Actual Recent Conversation

This is why I love my friend Pablo so much.

While talking on the phone about death, just now.

Me: "I want to be cremated. But I totally don't want to be scattered in the ocean because I am a little scared of the ocean and all the fish and stuff. I don't want to be scattered in the forest either because I don't like bugs and the cold and all that outdoorsy stuff. Maybe I should be scattered in Holt Renfrew...Nah! I can't afford to shop there. I think the place I'd be most comfortable resting eternally is in a couch. So I have to find somebody who will scatter my ashes in their nice comfy couch. Or their mattress. Something cozy."

Pablo: "What about me? What should I do with my remains?"

Me: "Hey! I thought we agreed that I was supposed to throw myself on your casket at your funeral. Wearing a fabulous dress."

Pablo: "Yes, but then are you going to just leave me there to rot?"

Me: "No! What do you want me to do next?"

Pablo: "No wait! I know the perfect place to scatter your ashes. How about a cat cemetery?"

Me: "Perfect! That would be seriously purrrrfect!"

Pablo: "No wait, I totally know what I am going to do with you after you die. I'm going to have you taxidermied! I'll have you sitting on my couch with a cup of tea in a motorized hand. And your head will turn too. And when I have guests they will whisper to me that you are very quiet and I will say, 'Yes, she is.'"

Me: "Put a hinge on my head and store your spare change and keys there. Better yet, put a slit in my neck as a kleenex dispenser for when you are sad or have a cold."

Pablo: "How about I cryogenically freeze your head and then attach it to a garden nymph statue so you can play in the garden and weed it too."

Me: "NO WAIT! Attach my head to a Roomba and I'll vacuum your place for you. Maybe I'll do that with my mom. She likes to clean."

Pablo: "You're sick!"

Me: "NOW I'm sick?"

We finally decided that he will get me made into a diamond and I will have his body mummified and make a pyramid for him in Egypt to be worshipped for eternity.

How Smelly Is He?

There is something wrong with the kitten. Nothing obvious. To the casual observer he is a regular kitten doing regular kitten things like attacking his tail, being bad and looking cute. However, if you are unlucky enough to be around him for any length of time you will soon come to realize that something dark is brewing in the bowels of his being. Literally. This kitten stinks. He emits such revolting odoriferous clouds of funk playing with him becomes an exercise in gag reflex control. Cleaning his litter box of his rank deposits is not so much a kindness to him but a desire to breathe in my own home.

If his smell was a book it would be War and Peace-The Director's Cut. If his stink was a biblical reference it would be the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse pulling a manure cart. If his stench was a person it would be Hitler with hemorrhoids. If his inner essence was a sandwich it would be Ebola on Rye. His farts could be classified as weapons of mass destruction. The US will be bombing my living room next. And rightly so. I should be charged an environmental fine for illegal emissions. Brain cells die upon inhalation.

He is eating well and getting very high quality food. He's been wormed twice at appropriate intervals. Clearly, I need to get him to a vet for some antibiotics. Maybe he has food allergies.

Next logical step is an exorcism by a qualified priest.

Looks sweet. Smells like a bloated corpse.

Well On My Way To Crotchetyoldwomanville

I live in an apartment building that has retail spaces on the ground floor. Right below my balcony is a little cafe that has outdoor seating. Most sunny days this guy sits outside for a couple hours and chats with friends while enjoying a beverage. He is disabled and he parks his scooter-thingie on the grass and ties his dog up to it. His dog is this seriously cute Miniature Pinscher. Well, cute until he starts barking. And barking. AAAAANNND barking. Yip! Yip! Yip!

The damned dog barks pretty much constantly the whole time this guy is at the cafe. Honestly, I'm not sure what bugs me the most, the incessant yapping or the fact that the guy just sits there about 10 feet away and does nothing about it.

Here's the thing. I could go downstairs and ask the guy to deal with his dog. Or I could phone the cafe and complain. Better yet, why don't I just shut my windows, buck up, and get on with my life?

All very good options. Yet, I am not compelled to use any of them.

Instead, it is ALL I CAN DO not to drop a water balloon on that dog. I have a perfect vantage point and I know I would very easily soak the thing. Probably get the scooter splashed pretty good as well. Despite acknowledging that all the dog lovers in the area would burn me at the hydrant I cannot stop aching to feel that squishy orb of water and latex leave my hand knowing that it would stop the barking, give a clear message to the dog owner and not actually harm anybody.

Somebody stop me! Or better yet, anybody want to join me?

Why I Love My Neighbours -Tuesday's Edition

Scene: Me and a well dressed older man in my apartment elevator. I've got my mail in my hand and he is holding a large platter of deli sandwiches.

Him: I'm the sandwich guy.
Me: Yes, I can see that.
Him: They are for a meeting. It's my turn to bring sandwiches.
Me: Well, they look very good. *being polite*
Him: Well, they are NOT for you. *being totally serious*

Another lady enters the elevator.

Her: Mmmmmm...whenever I see food I feel hungry. Those look delicious.
Him: *hostile look*

Crush Your Cat's Head Friday-Questions and Some Cute

Holy crap! Look! A Crush Post that is not 3 days late and totally lame. Ok, I guess I can't say for sure about the lameness part. Only time will tell with that.

And now for the crush...

My mom went to Target and all she bought me was this frickin' elephant hat!

Duuuude! They are so going to kick my ass on the playground.

I know that was pretty cute but don't go yet! I still need you! I don't think I've mentioned on my blog that I have new product on www.urbanbeast.ca available for sale. Blank notecards to be exact. I do send out a newsletter every time I add stuff but if you haven't signed-up on the website you are simply not in the know about these things. So go sign-up! I'll be adding more cool stuff shortly!

Speaking of more cool stuff. Here is a poll I need you guys to check out. Help me pick what Yoshi photos I should get made into magnets. Seriously, I need help. An objective opinion, if you will. So vote!

Opinion Polls & Market Research

Spooky

So I like to think I am a very enlightened, tolerant and open minded sort of gal. I have my own little quirky life filled with my own little quirky likes and dislikes and as such maintain a motto of, “Whatever melts your butter.” While I may not agree with or even remotely understand others and what they do in their lives I also don’t like to harsh on anyone’s mellow by being all judgmental and shit. Everybody has to do their own thing, right?

So along with being enlightened, tolerant and open minded I am also mentally about as mature as a teenaged boy. A very poorly brought up, over imaginative, and under stimulated adolescent male. Combine that with an uncontrollable reflex to joke about inappropriate things and I am exactly the wrong person to take to a funeral, bris, beat poet reading, truck and tractor pull, flaky art opening, or interpretive dance performance. While everybody is deadly serious, enraptured, entertained or sad I am cracking my own shit up and hoping to cause others to snicker at entirely the wrong moments with well timed snide remarks. In a caring and accepting way, of course.

I’ve been told this is a defense mechanism to avoid feeling and displaying strong emotions. I call it a cagey survival instinct. I mean, seriously? Have you seen the phlegm fly from a beat poet’s mouth or the strange and alarming bulges flaunted by unitard wearing dancers? I simply have no other recourse. It is either immaturity or complete brain strangulation.

Fortunately I am in good company. My best friend Pablo has made me promise, at his funeral, to throw myself weeping and screaming onto his casket wearing a fabulous red couture gown. Seriously, this is his wish. In the event that he outlives me I’ve asked him to discreetly pour my cremains into the shoes left outside the private dining booths at the local sushi restaurant.

Here is the thing. Next week there is to be a First Nations cleansing ritual performed on my apartment building. We have all been invited to attend. I’ve told you about the fire that broke out (was set?) in the suite above me. Since then we’ve had numerous false alarms and just a couple weeks ago another fire in a suite caused by a malfunctioning clothing dryer. There have been a few deaths of tenants (lots of elderly folks here) and issues with theft. Then throw in some wild water pipe bursts and rampant appliance failure for fun and you’ve got a decent picture of the last 18 months since the apartment building opened. Basically this place is like living in Yuppy Bagdad. I guess there has been speculation that the spirits might be pissed.

Can you see where I am going here? Intellectually I totally respect all religions and belief systems and actually quite identify with the idea of nature worship. The First Nations people were just that, Canada’s first nation. The actual land where I live was very likely the site of or very near an ancient village. Just around the corner is an honest to goddess Indian burial ground/tourist attraction thingy.

***MRTL Style Tangent-you have no idea the true implications of this post for epic personal irony and blistering schadenfreude. For YEARS my friend Pablo and I have joked whenever things go bad in our lives that we must be living on an ancient Indian burial ground. In laughing hysterics, we yell this conclusion to each other after we’ve ranted about the latest fucked up shit we’ve had fall on our respective heads. This concept is loosely based on the whole Poltergeist premise that weird things happen when your subdivision is built upon a defunct gravesite where the developers were too cheap to move the actual bodies. Our theory is that it is clearly only a matter of time before our TVs will swallow us whole and only after serious convincing will we be grudgingly ejected from our closets covered in Jell-O goo. Now factor in that it appears not only do I possibly live on a real motherfucking ancient first nation’s site but that I apparently need to kiss some spiritual ass. It truly doesn’t get any better than this, folks. A cosmic full-circle moment only achieved by the truly cursed. ***End of MRTL Style Tangent.

So this is what I am facing. I want to be supportive of my fellow tenants and help facilitate a positive and happy living situation for everyone. I am also very curious about what this ritual entails. Supposedly if I attend I will receive a personal cleansing package for my suite compliments of White Standing Buffalo, our Ghostbuster. With my health track record I could use all the help I can get. I do like the idea of a ‘house blessing’ and ‘spiritual housekeeping’ of sorts. But…

I truly do not know how I can possibly get through something like this, dignity intact and without offending pretty much everybody. You know the harder you try to contain the giggle the bigger and more uncontrollable the giggle gets? Please don’t make me have to hold anybody’s hands or drum or sing or oh-sweet-lord dance…

Dude. I’d better go clean my closet for when it vomits me out.

Crush Your Cat's Head Friday-Fur Child Jamboree*

Discovered a new game today...

Playing Airplane!

Checking out the horizons. Totally relaxed.

The soles of my feet are still tingling from all the purring.

God, I love my cat. Who needs kids?

* It has been brought to my attention that what I mean to type is Gymboree. As noted above I do not have kids so these errors are practically mandatory.

On Being Cool and Groovy

Me: So how was your day?
Mom: Nothing went right today. I didn't get much done. It was a total fustercluck.
Me: What? Wha...hahahahahahahahahahahahahahaaaaaaaaaa! *chokes on own spit* Do you mean clusterfuck?
Mom: OH! Um...yeah.
Me: I like your version better.
Mom: Me too.

So from now on 'fustercluck' is an official word to be used by 74 year olds when their day goes to H-E-Double Hockey Sticks.

Adventures in TV Watching

Found while perusing the online TV program schedule:


There are problems and then there are problems...

Viewers don't want to be encountering these kinds of problems on TV or in real life.

I gave it a miss and read a book.

Crush Your Cat's Head Friday-Trollie Goodness

Hope everybody had a great Christmas and is ready to take on 2008 and kick ass! Yoshi and I sure am.

I've been blogging for almost 3 years and until the other day have never had any significant troll action. Lo! 2007 would not be complete without breaking that little charmed era and this lovely ANONYMOUS comment showed up in my Inbox relating to a past Crush Your Cat's Head Friday post:

you are all very sick fucks, i would love to crush your fucking heads and see how you like it

Well...crack my shit up!

First of all that video was 'banned' ages ago because me lovingly poking my cat was deemed inappropriate. Let's just talk a little bit about inappropriate behavior, shall we? In the last couple weeks Yoshi has farted on me numerous times, copiously vomited on my TV remote controls, wrecked shit, deposited some seriously stinky poos, hissed at my dad, bossed me around and turned her nose up at tasty offerings.

Don't see anybody protecting me from her, do you?

Anyway, I thought about how sick a fuck I was (I cannot speak for the rest of you) and decided to re-enact the offending video and was reassured that, yes, there is no doubt that Yoshi LOVES being poked. If only I had hooked her up to a throat mike for maximum purrocity there would have been no question about who is actually the sick fuck in the equation. Clearly not me. Yoshi loves the gentle abuse. I could also hypothetically add she loves being spanked and having her fat rolls manhandled.

Admitting that will probably get me arrested...

Dude. Chillax.

There is so much I could post about. Usually I am frantically shuffling through my brain to try to find something glamorous or even slightly interesting in my boring day to day life to relay to you. However there has been a fairly decent amount of mildly interesting stuff going on. Not glamorous but not heinously dull either.

I could rant about the absolutely appalling customer service situation I recently found myself in but things are not quite resolved and I can feel a story of high drama possibly in the making so I’ll save that for when things pan out-either in a fizzle or in a bang. Only time will tell.

I could also tell you all about my parents celebrating their 50^th wedding anniversary last Friday. It was also my mom’s birthday and my sister-in-law and I cooked a Mexican themed dinner for the family. It worked out pretty good. Since my dad is still not able to get around on his healing-but-still-not-strong broken hip we are planning a fabulous summer garden party in 2008. I can guarantee there will be some outrageous photos from that. We are doing a theme and that is all I am going to tell you about it now.

What I am going to post about today is about actually experiencing huge moment in my life that I have pictured happening over a million times in my brain but like most epic life experiences didn’t exactly turn out like I hoped. Not extra bad or extra good but just different.

At the end of October I went to see my boyfriend, Henry Rollins, at one of his spoken word performances. I don’t think I’ve missed one of these in over 10 years. I’ve been a big fan of his for a long time and I have consistently found spooky and odd little coincidences in many of his shows.

I risk sounding like a psychopathic stalker but there have been so many similarities in rant topics, words and phrases and even books read or music listened to between us it is always interesting to go to his show and see what ‘thing’ we happen to have in common this year. For instance he’ll talk about some obscure band he recently hung out with and I will have just heard that same band out of the blue the week before. Stuff like that. Stuff that ultimately means nothing but that I stubbornly and intentionally misconstrue to mean that we are wildly compatible.

*gack*

Anyway, I have always wanted to meet him. I tell people I just want to shake his hand but in my sad, lonely, fantasy dreamscape what I really want to happen is to shake his hand and for him to gaze into my eyes and find me captivating, fascinating, infinitely intelligent and an all ‘round gorgeous gal (all this occurs to him in the split second our hands touch, mind you). We then fall into scintillating conversation where he finds my witty remarks and quirky outlook precious and endearing. I dazzle him with my insights and ironic life observances and we enter an exciting, fulfilling relationship where the fact he is tortured, on the road constantly, an aging rock icon and a US citizen and that I have no real job, constant panic attacks, a jiggly bum and freakishly scarred boobies only enhances our eerie sexual and intellectual connection.

TOTALLY deluded, I know but I never claimed to be logical. Or sane.

So here is what happened. In one of his newsletters or on his radio show he mentioned he would be very happy to meet with fans and sign autographs outside his tour bus at each venue. This announcement spun me into conflicting emotions-a desire to meet him and loathing the thought of anybody possibly mistaking me for a groupie. I decided to see how things looked after the show and decide then if I would be willing to debase myself to lurk around a rock-star’s bus to fulfill my dreams.

I waited outside the venue where his bus was conveniently parked with my sis-in-law for a few minutes freezing our asses off seeing if he would come out. Pretty soon a small crowd began to gather which consisted of a few very young street-punky looking teenage girls who were loudly talking about whether they would make it to the last bus running to their suburb. Then some young guys with posters, CDs and books to be signed started trickling over and my 38 year old fogey self bailed out and decided to leave. I was simply embarrassed to be there.

I walked to my parked car and found myself having to drive past the venue to get onto the main thoroughfare to get home and lo’ there he was, in the middle of a small crowd, in all his glory. AND lo’ there was a parking spot (the only one in this very busy area) which I quickly turned in to thinking, It is FATE! The universe really does work. I got out, fluffed my hair, gummed off any possible lipstick on my teeth and joined the group.

And I was obviously and very clearly the oldest one there. By a lot.

I also don’t ever think about getting an autograph so I had nothing for him to sign either.

After waiting for a few minutes I tapped him on the shoulder and stuck out my hand which he shook.

Me: Thank you for coming.
Him: Thank you for having me.

He looked at me in such a way I suddenly realized that he was possibly thinking I might be affiliated with the theatre and maybe was going to hand him a cheque or paperwork or something.

My mouth got very dry and with a grimace of excruciating shyness I blurted out something about how I enjoyed his radio show. He was very kind and talked about that for a few sentences and then somebody else tapped him on the shoulder and he turned away.

I walked to my car and drove home hardly believing it all happened.

He is much slighter than I thought he’d be. I am taller than he is. His hand was small in mine. I didn’t dazzle him. I didn’t stand out in any way. Our souls didn’t meld in a cosmic explosion of perfection. I’ll never cross his mind again.

It was still pretty cool.

Crush Your Cat's Head Friday-Monday Edition

Feeling much better thanks! And to make it up to you for my lack of Friday posting I offer you a video. The lovely Leigh-Ann from The Blog Pound and Wee Paws Animal Sanctuary sent Yoshi a wonderful catnip toy for her to try out and give feedback on. Things didn't go quite as planned.

Who am I kidding? Yoshi pulls this shit all the time.

Inbox Surprise

This nasty little pervert fucker just emailed me with a friend request from Facebook.

Fanfuckingtastic.

Uptight Dork Seeks Same

Good news! I got the Flickr/Yahoo! thing all figured out. They actually have an email form you can fill out for help and they actually answer your email. Unlike some other entity I know *coughBloggercough*. They will even answer your email again when their first emailed suggestions don’t work. So long story short they automatically flipped my Flickr account into a Yahoo! account using my Flickr identity (not my email) matched with my Flickr password. I didn’t know this and when I went to sign into Flickr it linked directly to Yahoo! log-in which is already set up with my original Yahoo! account information. So now I have two Yahoo! accounts: my original one and the one they made out of my Flickr account. Hence the issue with log-in. Now that I know about this second account I have access.

So yeaaaaay!

And what the fuck where they thinking?

So I was in the car today with my mom and we were talking about people and how often just a few wreck it for the majority. We hear this a lot from my dad who is a property manager and looks after several buildings in the downtown area. Most have on-site managers but a couple small ones don’t so he gets to deal with issues first hand. With all the crazy stuff my poor dad has to handle with tenants it is a miracle he hasn’t lost his mind. I know I’d freak out.

And the weird thing is that so many of these people don’t even think about how their so-called little lapses accumulate and add up to some serious hassle.

So after gossiping about various people we have heard about who live their lives selfishly thereby negatively affecting others I came to this conclusion,

“There are people who notice stuff and people who just don’t.”

I happen to be one of those people who notice stuff. Unfortunately I notice stuff in such minute detail it is actually a huge pain in the ass. Cleaning my apartment is often hell. I start on the big stuff and then get lost in the tiny stuff. I hate fingerprints and notice them on my desk top, cabinets, and glass. Don’t even talk to me about smears. Stains freak me out. It is not so much that I am a neat freak because I am actually not. It is just small imperfections are incredibly obvious to me.

Chips in the paintwork, spotted chrome, crooked pictures, dead leaves on plants….

I don’t know why.

For instance every time I wash my floors I wash the outside of my front door too. I polish the door knob and knocker and wipe off all the scuff marks on the base of the door from the toes of my shoe. You know those black marks from when you use your foot to push the door open if your hands are full?

But every day when I walk down the hallway of my building to get to my apartment I notice all the dirty scuffed marked and fingerprinty doors of my neighbours and wonder how they do not notice the dirt and clean their doors.

I then have to remind myself that most people just don’t notice this stuff. They are not bad or nasty. They just don’t see.

But what pisses me off is when some asshole spills half their latte down the wall of the elevator and doesn’t clean it up. Or lets their dog poop in the lobby. Or leaves dirty panties behind in the laundry room. How can you not notice that stuff?!?! Is it that they don’t notice or don’t care?

Sadly, us folks who notice stuff always appear like uptight bitchy dorks to those who don’t notice.

But even though I can get driven to distraction by these details they can also delight me in strange ways.

I recently bought some fabric to make pillows exactly because if you look reeeaaaallly close at the pattern it is filled with all sorts of weird and wacky shit. To just glance at it you would think it was some sort of childish fabric.

Oh no! No, no, no, no no….

"Hey Fluffy Bunny! I'm Timmy Raccoon. Can I play with you and your scythe?"

"OK! While I build a boat you dig a grave..um...I mean a cool hole!"

"Haha! See ya, Timbo! Hope you like swimming without a life-vest!"
"Why I LOVE swimming Fluffy Bunny! Wait for me!"

"Oh Hey! Feel like a campfire?
"Why yes, Fluffy Bunny, I do although my blue vest is knitted from nice cooling asbestos."

But Mister Bunny was bored of Timmy Raccoon and wanted to go home for a snack.

Bye bye, Timmy Raccoon.

The End.

Who Needs Fiction When You Have This Kind of Life.

Things have been very busy around the Kranki Krash Pad. I’ve done things, seen things and traveled to far away places this week. Get all cozy under your covers and I’ll tell you a bedtime story or several.

I consider myself a very mild mannered person. I don’t yell, I don’t hit and I certainly don’t freak the fuck out. If I find myself in a bad situation I try to rise above it all and emerge unscathed and well established on the higher road. Until last week.

So I was in this suburban mall parking lot.

I know! Most of you are all, “Yeah! I know where this is going!” and you are probably right. I had backed out of my parking spot and was just cranking the wheel over to go forward and out of the lot when this woman in a van pulls up to my front bumper. Reeeeaaaaally close. I drive a full sized early 90’s 4-door Jetta so this isn’t some tiny car that zips around tight spaces. I need a little room to move. So there I am backed up so my rear bumper is right up to a parked car behind me and I need that room in front to turn my car so I can go forward and straighten out to drive out etc… But right up to my front bumper is this van. And she continues to let her van roll even closer to me so I am basically trapped. She immediately starts cussing me out and waving her hands around. I reply with an incredulous look combined with the showing palms gesture of exasperation. She then starts to REALLY spaz out and scream at me. Clearly I cannot got very far because at this point she is about 6 inches from my front bumper. I just don’t understand why she cannot see she has gotten us into this predicament and needs to back up herself to give me some turning room. And it was not like I backed out right in front of her as I was totally clear to back up and she was actually stopped farther down the row with her turn signal on to go into a different spot. I guess she changed her mind and would have had plenty of time to see me pull out before approaching.

So I get stubborn and just sit there for a few seconds with my arms crossed.

The woman is literally shaking her head around and yelling, “GO! GO! GO!”

Sadly I cannot because she is blocking meeeeeeeee.

Then I just snapped and for the very first time in my very vanilla life I retaliated. I looked her square in the eye and mouthed very clearly, “FUCK YOU BITCH!” And the funniest part was she looked at me like I was the potty mouth evil hag after she had been cussing me out the whole time already. I guess I must have looked livid.

When I told this story to a friend she couldn’t believe I had done it. This is very unlike me.

I then cranked the wheel over and inched back and forth within the foot of space I had to maneuver and finally was able to get around her. I laughed the whole time and I know she could see that too.

I have to admit it felt really good to do that. My inner ‘feist’ is coming out in surprising ways.

Then on Friday I dog-sat my two girls, Xiola and Lulu for the whole day. I took them to the dog beach where they can run around off leash and play with loads of other dogs and jump in the ocean if they want. We came back to my place and I gave them both a bath and then we went for another walk to the park where I planned to brush them thereby giving all the wee birdies and animals clumps of fur to add to their nests and totally keeping my apartment a fur free zone. I sat on the grass and not long after this woman just walked up to me with her two Chihuahuas and sat right down next to me.

Oh! OK!

So we started talking and it became evident that she might be a little mentally disabled which explained her lack of personal space boundaries with complete strangers. We had a nice chat and I brushed her dogs too (all 5 lbs of them) in the sunshine. It was obvious she very much loved her dogs and when I asked questions she almost entirely answered me as if the dogs were speaking themselves.

Me: So what are your dogs’ names?

Lady: (baby voice) My name is Romeo and even though I am very little I think I am very big and I get into fights with large dogs and bark a lot to show them I mean business.

Me: Oh…um…what is your other dog’s name?

Lady: (higher pitched baby voice) My name is Juliette and I am the boss. Romeo thinks he is the boss but I let him think that way but I am really the boss and I sit in my mommy’s lap and never ever ever ever let her get up.

Me: Hehe… um…Well, Romeo and Juliette, you are both very cute.

Lady: (singsong voice) We knooooooowwww!

It was while sitting with Romeo and Juliette’s mom that I saw something I have never seen before and I hope I never see again. This woman and her small son were walking along a nearby path and she was shouting at him about something. The kid, I think about 5 years old, wasn’t saying anything or whining that I could hear but this woman going on and on about how he was not listening and bugging her and such. When they got about 30 feet from me she stopped and her voice got louder and louder and she suddenly spit on her child. Yes. SPIT ON HER OWN SMALL CHILD. It was all I could do not to say something but I had a large dog with me and I wasn’t sure how Xiola would react if this lady freaked out on me and did something stupid. She seemed really nuts. Poor little kid is going to be Hannibal Lecter when he grows up.

Then yesterday my mom and I ventured into the deepest and darkest of suburbs to visit the Holy Grail of shopping destinations. Yes, we FINALLY have gotten an H & M clothing store. I have seen them in other cities for years and years and I just couldn’t figure out why Vancouver didn’t have one yet. We have all the big designer stores and other big names but no H & M. Well we have one now in a nearby town and a downtown Vancouver one will be opening up in Spring 2008.

Sadly I cannot rave too much about it as the store was so packed with back to school teenagers and moms with kids and strollers you literally couldn’t move. There was a huge line-up to try stuff on and everything was so picked over. I’ll go back once school starts and let you know how fabulous it is.

And an update- Yoshi is now talking to me again as I bought her a nice big playzen tuben that she LOVES! I am the cool food lady now (with a 5 foot cat tunnel in the middle of her living room) and all is well.

Crush Your Cat's Head Friday-More of the Pride Princesses

I got some more pics of my Doggy Princesses from last weekend's Pride Parade. Behold their lacy pink cuteness.

Xiola showing off. Quite the diva.

Seriously, could she be any cuter?

Me and my special girl, Lulu.

I just want to squeeeeeeeeeze them.

Crush Your Cat's Head Friday-For HAR and Her Girls

I am busy this week making my doggy friends fancy new outfits for the Gay Pride weekend. In the spirit of keeping the insanity alive I've decided to post new photos of old costumes from Yoshi's past. You can see the original shots here. Many of you have seen this one before but some of you might not have and the new photos are better.

On that note everybody VOGUE! VOGUE!

I only eat Kabbala Brand Kitty Chow

*sniff sniff* Is that adoration I can smell?

Please Stand By

I would love to post but I am busy making dog costumes for Gay Pride Weekend. Stay tuned.

Will there be photos? Oh yes...

I just finished watching the entire first season of 'The Office' (US version) and can’t quite get that ucky feeling out of my gut. Don’t misunderstand. I laughed my ass off and really enjoyed the show but it is almost a little too lifelike in many ways. I guess that is the beauty of it. You watch and relate viscerally on some level based on your past or present experiences in the work-place. Those ugly and dark employee moments one tries to forget every Friday night at happy hour before you go home and have a real life on the weekend.

Here are just a few lovely work related past incidences I wish I could scour from my memory.

-When I was in high school I had a cushy summer job at a nearby town’s city hall. It was not unusual to find yourself sharing an elevator with the mayor. He was about a million years old and used to introduce himself to you no matter how many times he’d done so before. His typical greeting? A bone crushing in-every-sense-of-the-word handshake and a hearty, “You look like a fine group of young lads!” Friendly, yes, but we were all girls and we would be in skirts and blouses with purses and heels. I always wondered what he was like at city political functions.

-Once I made a mistake at work on a film. Not an earth-shattering mistake but a clear mistake on my part. I was spray-painting a pair of boots with fabric paint and I forgot to tape up the soles so some paint dripped under the shoes and got on the bottoms. I had the tape in my hand and got distracted and put it down and forgot to tape up the shoes. I also had a major migraine that day so I was kinda out of it anyway. But not a big deal as I very easily got some solvent and a cotton ball and removed the paint and everything was fine. Or would have been if I hadn’t been caught out by a co-worker. She wasn’t even part of my work area but she flipped out on my head anyway saying that I could get fired for that and if she was my boss I would be out of there and that it was unacceptable to give an article of clothing to an actor in that condition. I apologized to her and said that I had fixed it and it was all good. All day she would walk past me shaking her head, tsking and mumbling under her breath about how I had so royally fucked up. My boss knew about my error and was totally unconcerned so I ignored her. At the end of the day she started up on me again about how even though I was a newbie I couldn’t get away with doing something so stupid as this and wasting valuable time blah blah blah. The ironic part is that it probably took me less time to wipe off the excess paint with nail polish remover than it would have to carefully tape up the shoes and peel it all off afterwards. Nobody got hurt. Filming was not delayed or affected in any way. I didn’t wreck anything or cost the production money. I didn’t understand why she was going on and on and ON! So I turned to her and said, “Listen! I have apologized and apologized to you, which I didn’t have to because you are not my boss and I just don’t know what more I can say to you to convey that it was a MISTAKE! And I have learned from it and it won’t happen again. Let’s all just move on, shall we?” And she said to me, “Ok, ok! Maybe if you just dropped the subject and stopped making such a big deal out of it!”

Oh…my…god…

And the damned shoes never made it on screen anyway.

-Once a boss called me a “Dumb Shit” in front of customers and staff because a co-worker had snuck up behind me and noogied my ribs causing my arm to flail out and knock a box of little doo-dads all over the floor. Then she laughed along with the offending co-worker over his tickling maneuver.

-I had a boss who scheduled an inventory taking day on January 1^st. Yes, that would be New Year’s day. At 8am. And said that if any of us were even a minute late we would be fired. She then showed up 25 minutes late, no apology, while we all huddled outside in the cold waiting for her, very hung-over.

-I had a co-worker who, on a daily basis, would graphically describe to me and anybody within earshot what he imagined my breasts looked like.

-One boss berated me in front of my co-workers that the jeans I was wearing were too faded for work-wear. Never mind that my MALE co-workers, standing right next to me, were all wearing faded jeans too. They were exempt, I guess.

-I nearly got fired because my co-workers and I accidentally left the back loading door unlocked overnight. I was spared but not because I had only started working there a couple days earlier and not only didn’t have keys or the code to the alarm or any kind of locking-up responsibilities at all OR that I didn’t even know there was a loading door in the first place. No, I was kept on, as were my co-workers (who had keys and codes and knowledge about that stupid door), because it would have been too much of a hassle to hire and train new staff. I did get a royal chewing out though after which I had them show me the door they were talking about.

So tell me a personal 'The Office' moment that makes your eyes roll up into the back of your head.

All Sick and Twisted Roads Lead To My Blog

Once again I have compiled a tremendous list of how various people have found their way to my blog. One could argue that a blog stat counter might just provide information better left unknown. I say knowledge is power and, in this case, pretty fucking bizarre.

Here is a list of searches terms that resulted in a visit to this site;

-gay hermit

-ladies peeing while running London marathon

-Yorkie haircuts

-why is my poop long and skinny

-cross dressers in hair rollers

-homemade catshit

-fembot nipples

-asshole burning by dominatrix

-love it when she moans

-penis crushing video

-getting fucked in slut boots ripping assholes

-I am completely alienated how can I fix the world

-long johns fever

-cute constipated girls

-sexy farting women

-pussy cancer

-butch haircut suck

-crush pet hard

-shiny boobs

-bad Barney

-head in pussy

-good looking old guys

-Persian cat revenge

-new hooties

-how do I stop my toilet from running besides jiggling the handle

-I'd like to have an elephant for Christmas

-medical ass injection films

-older brothers tittie twisting their younger brothers

-pictures of possum poo

-melon fuckers

-acidophilus pill in your ass

-tittie twisting bras

-dishwasher making loud moaning sound

Really, human beings freak me out. In a good way.