered. I believe that some information is still off limits but I heard details today I had only suspected in my worst nightmares. They found body parts in freezers. Human bones in manure piles. Boxes of victims’ clothing. They confirmed rumours that neighbours of this pig farmer were warned they may have received meat from him containing human remains. I have always heard that pigs eat anything and that appears how he disposed of many of the bodies. Truly horrific things to hear about.

At this point I believe there are over sixty missing women and Pickton admitted to an undercover cop he had killed 49 women. I doubt we will ever know the true figures. What they do forecast is this trial taking over a year to complete and that means more and more terrible details and further questions about how this could have happened. The TV news program I watch vowed to try to offset the horror of this situation by presenting a ‘feel good’ story every night. For this I am grateful.

My city, that I love, is one of shocking contrast. We are a place of beautiful people and locations. It is a place where evidence of the good life is all around you. It is very easy to get caught up that everything is perfect. A dangerous delusion. It is also a place with a terrible drug problem resulting in prostitution and crime and poverty. It is very easy to drive around and never see anything that might offend your senses but if you look closer or walk the streets you stumble upon people sleeping on the sidewalks or are approached by panhandlers looking for spare change. You can literally walk two blocks from expensive downtown stores to seedy hotels and rampant drug dealing. The line separating these two extremes is very, very thin.

I really don’t know how I can wrap all this up. What it all means. I guess I hope that people see how women living high risk lives can fall through the cracks and what that can mean. I hope people see that these women were daughters and moms and sisters and not just a product of how they lived their lives. I just hope that something good can come of all this sadness and negativity and horror we will be marinating in over the next several months.

Crush Your Cat's Head Friday-A Small Film For You

Click here.

Meaningless Mumblings of a Bored Person

So I am going to ‘fess up. Despite my plan to not watch any new TV shows thereby allowing the shows I do watch to slowly be cancelled thereby decreasing my TV watching thereby weaning me from TV entirely without any dangerous withdrawal symptoms I seem to be zoned out in front of the tube more than ever. Curioser and curioser. Then on top of this startling realization that goes against the laws of nature the ‘Moron Factor’ of my TV palate has increased as well. So I cannot even claim that the shows I do watch are redeemed by being educational. Unless you consider “Beauty and The Geek” fodder for the brain. What am I thinking?!? Oh wait! I’m NOT!

While maybe my time is not always spent on achieving higher knowledge I still manage to wonder about a lot of what I see while worshipping my glowing idol.

1. The Donald Trump and Rosie O’Donnell thing. Who thinks The Donald is coming across as a very uptight judgmental ass? I expect mockery and derision from Rosie as she is a very outspoken comedian and that is her job. I am shocked and horrified to hear such terrible personal attacks from The Talking Dollar Sign. Jay Leno and David Letterman spout off about The Trumpinator all the time as they do many other public figures without retaliation so why attack Rosie in such a nasty and ugly way? I can only think that she hit a major nerve. I wonder if it was the financial stuff or the moral compass observations. And then Mr. Hair goes and betrays Barbara Wawa’s confidence and drags her into the whole thing and compromises her work relationships and credibility. If I said something to a friend in confidence (IE-gossiping) I would be very pissed to hear it repeated on Entertainment Tonight. And if I never said those things to that friend in the first place that means that friend is a dirty filthy liar. Not a very pretty situation anyway you look at it. So, MC Moneybags, if you read this blog, you did not make yourself look any better being such a bitch. You came off as a very petty man. Yoshi wants to poop in your shoe.

2. Why is it that poker players are allowed to wear sunglasses during a professional poker tournament? If you give away your hand by the furtive or gloating look in your eyes then you are not a very good poker player in the first place. Isn’t this the whole point? Being able to bluff? This should not be allowed. It is cheating and looks stupid too.

3. Does anybody think it is funny (not the haha kind) that there is a media blitz going on about the media blitz surrounding Prince William’s girlfriend, Kate Middleton? There are shows and stories about shows and stories. Isn’t there some law of the universe where that should cancel out the whole shebang thereby leaving the poor girl alone? How bizarre that the media is comparing this whole situation to the media scrutiny of Princess Diana and how the media contributed to her death. Now that is some kind of conflict of interest.

4. Did anybody watch The Golden Globes last night? That is 3 hours we can never get back. Soooooo boring. Why do the winners go on and on thanking everybody including the exterminator they had in last week spraying their basement? So little humour. So little graciousness. It is just as many generally unknown names as they can possibly fit into their allotted time rambled off in a semi-apologetic and breathless manner. I was literally bitter and angry by the end. A bikini wax would have been more entertaining.

So there you go. Burning questions and outraged observations from a reluctant TV addict who doesn’t even watch The Apprentice, The View, Jay Leno, David Letterman, any type of poker tournament, any shows about royalty, and (except for last night) any sort of award show in general but still manages to hear all about the insidious subject matter above and form an opinion about it.

Crush Your Cat's Head Friday-Sharing The Sickness & The Meanness

Most of you know I have a pervasive need to humiliate my cat by dressing her up in cute homemade costumes. You can see them here and here and here. I have to admit doing this makes me laugh in that creepy silent way which then turns into laugh-weeping and then total exhaustion. Highly satisfying and nap worthy.

This Halloween Spoonie asked me to make her two cats themed costumes. She promised me photos but she is super busy with an upcoming move and has abandoned her blog to binge drink. Fortunately for all of us I have photos of Yoshi in both costumes. She was the fit model.

Captain Bly



First Mate

Storm Snooze-Blogged In Real Time

Well, Holy Smokes. ANOTHER storm. ZZzzzzzzzzz...snort...wha?

I believe my area is presently being hit with storm number seventy bitchmillion. But this time we are all sitting up and taking notice. Or they are on the local news stations because they keep on breaking in to my precious TV watching announcing that, yes, we are experiencing another storm. Wind, rain and snow. ScanDAL!!!

In all honesty I am really not too worked up about it. I am taking a NIMBY ('‘not in my back yard'’ is what this stands for in case you didn'’t know. And by you I mean my dad, '‘cause he misuses this term all the time. Still love you though, dad.) approach to it all because while I have seen loads of news footage showing all sorts of my fellow city folk with trees through their roofs and no electricity for days nothing has happened to me. In all honesty I have slept through all of these horrific storms. Either I am very lucky or I have a personal force field. One thing for sure is that I am brutally insensitive to the plight of my fellow man.

Whatever.

Ok, so the scene is that apparently there is a big storm happening RIGHT THIS VERY SECOND. There have been winds clocked at 115 km per hour. That is about 71 miles per hour for you 'Merican folks. They have closed the Lion's Gate Bridge. Apparently more trees have fallen in Stanley Park. The weird thing is that I live only blocks from both the bridge and the park and I am looking out my window and the local trees are not even moving. We are talking dead calm here.

I don'’t get it. Overkill or my personal force field at work? Only God knows for sure. I will be blogging The Storm real time. Let the mayhem commence!

6:22-still no sign of any wind or rain. Will hang Yoshi from the balcony as a wind sock to be sure.

7:16-Yoshi lets a stinky fart fly. Must be the extreme change in air pressure. Oh wait...that is only in a hurricane...never mind.

9:25-still no wind except for the aforementioned tooting. Ordered in sustinance to avoid the crowds at the local stores. No looting as of yet but I have had my eye on this rocking vacuum cleaner in the local repair shop window. Hmmmmm...

12:13 am-Storm Snooze has lived up to its name. No wind. No rain. No snow. I'm going to bed.

UPDATE**THE NEXT DAY-Ok, ok, it snowed. So they were right about one thing. But I don't consider this a storm. I consider this snow. It is not a blizzard or anything. Just your garden variety frozen rain.

Crush Your Cat's Head Friday-Compromise

Yoshi's New Snoozen Housen

I know parents must compromise their home decor sense to accommodate their kid's primary coloured plastic toys scattered all over the house. In my case it is a leopard velvet pod.

I Am Speechless

I am still feeling rather green from my new happy drugs so I am going to post a list. There are many paths along which people find their way to my blog. Here are some searches that lead people to me. Clearly there are some odd people out there and I am the worst offender since my blog is the only common denominator…

-supernatural sized boobs

-giant Toblerone asshole

-head smells like cheese

-swimming pool tampon

-Ativan for aggressive Siamese cats

-chemo drunk

-burning smell from condom

-homemade remedies for drying out limp (sic) nodes

-Yoshi with a penis

-stories of my mom said to touch her boobs

-perky tatas on flickr

-cat shit odour recipe soda

-how to tie sumo hair

-dad poos

-I think my cat is partially constipated

-my cat was eaten

-Wonder Woman only uses her farts

-Andie Macdowel nekkid

-butch shoes comfy

-enema fantasy

-God cured my panic attacks

-dominatrix beatings

-cleaning cat pee off leather jackets

-crabby girlfriend tips

-Von Stinky

And the most common search leading to my blog….

-cat crush video

Unfortunatley I don’t think these folks are looking for video of me gently squeezing Yoshi’s melon but actual footage where a cat is crushed and killed. YOU SICK FUCKERS!!!

As for the rest of you, I hope you found what you were looking for.

Planning For The Future

I didn’t think it could be possible but my New Years Eve was far mellower than even I could have expected. I know for certain there was more energy and hijinks flowing at the local senior home than at my place.

The Plan-

Me, the cat, an indecent amount of Chinese take-out, uplifting videos and a comfy couch…

The Reality-

Me, the cat, a commercial filled TV movie, a comfy couch and a whole lot of unpleasant side effects from the new antidepressant I started taking.

You see, in an effort to pick myself up emotionally after the whole cancer debacle I started a fancy new medication (Cipralex [or Lexapro for you US folks]) which has resulted in some pretty vile nausea and a general zoned out feeling. I am giving it some time and allowing my body to acclimatize but she be a bitch so far. My ass is being kicked thoroughly. Euphoria remains elusive.

So far 2007 is not EXACTLY what I expected but I am counting on things improving soon.

PS-I watched Erin Brockovich on TV and quite enjoyed watching the common folk sticking it to The Man.