The Giftie Follies

Ok, I can talk the talk but obviously I cannot walk the walk. Yesterday I posted gagging noises over the recent Christmas commercial I saw on TV. Well, I can only say that it must have worked on some subliminal level as I spent a good portion of my day purchasing Christmas gifts online. My defence is that I don’t think it really counts as Christmas shopping as it was done in the comfort of my own home while wearing pyjamas with a cup of tea nearby and a cat on my lap. True holiday shopping must involve crowds, line-ups and hysteria. All was lacking today.

I would love to tell you about all the cool shit I found via my computer but my family does read this blog. Christmas gifts are some of the few mysteries left in life and I don’t want to deny ‘the wonder’ to my kin. Let’s just say that my reputation as eerie-mind-reading-gift-giver will remain unchallenged this year.

I love giving presents and will spend hours researching and hunting down The Perfect Giftie for that special someone. I have the uncanny ability to recall that fifteen years ago Aunt Mildred mumbled under her breath to the dog that she was thinking about possibly getting that Hummel figurine of a boy in lederhosen. Not only will I locate the right one but I will find a signed copy and a record of its entire provenance. Yet, if I am introduced to you in any social situation I will immediately forget your name and the name of your spouse.

So I am curious. What would you say was the most perfect gift you ever gave and/or received and why?

Shoot Me Now

It has begun. I saw my first Christmas commercial on TV last night. *GAG*

Poo You

Yesterday was Canadian Thanksgiving. To celebrate the day I decided to have a big ol’ migraine. And then I gave thanks for Tylenol 3’s and my soft bed.

I really wanted to write something poignant about Yoshi for MRTL’S Monday Motif (pet theme this week) but she has given us all a week extension as she didn’t get around to it either. So look forward to that. Or not. I know I gush about that damned cat enough already.

On Saturday night Yoshi alerted me to the fact that the neighbourhood raccoons had come for another visit. My local posse consists of a momma and three babies. I have mentioned before how my back fire escape is the local raccoon loo. Saturday night was no exception and no less than three new poops were waiting for me in the morning.

So here are some very blurry photos of my little buddies taken through the window. I cannot actually open the door for a better shot as they are RIGHT THERE and are just aching to get in to watch my TV and drink my booze.

Lick It Up

I am enchanted with a new TV show I stumbled upon today. MuchMusic (Canadian MTV) is offering a little gem called Rock School. The premise is that a class of school kids will be taught to be a decent rock band; an idea taken from the movie School of Rock starring Jack Black. Yet much of the show’s charm is the quaintness of the children. These kids go to a very prestigious boarding school for the musically inclined in England. The uniforms resemble British barrister robes and are only missing the wigs. It is like they have been left behind in time. I think the age range is about 12-13 years for both boys and girls and they all have very upper crust accents. Snore, you say. So what? Oh, but there is more. The school has brought in an expert to teach these children rock n’ roll. The music instructor, a scion of authority and respectability, is none other than Gene “My Tongue Is An Extra Appendage” Simmons of KISS. Oh yeah, it is getting good. Mr. “Tie My Uvula In A Knot” walks into this class of innocent souls and educates/corrupts them on the finer points of rocking out. Do you have any idea how much money I would pay to be part of that class? BITCHMILLIONS! I have to confess to a certain fascination with Gene “Orally Hypnotic” Simmons starting in early teenhood. We are not talking about a typical rock star crush but more a morbid curiosity that somebody like that is actually real and not a cartoon character. He is simply, too good to be true.

So Mr. Luscious Mc Lickerson shows these little freaks that rock is not about technique and precision like they have been taught classical music to be all these years but about feeling and emotion and kicking ass. “Why little freaks,” you ask? The kids know NOTHING about rock music. Somehow, some way, their parents managed to raise them in a closet thus keeping them totally ignorant of The Devil’s Anthems. So posters of Jimi Hendrix and Axel Rose go up on the walls. The kids are encouraged to act out and air guitar on their desks to the horror of the headmistress. A lead singer is chosen based not on his singing ability but due to the fact that he is an outcast and, frankly, a bit weird. This is a show after my own heart.

Next week the kids debate with Gene Slutfestival Simmons his claim to have slept with over 4600 women. I am so tuning in for that.

Phonus Interruptus

My mom and I talk on the phone quite often. It has gotten to the point where we can say bizarre things to each other without really noticing. Who really knows if it is denial or total acceptance. If you were eavesdropping on our phone conversation yesterday this is what you would have heard:

Mom- (interrupting me in mid sentence) Can you hold on? I have to take my pants off.

Me-Sure.

Apparently she was hot.

She Shoots, She Scores!

Hockey is back on TV starting tonight and, yes, I will be watching. My mom is slightly repulsed that I do enjoy this demon sport that seduces her husband away from her right at dinnertime for a half of the year. She has alluded that I am a traitor to my gender. I have to admit I wasn’t always a hockey fan and it did not come easily to me. It was more a function of necessity as back in the day it was either sitting in the living room, at every social gathering, with the guys (including my boyfriend) watching hockey or sitting in the kitchen with the wives listening to them talk about what assholes their husbands are and how Little Bobby is a freakin’ genius. I made my escape from wifely hell into the living room and slowly, slowly hockey started making sense to me.

A while ago my dad and I actually went to a hockey game to do some male bonding over beers and rubber nachos. It was a great night out but I have to admit that I was lost a lot of the time without the very informative commentator telling me what the hell was going on. Just when I would make out the name on the back of the jersey of the guy with the puck he would pass that bad boy and I would be back to square one. I found my attention wandering and some really excellent people watching commenced. Sport fanatics are a weird bunch with interesting outfits and face paint. Another time I went to a game with a friend and we got dirty looks for not participating in The Wave.

I don’t have the same focus on the screen as the guys do as I am not a hunter but a gatherer and can easily gossip with any or all who are willing to listen as well as write out my Christmas cards, plan for my weekend, cook a meal, play with the cat and eliminate world debt all the while cursing the refs and burping out loud.

Even now that I actually know what ‘offside’ means (even if I am not quick enough to know when it happens) and know vaguely who is on my local team (Go Canucks!) I still embarrass myself on a regular basis.

I often comment on how gross it is when the players spit and wonder why they can’t put a bucket behind the bench for discreet lugies. I have been known to pontificate on the finer points of each team’s outfits and hair-dos and facial hair. I fluctuate wildly between cheering on bloodthirsty fighting and berating individuals for being ‘mean’. I make up my own cute nicknames for players because I rarely remember the player’s names and mispronounce the ones I do know. I still ask stupid questions; the very same ones I ask every game because I don’t consider a dirty look or a frantic shushing hand gesture an adequate response. What is wrong with wondering who has the least teeth or why mullets are so prevalent?

But I love hockey because it is fast paced and thrilling as hell. The players are so young and emotionally invested in the game it is inspiring to watch them. I love that the game can turn in an instant. You can be behind and rally to kick ass at the very last second and you can lose a game the exactly same way. I love that it all takes place on ice causing amazing wipeouts and fantastic acrobatics. It is just so damned exciting!

So yes, I will be watching hockey tonight. And I will be watching America’s Next Top Model and doing my laundry at exactly the same time.

At Which Point You Wonder Why You Even Bother To Come Here

I am going to be a lame-o and bail out of blogging tonight. I have terrible allergies and just want to lie down for a little while. I am wondering if it is a cold. Sneezing, sniffling, outright nose blowing, itchy and watery eyes, and a bad case of the grumps. *SNIVEL*

To tie you over here is a link my sister-in-law sent to me. It is brilliant. I highly recommend checking it out. Pretend I wrote it. I wish I had.

Monday Update

I would have loved to have posted over the weekend but Blogger had other ideas. Blogger was in the midst of a grand mal hissy and no amount of computer refreshing could change its mind. So today you are stuck with a Weekend Roundup:

1. The cat chased a moth around my apartment in the wee hours of Saturday causing mayhem. Knick-knacks flying off of shelves and lamps falling over kind of mayhem. This was a moth with a serious will to live as it fluttered into every nook and cranny opposed to immolating itself on a light bulb like normal moths do. Anyway, Asscat rampaged for a full three hours, which only further confused me (on top of the annoyance/rage). Why does she not have this kind of focus when I am trying to teach her to pick up my take-out sushi or give me a mani/pedi? Damn her and that selective ADD.

2. My mom and I are very close but we experienced a freakish mind meld this weekend that still gives me shivers. Out of the blue Saturday night I thought to myself, “Mmmmm. Pie! I would love some pie. Apple pie. Maybe next birthday I should request apple pie instead of cake. MMMmmm. Pie.” Then Sunday morning my mom called me and we were talking about our regular Sunday night dinner plans. Suddenly she said, “Guess what I made for you, special.” Immediately I yelled, “Apple PIE!” And I was right. My mommy read my mind and made me apple pie for Sunday’s dessert. Spooky!

3. It became very obvious this weekend that I have developed a very sudden and startling ‘Raisin Bran’ addiction. Can’t get enough of the cereal. I wake up in the morning and it is the first thing on my mind. I have a wee bowl right before bed too. LOVE IT! Any other cereal addictions out there? Should I expand my repertoire?

4. Bad news. My hair is falling out. All of a sudden. I don’t know why. I don’t know if this is normal. I have noticed that the hairs that are falling are not normal hairs. They are weird and inconsistent textured hairs, so I am hoping they are being forcibly pushed out by fabulous thick hairs that are not weird but perfect and strong. I will get the low-down from my doc at my Thursday appointment.

So that was my weekend in a nutshell. Well, the important stuff anyway.

Crush Your Cat's Head Friday

It is positively creepy how much she loves this.

Rub My Belly For Luck

I am so excited. I just won $50 on a scratch lottery ticket. I have never won that much money before EVER! Sushi tomorrow for lunch.

My First WTF

There is a mystery in my kitchen. In the grand scheme of mysteries it is pretty small. In fact I don’t think it may even qualify as a full-fledged mystery but perhaps is closer to a moderate puzzlement. Nonetheless it is still bugging me and I want to know what is going on.

My cutlery is disappearing.

A few months back I noticed a fork was missing from my set. I will preface this by saying I have a lovely matched set of eight settings of stainless flatware. It was a gift from my family. That is all I have. No tangled mass is mismatched cutlery for me. I know exactly what I own. It never leaves my house, as I don’t take lunches with me to work. I don’t have a hungry dishwasher and every piece is hand washed by me. I don’t have a garburetor to accidentally eat my silverware or gaping drains to wash stuff away. The only thing I could think of was perhaps the fork was thrown out along with some take-out food containers. But I somehow doubt it. It is not like I have any wild food parties in my tiny apartment. It is mostly just me and I am pretty observant about stuff like that. Today I just realised a spoon is missing too. This is just plain weird. Where could it go? It is driving me crazy.

This is not the first time stuff has mysteriously vanished from my possession. When I first moved into my apartment it quickly became apparent to me that my undies where going missing from the laundry room. Specifically my black ginchies were slowly disappearing. We are not talking sexy lacy black slips of sin but very functional cotton bloomers. In total several pairs, actually six altogether, went bye-bye. This was very mysterious as the house tenants at that time were all female. Except for the house manager. Logic dictates to me who was most likely responsible. I have no proof and could never back up my suspicions but the thievery immediately stopped as soon as I told the caretaker what was happening. You do the math.

So what do you think? Any theories about there? Where are my forks and spoons going?

Back In The Swing Of Things

I have been wracking my brain all day wondering what to write about. Truth is things are very mellow right now. And I have decided that this is noteworthy unto itself. Things are getting back to normal again which I love. I am busy trying to figure out a wedding gift for a friend as well as do all my inspection stuff to get my car re-insured for the year. You know, I am enjoying the mundane things I have missed for the last few months. I am still pretty tired but definitely much better. I will get out to do my own grocery shopping tomorrow. I’ve missed doing the food shopping. Basically I am regaining my independence again. I don’t know if radiation will hit me hard with fatigue but I am getting back into my groove while I can. Lots of things to catch up on and get done.

This is a good lesson for me. Enjoy the little things in life. And I mean the eensy teensy things like being able to wash your sheets and make your bed. Picking out your own fruit and veggies at the market. Feeling up to planning for Thanksgiving, and birthdays and weddings and Christmas. Wearing actual clothes again after wearing PJs for so long. Getting new tires for the car. This stuff is exciting for me now. I went to the store and bought myself milk today. I haven’t bought my own milk for 5 months. It felt good.

Barney Gone Bad

I am an animal lover. However, there are a few animals that I find much easier to love when they are far away from me. Animals that fall into this category are snakes, reptiles, bugs, bears, and anything that has a strong odour, slime or lots of germs. I really do love them but at a distance. Idealistically.

Many years ago I worked in a very funky shoe store. It was not uncommon to get punk rockers come in with rats or snakes hiding in pockets or under shirts. Love the rats and the snakes but I really don’t want to touch them, or smell them. Don’t want to kill them either but am not all warm and fuzzy over them.

One day it was particularly busy at the shoe store and I had to squeeze by this guy who was blocking the door to the back room. I did not notice until I was right next to him that he had a fricking huge iguana sitting on his shoulder wearing a strange pink lacy collar and leash. Not entirely unlike a gargoyle in drag. I couldn’t help myself but I think the phrase, “EW!” slipped past my lips. Totally involuntarily. Its tail, after all, was about four feet long and almost touched the ground. Very icky but I meant “EW!” in a totally loving and respectful way. Gargoyle Boy grinned at me and my squeamishness. I was a silly girl. When I returned to the sales floor the reptile and its boy were nowhere in sight and I proceeded to kneel on the floor to unpack some shoes for a customer. Suddenly I felt four scratchy little claws scrabble to find purchase on the back of my sweater. Lizard Fucker had decided to teach me a lesson. The lizard was crawling up my back towards my head. My customer ran away leaving me at its mercy. I was alone.

Instantaneously I started to sweat. A lot. The beast felt surprisingly heavy and I could feel its tail drape over my back as it reached and actually dragged on the ground. It was all I could do not to run screaming from the store or drop and roll to scrape it off. I stayed very still because even though I had never been so freaked in my life I didn’t want to hurt the thing. That, I suppose was the love kicking in. Yes, it was love but it was not enough to bathe me in a light of wellbeing and acceptance. I just wanted it OFF! It was at that moment that I started to whisper-scream “Get it off get it off get it off get it off get it off…” to anybody who was willing to listen. Nobody was. Most folks had backed away leaving a cleared area around me. A vast clear area. I was totally alone. Except for the iguana. Finally after what seemed like years Bastard Owner Boy swooped in to save the day. The only problem was that he couldn’t get the lizard off as it had tangled is creepy little claws into my sweater. Scritch scritch scritch. He tugged and pulled and I could see, out of the corner of my eye, the dinosaur’s green pointy face freakily close to my ear. Too close. Finally, with a strange Velcro-like sound, the tyrannosaurus rex was detached from my person. I was free. Asshole Reptile Tamer laughed at me, outright mocked my fear in parting, and left the store.


I know it was not the lizard’s fault. He was blameless in the whole incident. I love animals. I hate people though.

In Case You Were Wondering...

I was talking on the phone with my cousin LBo the other night and she is highly frustrated. She has a very strong impression that the computer world is out to get her ass. Both her home and work computers have freaked out. As a result she can blog stalk but is not able to comment. She specifically asked me to pass on a message to you all that she is out there reading all your blogs but is not able to comment on them. She misses commenting and will resume that obsessive habit (ok, maybe that is just me) as soon as she can. In short, she is sending out the blove.

I Wish I'd Thought Of That

I was just browsing though MyCatHatesYou.com and found a photo of two cats named Prozac and Zoloft. Kick ass!

Stinker Alert

I just finished watching The Hulk. I have lost over 2 hours of my life I can never get back. That DVD is a travesty! You have been warned.

It Is Crush Your Cat's Head Friday

SQEEEEEEZING!

Getting Too Old For It All

Mr. Scotty Gee asked me to tell a story about working in the film industry. I have plenty of stories to tell and have already told the tale of working for the biggest witch in the natural and supernatural world. You can read about it here and here. One is a long post so get a cup of tea or something.

My recent work in film as been as a special effects costumer. I made a lot of the hats and accessories in a little film called Connie And Carla. They do a South Pacific musical number to “I’m Gonna Wash That Man Right Out Of My Hair” and I made their sudsy hats. If you saw the recent stinker, The Chronicles of Riddick, you saw my handy work there too. The bad guy, Lord Marshal, wears a weird metal skullcap. I assembled several of these things. I did not make the individual pieces and I did not design the cap but I was the one who had to glue, wire and rivet it all together. There were about 16 caps in all ranging from a couple metal ones to several plastic and rubber ones for the stunt guys. That was a good gig.

Before I did special effects costuming I was what was called a Costume Set Supervisor. That means I was the one on set with the actors making sure they were wearing the right outfits in the right way. My job was to create and maintain a Continuity Bible. Most movies are filmed out of sequence so you have to keep detailed notes and photos of exactly how the costumes were worn from scene to scene. You sometimes notice it when a character walks into a room and they are wearing a jacket zipped up half way and a purse over their left shoulder. Then they walk into a different room and the jacket is unzipped and the purse is on the right shoulder or missing altogether. Yes, that would be bad continuity. Those two rooms were probably not even located in the same building and the two scenes were shot weeks apart. And yes, there is actually a job to keep track of those things and yes I got paid good money for doing that. Only in the movie business.

This job can be very difficult for several reasons. First of all the hours are horrendous as you are there on set the whole time film is being shot. You have to work all-nighters and in bizarre locations. My first job I was on a mountainside for an 18-hour all-nighter in minus 18-degree weather. That is about –1 for you Fahrenheit folks. I have stood in rain for hours in the middle of winter. I’ve worked in blazing hot sun too with no shade in sight. Another reason the job sucks is that you find yourself doing things no reasonable adult should. Like standing there holding an umbrella over a actor who is perfectly capable of holding their own damned stuff. Or de-linting a hot young actor’s ass. OK that part is not bad. Yet another thing is that you have to baby-sit full grown actors who will do things like lose their costume purses or sit on wet grass in their white wardrobe pants or spill coffee on their one of a kind costume or throw hissy fits about how hot/cold/itchy/uncomfortable/bored/tired/thirsty/hung-over they are. I will say that most of the actors I worked with were really sweet and cool people. But the very odd few who were a handful really stick out in my mind.

One such actress I had to deal with was a real doozie. She wasn’t famous but had had a very pivotal bit part on a very popular sitcom. As a result she thought the sun shone out of her ass. Being her on-set costumer I can assure you it totally didn’t. She showed up for her first day of work hung over and not knowing her lines. This is a MAJOR faux pas. Huge. And she was playing a bimbo so her lines were not Shakespeare, if you know what I mean. The second thing she did which did not endear her to anybody on set was that she was extremely rude and condescending to her fellow actor. This guy played her husband and she just didn’t think he was ‘hott’ enough for her liking. Yes, this guy is not Jude Law but is a very good character actor. I have worked with him on a few projects and he is the sweetest and funniest guy you will ever meet. A real gem. She treated him like shit. Another thing she did was act like a total prima donna on set complaining one day to the director that the background extras where looking at her and would he please make them stop. JeSUS! Not too many actors can get away with that kind of crap and certainly she absolutely couldn’t. The director skilfully and tactfully blew her off. I was there for it and laughed out loud. Those times when a freak gets put in his or her place are too few not to chuckle.

Anyway, this bitch…I mean actress, arrived on set one day and I surreptitiously scanned her costume (wouldn’t want to OFFEND her with direct eye contact) to make sure she was wearing everything as she should be. I noticed she wasn’t wearing her charm bracelet. I got on my radio and talked to the truck costumer to see if she had forgotten to give it to the actress. The truck costumer is the one who works on the wardrobe truck and her job is to put the costumes in the actors’ rooms and maintain the costumes with breakdown (making things fake dirty and worn) and do laundry and sewing/alterations. She checked and said that she had put it in the actress’s room and that it had been left there. The piece of jewellery was run to the set and I approached the actress to give it to her.

Me-Hi! You forgot your charm bracelet so here it is. It goes on your left wrist.

Her-Yeah, I know. I don’t want to wear it. I don’t like it.

Me-You know what? (said in my best talking down to a pre-schooler voice) You wore it in the scenes prior and after the one we are shooting right now. It has been established on film.

Her-But I don’t wanna wear it. I just don’t.

Me –I am sorry but you have to wear it.

Her-I do not. I am not going to wear it.

Me-Why not? Does it hurt or pinch? I can fix it if it does.

Her-No, it is not that.

Me-Well, then what is up?

Her-I am just not feeling very braceletty today.

Me- Oh.

Well, what do you say to that? I eventually had to get an assistant director to back me up and she did end up wearing it but acted like it burned her flesh the whole day.

Now whenever I don’t feel like doing something I always say, in a petulant tone, that I am not feeling very braceletty today.

Stuff On MY Cat

Leave me alone! I am tanning here!

GET!

OFF!

Screw it!

I have often raved on and on about how much I LOVE my cat. And I mean in a totally sick and unhealthy way. I really love Yoshi. She has been so good to me through my whole chemo thing. Quiet and sweet when I needed to lay down and perky and funny when I needed to be cheered up. This cat rocks. One of her most favourite things to do on a sunny day is sleep in front of the window. She has a bed/blankie type situation on top of the TV stand. Often I have to watch the tube through her tail or legs hanging over the edge. They get really droopy in the sunshine. Today she has made a snivelly little moaning sound every time I have approached her on her perch. I guess she is getting proprietary about her rays now that fall is approaching. She is getting her tan while she is able.

A little while ago I found this site that makes me laugh out loud every day. It is called StuffOnMyCat.com. It is exactly what it sounds like. A site dedicated to pics of cats with stuff on them. All sorts of stuff. I have been truly amazed with the patience shown by various felines. I thought I’d see what Yoshi had to say about stuff being put on her. Would she like it as much as those other kitties? Let’s just say not so much.

Here are the results of my stuff experiment.

Pick Of The Crop

There is an apartment building behind my house that accommodates a few weird tenants. Over the years the vast majority of the really annoying ones have moved out. Like the professional photographer who was partial to late night shoots. It was not uncommon to be woken by his persistent strobe. Fucker. Then there were the Middle Eastern guys who would gather for late night Persian music festivals. Fuckers. But one weirdo remains. The Face Picker. I have a very unfortunate view of this lady from my kitchen. Every week or so she sets up a mirror on her window sill and scrapes her bangs off her face with hair clips for a 'Picking of Face' session lasting several gruesome hours. She picks and plucks and squeezes and pops. Seriously gross.

The first year of my tenancy there was a horrible incident in the house. The brother of the upstairs neighbour, who used to walk around with his cute shirtless self but that is another story, had a wild party. I remember it well as early in the morning I came upon a passed out dude lying in a pool of his own vomit right in front of my door. In any case that too is another story. I'll get back to the original tale. The party guests spent most of the evening on the fire escape, which faces this lovely lady's apartment. I guess she was quite taken with these cute young boys and started flirting from her window. I guess the guys were toasting her with their beer bottles. I guess she got her own bottle of beer and started toasting the guys back. I guess they made kissy faces and grabbed their crotches. I guess she hiked up her skirt a little. I guess they guys cheered her on a little more. I guess she liked that too. What happened next is something I really don't want to think about very much but the story in the house was that this fine upstanding lady, well into her 40's...um... inserted that beer bottle where the sun don't shine right in front of this group of young impressionable boys. I do remember hearing a chorus of disgusted noises and embarrassed laughter that night but didn't know what it all meant at the time. It because obvious later once I was privy to the story. She cleared that fire escape faster than actual flames would.

Whenever I see her picking at her face in the window (AKA: The Scene Of The Crime) I can only think about this incident. And then I throw up in my mouth a little.

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Weekend Round Up

I few days ago I mentioned that my cat Yoshi had begun to eat about twice the amount of food she has normally consumed for her whole life. I was worried that it might be diabetes or thyroid issues. Nope. Apparently it is just winter fat bulk up. Fattie McChunk is just packing on the poundage. It is actually visibly noticeable and lifting her is a whole new set of worries. Tubby McHuge has tapered off somewhat but is still eating far too much. But at least I don’t have to run to the vet with her, as I am apt to do with every little health thing. However a visit to Jenny Craig might be in our future.

Another health milestone was reached today. No more injections into my stomach every other day. With the end of chemo came the end of my Neupogen needles. I have to admit I am going to miss my nurse visits, as they are without exception a wonderful and sweet and kind and funny group of ladies. I suspect my whole apartment will begin a slow decent into slothitude now that I don’t have any reason to make the bed or do the dishes. In fact other than self-respect there is also no longer any need to bathe or brush my teeth. In reality I don’t have any further reason to get out of bed at all. My crazy cat lady role just got that much more believable. Deodorant shmerodorant.

I had a delightful day eating leftovers from last night’s yummy family dinner, reading smutty novels sent to my by Spoonie and napping. I had a one hour nap followed closely by a three hour nap. Then I laid on the couch and watched Emmy coverage on TV. Tonight will be further horizontal joy with the Medium premier and the second the last episode of The Show AKA: Rockstar:INXS.

Loving the lifestyle.

The Latest And The Greatest

I spent the afternoon at the Cancer Clinic today for something called a conference. What happens is you sit in an exam room wearing a gown and a doc who is not your normal doc reads over your file and comes in to examine you. Then he or she meets with your treatment docs and they discuss what is next for your treatment. So that is what happened to me. I am not really sure why I had to be there for the process and they really didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know. What is going to happen is that they are getting the referral ball rolling for my surgery and the process started for radiation therapy. The idea is that if the wait time for surgery is longer than 4-6 weeks then I will have radiation first. If surgery can be done soon then that will happen next. They just don’t want the radiation to be pushed back for months. Ideally it is better to have the surgery first as unradiated skin heals better and you get a better result on reconstruction. I hope the surgery can happen first because I want fabulous boobies.

I chatted with my radiation doc (who is male BTW) about the fact that I want a double mastectomy. He told me he doesn’t think it is medically necessary. He says just removing my right breast will be enough. I want both removed, as I just don’t trust the whole diagnosis process after everything that has happened to me. I have about a 25% chance of cancer occurring in my other breast in my lifetime and I am worried it won’t be found in time. My kind of cancer is notoriously more difficult to find. It doesn’t show up well with mammograms. I won’t get into all the details of my whole diagnosis again as you can read about that here but one day a lump was there when it wasn’t the day before. All the tests and docs said that it wasn’t cancer. When they discovered it was, in fact, cancer they thought it was very early stage. It was not-it had gone into my lymph nodes meaning chemo for me. It had been growing for years. I don’t ever want to have chemo again. I don’t ever want to have surgery and radiation again. I will have enough worry around cancer in my life without having an extraneous breast hanging around. I asked him what he would want for his wife. He said he would recommend for his wife just getting the one breast removed but would support a double mastectomy if the worry was too much. I think the worry will be too much for me. I want it off. I wouldn’t expect a guy to completely understand. I think he is very sympathetic being a cancer doc and all but he could never really KNOW! He said I could choose to have the other breast off at a later date but it could be a two-year wait for surgery. Why wait? Just have one surgery and get it all done at once. In any case I will be seeing a plastic surgeon and will figure it all out then. I think I may have to fight for this procedure and I don’t think that I should have to. I have been enough already. I am a very young woman with a lot of good years ahead of me and I want the best chances. 25% is a significant risk to me.

So that is where things stand right now with my treatment. In the meantime I have about 4 weeks off to get my blood counts back up and recover from chemo. Just in time for the new fall TV season. The slothitude continues…

Puppy Chow

When I was 19 years old during the late summer I went for a walk after dinner. This was unusual for me as I am normally a ‘sit in front of the TV sort of after dinner’ person but for some reason this night I wanted to scout the neighbourhood. I was several blocks from my home when I saw three people walking towards me with a beautiful Rottweiler on a leash. I love dogs and as I walked past this huge beast I looked into its eyes and thought to myself, “What a beautiful dog!” The very next second it lunged at me and pushed me to the ground. There was a man attached to the other end of the leash and he was no match for the power of this pooch. He was dragged behind like a limp rag. I have heard people say that when in crisis that time slows down and this is what happened to me. Total slo-mo. The dog had pushed me down so hard that I was laying in the middle of the street with the dog standing on me. He went for my throat and I blocked him with my right forearm. I have heard that Rottweilers have incredible jaw power and I can tell you this is true. The dog ripped a chunk out of my arm right through my denim jean jacket. The two other dog walkers were screaming and trying to pull the dog off of me but couldn’t. The dog was huge and really pissed. I managed to get up and onto my feet and the dog lunged at me again and pushed me down again. This time I used my left forearm to block his jaws. He bit my arm but hardly broke the skin this time. It was so surreal and it literally took all my strength to keep those teeth away from me. I kicked the dog and this distracted him. He went for my foot and sunk his jaws into the top of my foot and the rubber sole of my shoe. I think his teeth got caught in the rubber and so I kicked and was free again. At this point I was covered with frothy slobber from the dog. It was so thick on my shoes I had to throw them out after. It wouldn’t wash off. The dog was insane.

At this point I ran into somebody’s front yard and hammered on the door. It seemed like I waited there for ages and there was no answer so I walked onto the street and looked around wondering what I could do to get help. I was bleeding pretty badly at this point and it turned out that a really nice lady was home after all. She followed my blood trail onto the sidewalk and got me to sit down on the stairs. She turned out to be a nurse and kept my arm up over my head while she called my dad. My dad didn’t think it was very bad. I guess she didn’t tell him much except that I had been bitten by a dog and needed a ride. So my dad showed up in his flashy convertible expecting me to be the drama queen I really was. When he saw the gaping hole in my arm he got really pale. We drove to the hospital emergency room and they stitched me up and disinfected everything. My mom held my hand the whole time. Apparently I was really calm and made silly jokes through the whole process. I do tend to get funny while under pressure. I don’t know why.

The dog’s name turned out to be Giant and he was an abused dog. Not socialised and kept in a small cage for long periods. Coincidentally a friend of a friend lived next door to these dog owners and they actually kept a baseball bat on their porch as the dog used to lunge at then over the backyard fence. They had complained but since the dog had never escaped from the yard nothing was done. Back when this happened there was no dangerous dog laws and as a result I couldn’t even charge them criminally as the dog was never technically off its leach. Now things would be different. The owners did the right thing and phoned the local emergency room to check on me and did end up euthanizing the dog per the insurance company’s instructions. They couldn’t get house insurance otherwise. I did sue them civilly and they settled out of court for a very small sum. I regret I didn’t get more money, as the scars are pretty bad. At the time I was just thankful it wasn’t my face that was chewed up as that was where the dog was aiming. I have a sizeable scar on my right arm with some skin puckering as the dog actually ate part of me and the remaining skin had to close the gap. I have fang marks in my foot. I had nightmares for a while too.

When I first moved into my apartment the downstairs neighbour owned a Rottweiler named Günter. He was the biggest marshmallow but every time that dog rushed down the stairs to greet me my heart would pound. What I would do is focus on his frantically wagging stumpy tail to reassure myself he was coming for the lovin’. I am still nervous around Rottweilers but ok around other dogs.

I have always wondered what the dog saw in me that caused such a response. I had played earlier in the day with a friend’s Lab that was in heat. Maybe I smelled like frisky dog. But wouldn’t you think Giant would have just humped my leg instead?

WHINE!

If any of you have ever had a migraine headache then you know what I have been going through all day. Woke up at 5 am with a thumper. Yikes. So know post today other than this winge.

Looking forward to Rockstar:INXS tonight. Closet Metro and I call it The Show as we are sickly addicted and deconstruct the whole program each night picking apart performances and predicting outcomes. He has been more right than me. Waaay more right.

Spoiled Seriously Rotten

Seriously! I am one lucky girl. I got this HUGE parcel in the mail today from Spoonleg filled with wonderful goodies. And TONNES of it. She filled a box with books, and DVDs and scented candles, and nail polish and sudsy bath stuff and smelly foot soak stuff and candy and lip balm and cooling eye masks and more DVDs and WOW!!!!

Spoonie! Thanks so much! You are really too generous. This is the second lovely care-package I have received from this really cool chick. Your coolness is much appreciated here. Even Yoshi got treats. I love you and Yoshi loves you too. Just WOW!

Feelings

I was at the Cancer Clinic today for my first appointment with my radiation oncologist. He seems like a really great guy and I am once again amazed with the great team of doctors who have been taking care of me. He had with him a medical student that looked no older than 18 even though I know he was. He got to stand there while the oncologist examined my breasts and then I was asked if it was ok if he examined them too. Hell, why not. I have no dignity left. Feel me up. Whatever. So the youngster got the check them out too. Blushing bright red the whole time. I was oblivious. Hell! I have talked about constipation on my blog. Nothing is sacred. Anybody else want to feel me up?

So things are still up in the air but I will have 5 ½ weeks of radiation therapy at some point in my future. It looks like it will be most likely after more surgery as I want reconstruction and un-radiated skin heals better. That is all I know for now.

I am also feeling very good today. I was starving and am presently imitating my cat by eating everything in sight. I usually am not feeling too hungry yet after chemo so this is good. I chatted with Pablo on the phone tonight and he said my voice is sounding better. He had told me that during my chemo my voice had lost a certain quality and sounded almost metallic to him. Since I am just out of my last chemo I think this was much more to do with my mood. It is so nice now to enjoy the return of my appetite and energy without knowing it will all be gone again with a chemo. NO MORE! It is really starting to hit me now. Wooooooo!
I know I have a lot more ahead of me but overall I am feeling really good today.

Smelling Salts

I am up and about very quickly after this chemo. Probably the easiest one so far. Still a little nausea and the usual fatigue but it feels so good to think that I don’t have to go through this again. I have been lurking and stalking a few sites but mostly hanging out in bed with a good book. I always try to get to the library before each chemo and I did so this time. Lots of juicy and cheesy murder mysteries.

Something out of the ordinary did happen last night. I fainted. It could have been very embarrassing as I did it in the common hallway. Fortunately nobody saw me and got freaked out. I don’t have any memory of anything but I came-to laying on the floor in the hallway wondering what the FUCK happened. My usual nurse came this morning and took pulses and blood pressures and everything was fine. But freaky. I have never done that before. I remember feeling flushed but didn’t feel the faint coming at all. I was so confused when I woke up. I have no idea how long I was out. Really bizarre.

And Yoshi has got me worried a little bit. All of a sudden, out of the blue, her appetite has increased. A LOT! She is now eating double the food she normally does. I have tried to ride out the whining for food but she is persistent and I cave. Unfortunately an increase in appetite can mean thyroid issues or diabetes. Or maybe it is just winter fat she is putting on since the weather has become a little colder. I don’t know but I am worried. Anybody else had this happen to their cat before? She had better not be getting sick as she has been a very healthy cat so far.

Look at me! I got a Special Mrtl Distinquished Visiter Badge. Cool!
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Take A Good Look Because This Is The Last Time You'll See This Cute Face

I simply almost sorta cannot believe it but today is my last chemo. WAAAAAAHOOOO!
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The Dating Lame

I was visiting at Scotty Gee’s blog today and he was telling stories about his recent dating situation. He says things are really bad. I soooo relate Mr. Scottyhotpants. I have to admit I gave up on dating years ago. Like Scotty, I prefer to sort of know the person in a friendship way before moving on to dating. I have never been too keen on the idea of blind dates or dating type services. I just want it to happen naturally. How naive, I know. You would think that working in the film industry I would be exposed to a large dating pool of eligible men. Not so much and the few single guys I met were not interested in me. Here is the type of guy who asked me out from the film world:

1. Married men.
2. Men over the age of 55
3. Crazy ‘creative types’ who think the sun shines out of their asses. IE: Actors
4. A combination of the above

I have a hard and fast rule about dating married men. That would be NO! I don’t date men who have kids my age. That is just creepy. And I don’t date men who I have to fight for space at the mirror. No, you cannot borrow my bronzer…

Not to mention that I worked in the costume department and if I was not actually on the set I was surrounded by women. Lots of women. Or gay men.

I once went out with a very talented editor who was smart, funny, good looking and gainfully employed. What is the problem? He was totally nuts. He honestly thought he was God’s gift to the universe and that is really hard to be around. For instance, I warned him about my cat Yoshi and how she does not like to be petted by strangers. So he goes on and on how he is so special and that all animals love him and so would my cat. I reiterated how it was really not a good idea for him to touch her. He shrugged off my warning and tried to pet her. She hissed at him and gave him a swipe. So what does he do? He gets mad and insults her by saying she is about as smart as a bag of hammers. This is no way to capture my heart. This is my baby he is talking about. So when I get pissed I can get a bit mouthy. What was my reply? “The sooner you realise this the better off you will be. This cat’s hind leg is one thousand times more important to me than you are. I thought you should know.” He was totally insulted and the relationship, if you could call it that, didn’t go on much longer. I was totally fine with that and so was Yoshi.

It is hard enough to try and find somebody who is ok with dating a person with an anxiety disorder. I can totally understand that. I absolutely have limitations that can make being around me a little strange. Not to mention the fact that I don’t drink or do drugs. That has been a problem for guys before. But now I wonder what it will be like to go out into the single world again as a person who has had breast cancer as well. I will have some pretty serious scars. Mentally and physically. I expect my headspace might be different from what it was. How could it not be? My perception of my life and my body has had to drastically change. I also expect to have a double mastectomy in the near future and even with reconstruction my “fun sacks” are not going to be entirely fun. They are not going to be ‘perfect’ and I don’t know exactly how I am going to feel about them. They might even look a bit scary. I don’t know. But boobies are important to a lot of guys. Too important. Just look at all the ladies getting implants. The next guy in my life is going to have to be very understanding about what has happened to me.

He is also going to have to be an ass man.

Misc. Rumblings

I whipped out my cheffette hat yesterday and made myself a huge vat of chilli (feeep) for the freezer. I am an uninspired cook at best and only occasionally get up the gumption to plan ahead for meals. I am thinking I am going to be hella pooped after my next (and last) chemo and some chilli (pththt) might just hit the spot once my stomach is feeling up to it. While this chilli (phlurp) does include seasoning from a package it is still home made as far as I am concerned. The difference is that I opened up a shit load of cans to put in the pot opposed to opening a can of chilli (brapp) and just nuking it. A subtle difference but worthy in my eyes. I got really fancy and copied something that I saw in a foodie magazine and added chickpeas as well as kidney beans to the mix. I highly recommend this. Extra protein and very delicious. Good for us vegetarians.

I have been feeling extra nervous about my last chemo coming up this Thursday. I have been wondering why as you would think I would be ecstatic about this whole ordeal coming to an end, and I am, but what I really feel are nerves. I was thinking about it today and have decided that what I am feeling is actual excitement but with everything that has been going on over the last few months I have not had a whole lot to be excited about and have been feeling stress more than anything. Maybe I just don’t recognise excitement anymore. So I am trying to convince myself that I am actually thrilled opposed to scared. I’ll let you know what I get that happening…

I have to say I am feeling very heartened by all the cool help people have been offering to the hurricane victims. In my typical Kranki fashion I am finding myself more moved by the sad tales involving pets. The fact that many animal lovin’ folks had to leave theirs behind in order to get rescued is so upsetting to me. I have been assuring Yoshi that I would NEVER leave her. This sort of thing breaks my heart. Don’t forget the beasties everybody! Donate to the animal shelters too. Even if it is $5.

The Approach Of Autumn

In my mind summer is officially over. I know many of you out there are still caught in sweaty heat but up north here the season is through. They turned on the heat in my building yesterday. It happens the same way every year. Suddenly a strange metallic and dusty smell permeates throughout the house from a long unused furnace. Then a slow trickle of heated air farts from the vents eventually turning into an intense desert sirocco lasting until late next spring.

Yoshi quickly abandons her normal sleeping pad in front of the sunshiny window for the one in front of the main vent; unused for months. I will not see her for hours at a time. I am officially forsaken.

So begins a relatively lonely time for me where my chief source of amusement and company will not leave her heater vigil except to occasionally eat and poop. I am a heat register widow.

The heat that emits from the main vent is very strong. And very hot. It never ceases to amaze me that Yoshi does not collapse into a heap of dandruff flakes. I am in wonder that she does not entirely chap. The amount of hot air she sucks up would otherwise turn a camel into fruit leather. Cats are talented that way, I guess.

So begins the slow decline of sunshine and the return to the rainy season.

Yawnification

Some people can function on very little sleep. I am not one of these people and am very jealous of those who get through life on 6 hours a night or so. I have always wished I didn’t need Zs so much. My mom tells me I was sleeping through the night by 3 weeks of age. Even the lure of a warm bottle couldn’t wake me. I believe some people can naturally do with less sleep than others. Like they are born that way. Take my brother for instance. He is two years younger than me and from pretty much the time he could vault out of his crib he would stay awake and play in the toy box in the dark. My mom would hear him and get up and try to return him to his baby jail but he would just jump out again. Finally she would leave him to his own devises only to place him in bed once he had finally fallen asleep amongst his GI Joes in the wee hours. In fact, as we shared a room, his playing would wake me up and I would go into my parent’s room and whine that he was keeping me up. I was kranki even then. And I liked my sleep. My brother still fights to get to sleep at a reasonable hour. His body naturally wants to stay up late. He will probably always be that way.

When I don’t get enough sleep I feel crappy. Like I have drunk about 15 cups of coffee. My stomach gets gnarly and I get headaches that can easily turn into migraines. What is normal sleep for me? I would say 10 hours a night. Honestly, I need that much sleep to feel human. I can make do occassionaly with 8 hours. When I say there are not enough hours in the day to get stuff done I am not kidding. My days are short.

When I was working in the film industry doing 12-18 hour days I was miserable. I did not function well and spent my entire weekends trying to catch up on my sleep. I would sleep for 24-hour periods trying to get ready for the week ahead. I effectively had absolutely no life between working and trying to get enough sleep. That is the main reason why I had to quit the industry. I was getting sick. I have suffered pneumonia and severe anaemia from total exhaustion. And in the film industry you simply cannot call in sick.

So why bring up the topic of sleep right now? Well, very occasionally when I get to sleep and something wakes me up before I get really comatose I won’t be able to sleep the whole night. This happens maybe 4 times a year and it happened last night. I was up all night reading because my neighbour’s cat started wailing (she is out of town) and it woke me up right after I dropped off. Fortunately I had a great book to read of I would have been really out of sorts. Like killing people out of sorts. My cat loves it when I am up all night and compounds my frustration by licking my ear periodically. Usually just when I am starting to get drowsy. I fling her off the bed and then she roars around the house, back end skidding out on the hardwood floors, waking the dead with her stampeding. It just gets plain ugly.

Today I am so grumpy I fear for anybody who knocks at my door. I am fidgety and unable to stay still. I can’t stop yawning and my jaw is starting to ache. I don’t want to actually do anything. I should lie down and try to snooze but I hate that dozy feeling you get from sleeping a lot during the day. I have already called my mom and bitched to her. I even scared the cat with all my arm waving.

Some people get off on the surreal feeling from sleep deprivation. I wish this was fun for me. I feel crappy. I can’t even find any humour to make this post funny. I wish I could be funny right now. I think I am going to go back to bed and start the day over. Take my chances. Redo!

WTF?

I was watching the news the other night and found out some very shocking information. I found out that Canada has offered financial aide as well as actual physical aide to the US to help with Hurricane Katrina victims and not one peep has been heard back from the US government. We have many urban search and rescue teams, all volunteers, willing, ready and able to go rescue people but nobody has returned their calls as to where they are needed most. Our military has huge water purification machines, last employed during the tsunami disaster, loaded onto planes ready to fly down but nobody in the US military has replied to their queries as to where they can go. Our government agencies and Prime Minister have made phone calls to the US government and the President asking what is needed and nobody will give out that information.

What is going on!!!??? I thought you guys should know about this. Maybe a call or fax to your local state representative might be in order.

***UPDATE-just on the news: Help is on the way. Planes and boats of supplies are en route from Canada. There will be Search and Rescue folks as well as food/water and transportation available. I don't know how this was co-ordinated but I think things will start to get better overall. The National Guard looks like they are there too. Good news.

T-Shirt Lovin'

Most of you know already that Amanda B's and her husband's home was badly damaged during Hurricane Katrina. Damned near destroyed, actually. They are well and safe and staying with family right now. Scotty Gee, our uber talented cutie blogger has graciously designed a t-shirt via Cafe Press to help Amanda B rebuild her home. Buying a t-shirt will allow Scott to send Amanda B the profits. How great is that? So please go to his site to see what is what. You can see the T-shirts here. They are amazing. Visit Amanda B's site here and say hello.

Orgy Photo

MINE!! ALL MINE!!!
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Holy WOW!

The spoilage continues. I am one lucky girl and you will have to agree. Today the mail came and in it was a lovely book about cats (my favourite people) from my cousin P. Inside this sweet book was a lovely letter with a photo of P and her husband P toasting to my continued good health. How great is that? Thanks so much P! Then about 30 minutes later there was another ring at my doorbell and it was the UPS guy. Lo and behold he gave me a huge box from Closet Metro! I opened that puppy up and inside was a HUGE TRAY OF BROWNIES! Homemade ones with his very own hands! Sweet Jesus! And then after I cut into this slab of goodness I discovered that inside the brownies was a layer of milk chocolate and caramel. What Closet Metro doesn’t know is that caramel and milk chocolate is my favourite combo IN THE WORLD. I can’t tell you how many Caramilk bars have been consumed over the last few months. How did he know?!?! What a sweetheart! Thanks for the chocolate orgy, Closet M!

I am totally blown away here.

Huh?

Too pooped to blog today. Sorry!

No Complaints

Feeling very good today. I am reaping the benefits of my cancer. I often joke that if I knew cancer could be so lucrative I would have caught it much earlier. I mentioned in my last post that I got me some gifties in the mail. Now that rocks huge. Today was a great food day. Since I am not getting out much my mom pops over with goodies quite often. Today was a bonus day. It got giant chocolate bars, icy cold watermelon and blueberry scones. That is right. HOMEMADE blueberry scones. These are so delicious they can coax me out of the queasiest of situations. I also ate me a huge pile of Iranian rice a la Mrs. S. Hmmmmm. And then an hour of Rockstar:INXS tonight, which is getting juicier and juicer as the group gets smaller. Life is really good right now.

Sweet Stuff

I am once again overwhelmed by the kindness of blog people. I received two surprises in the mail this week from two very special people.

On Friday I got a very lovely gift-wrapped CD of Garbage- Bleed Like Me from Precisiongirl who is from the UK (said with a British accent). Thanks so much, Fellow Fan. Your thoughtfulness is muchly appreciated. Precisiongirl just got married and had a fabulous honeymoon in NYC. You can see photos here and here about that. She looked gorgeous in her dress! Check out her site.

Then today I was surprised with a package from Bucky Four Eyes! She sent be a very cool do-rag from my wish list. She suggested that I kick some ass with that there rag and I will do my best. Thanks so much Bucky! You rock! Pics of me wearing it are coming shortly. I know most of you know Bucky (some better than others-wink wink!! We are talking assless-chaps here.) but absolutely check out her blog here.

Blove you both!

Kemo Kitty's Second To Last Visit

It is that time again.
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This is my second to last chemo. It is weird to want to have the chemo to get it over with but also dread it at the same time. In any case it is almost over.

Everybody have a great weekend and I will post again when I am feeling better.

Why He Cannot Be Trusted

I found the most enormous spider in the tub the other day. It freaked me out, as I totally hate spiders and the air they breathe. That is a grandiose way of saying they scare the shit out of me. I thought about taking a photo but I decided the only thing worse than finding an enormous spider in the tub is finding one, running to get a camera and then finding it gone upon your return. I would not have been able to bathe in comfort after that. In fact even though I know I washed that little bastard down the drain I still am wary upon entering the shower.

I have a very chequered past with spiders. I grew up in a house that spawned brown hairy 8-legged beasties the size of cats. It was not uncommon to be sitting in the basement TV room and something catching your attention out of the corner of your eye. Something large and crawling towards you. My family got very used to me jumping up in the middle of some program to run shrieking from the room. My very dramatic reaction to spiders resulted in many family jokes at my expense.

One night I was walking up the stairs leading to the top floor bedrooms when it became necessary to throw myself up the remaining five steps due to a simply HUGE spider on the stairs. Most would simply walk past the spider by skipping that step when confronted with that situation. Not me. I was effectively trapped on that floor. Normally I would have called on a parent to save me from eminent peril but that night I was alone in the house. Fortunately I did have access to a bathroom but as time went on I became quite hungry and wanted a snack from the kitchen one floor below. I wracked my brains to how I could deal with my predicament. Do I climb out a window and then break into the basement? Do I jump over the spider by clearing a dozen steps in a super hero leap? What do I do? I suddenly got a brain wave. Bathroom cleaner. I would spray the spider with toilet foam killing it and rendering it harmless. My own chemical jihad.

Picture me standing on the top step with a can of Sani-foam, sweating profusely and giggling maniacally as I am apt to do under great stress. Picture me emptying a whole can of cleaner onto a single step. Then picture my parents coming home to find me and a 3-foot high mound of evil smelling foam barring the way to their room. Finally picture me grounded for a good long time. Once all the froth was shovelled off, the poor shrivelled up spider, greatly diminished in size since my last sighting, was no help to my cause.

Another time I found a spider on the same stairs in almost the exact circumstances except this time I was going down which meant I landed in a quivering pile of sweaty jelly on the middle floor. And this time my parents where home to spare me the ordeal of handling the situation myself. I ran to my father and told him that there was a HUGE spider on the stairs that he needed to get rid of. I must have seen something in his expression as I immediately regretted my decision wishing I had told my mom instead as she was much more sympathetic to my fears. My dad grabbed a handful of Kleenex and walked over the steps saying the whole time that I just had to get over my phobias and that spiders were wonderful creatures deserving praise as they killed off other undesirable bugs in the house. But as you all know, when one is almost hyperventilating with terror the only thing one hears is, “Blah blah blah spider, blah blah blah spider blah.” My father, my protector, my role model reached with his Kleenex, picked up the spider and then proceeded to walk towards me. With the spider. Yes, I said WITH THE FUCKING SPIDER!!! in his possession. I did what any self-respecting arachnophobe would do. I jumped onto the couch and crawled behind my mother screaming bloody murder, completely trampling her as she was trying to peacefully read. My mother swears I was emitting such a high-pitched sound she almost blacked out. And my father, my protector, the man who can do no wrong in a little girl’s eyes, stood over me and shook the Kleenex out over my head thereby releasing the spider into my aura causing my soul to melt. I then came close to blacking out myself. I am not kidding. Once my life stopped flashing before my eyes and I quit swallowing my tongue I realised that there was no spider. The Kleenex was empty. The evil man had left it on the stairs.

Obviously my father, my protector, the man who hangs the moon, is Satan. I paid him back for this with my teenage years.

Up Spam!

I don’t know what is up with all the comment spam on Blogger lately but I am pretty sick of it already. I did a little browsing on the Blogger site to check out the ‘flag’ nonsense they are pushing and found out that they are offering a feature to discourage comment spam. Now when you leave a comment on my site you will be asked to type in a word they display. I hope this extra step won’t discourage you from coming by and commenting. If you want to enable this handy-dandy little feature for yourself just go to your setting page and it is available under the comments tab. I will be more than happy typing in that extra word on all your blogs to avoid all this STUPID spam.

Like A Big Happy Family

While I have neighbours within my own house, as a household we have neighbours in the house next door to us. It is a very funky looking house with a well-tended yard and a purple colour scheme. It happens to be a boarding house owned and run by an Eastern European gentlemen I will call Boris. I have no idea what his real name is but Boris will do. Boris has a very motley bunch of tenants, one of which hit my car and then tried to swindle me out of a lot of money a couple years ago. I received a series of bizarre phone calls and threatening letters from this guy after he smashed my car and then tried to avoid paying for it. Fortunately a hawk-eyed man in the building across the street saw it all and provided me the necessary information to get the cops involved and my car fixed. However this story is not about that particular freak. It is about Boris.

Boris hates all of us who live in our house for the simple fact that we live here. In reality the feud is really between Boris and The Reign of Terry, our house caretaker. I am uncertain what the original problem was but they loathe each other with a ferocity I can only say amuses me greatly. However all of us must suffer. Boris “punishes” us by stealing our garbage cans, or just the lids from our cans. He plays loud polka music at us and puts his garbage in our recycling bin. I am not exactly sure what our crimes are as a household but I know anybody who is unfortunate to be in the front yard gets yelled at if anybody parks their car in front of his driveway. He never uses his driveway and often the person who has parked there is not related to any of us in any way but we always must pay for that particular action. Other than the occasional parking infraction the only thing I can think of we are guilty of is a poorly tended lawn and a laurel bush that used to over hang his property. Recently it was a friend of the downstairs tenant who momentarily parked his car in front of Boris’s driveway that resulted in Boris stealing our recycling box. I guess somebody had to pay. The funniest thing about Boris is that he doesn’t seem to care about being caught at his thievery. He regularly steals any new garbage can of ours even with our address painted on the side. He proudly and blatantly carries our garbage cans filled with his trash to the curb only for The Reign of Terry to dump his garbage back into his yard in order to reclaim the bin. While Boris is fairly passive aggressive he is not subtle.

My in house next-door neighbour has tried to be friendly to Boris in order to change his perception of all of us. I don’t even bother. I know he is a strange old man who needs us to make his day worthwhile. Boris needs a reason to get up in the morning and if sitting on his front porch glaring at us coming and going with our daily routines is what it takes, dude, feel free. Maybe part of my glee over the whole situation is seeing The Reign of Terry get all worked up over a few milk jugs in a recycling box or a dirty look over the fence. These sort of events give a quaintness to the neighbourhood that would otherwise be busy, dirty and impersonal. Boris and his vendetta make our neighbourhood homier.

The Funkster
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Kindness Above And Beyond The Call Of Duty

I actually got off my ass the other day and walked down the two flights of stairs to get my mail. I was sure glad I did as I found yet another little nugget of love from Jessica Rabbit. She recently sent me a CD of my boyfriend Henry Rollins’ spoken word performances from my wish list. She wasn’t finished and even had the fashion wellbeing of my cat on her mind. Yoshi is now the proud wearer of a very funkadelic kitty collar. Check her OUT! That mama is very Zen.

So I thank Jess again for her thoughtfulness and send her lots of the blove. Mwa mwa!

What Comments?

I am feeling very picked on by blog comments today. I did my usual morning blog crawl and left comments on every single blog I normally visit. For some reason my comments have disappeared from several of them. Is this some sort of cosmic blip in the universe? Is this a message? Whatever it is if I didn’t comment on your blog today just know that I actually did stop by and your comment is in the cosmos. Maybe your comment is travelling from my fingertips to God’s ear. Is it too late to ask for chocolate?

Things are getting better and I am slowly perking up. Now that my chemos are every 2 weeks apart opposed to 3 weeks I am finding I am more and more tired. Pretty soon it will be too much of an effort to haul my ass to the washroom and I will float away in a river of my own urine. Apparently chemo is making me rather overdramatic too.

Really looking forward to Rockstar: INXS tonight. I suspect Jessica will be voted off as, dammit, nobody likes her. How may phoenix impressions can this chick pull off?

Rockstar: INASOCK

Um. Anybody else out there think that Marty on Rockstar: INXS looks like Animal from The Muppets. Something about the teeth.

Rockstar: INSANE

OK. Does anybody else out there think that JD Fortune on Rockstar: INXS is a sociopath? What a weasel.

It's ALIVE!

Look at me all upright and typing. Today was a good day and I ate some pasta and felt all right about it. Then I watched a bad DVD and had a nap. All is right in my world right now. The cat won’t leave me alone either. This wouldn’t be so bad but it happens to be hot out and her hot furry self is making me kinda sticky.

First of all I have to thank JessicaRabbit from the bottom of my heart as she saw that cabana boys were sadly lacking during chemo and sent me a Henry Rollins’ Spoken Word CD to compensate. Thanks so much, JR! That was just the nicest surprise to get today! I just bought my spoken word tickets for his Nov 14th show here in town so I am totally in the mood.

Secondly I mentioned a while ago that I had to get some further testing done as they thought I might have cancer in my left breast as well. I just got the news today and everything it all clear. I have to get a follow-up MRI in January but so far so good. That is great news and I needed some of that right about now. Yee haw!

More good news is that my dear friend Pablum is in town and we will be getting together as soon as I feel up to it. I love his summer visits. Probably not as much beach time this trip for the two of us but some serious gossiping will be had.

Thanks to you all again for checking in with me and leaving sweet comments to tie me over until I was all human again. You are the best.

It's Kemo Kitty Again

Chemo Day today.
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I am off to chemo today. After this I only have two more to go. The countdown is on! So I will be back as soon as I can. Everybody have a great weekend!

Looking Pretty Good For An Old Guy

Daddy O and his cheesecake.
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Happy Birthday Daddy O

Today was my dad’s birthday. He is 75 years old. I gave him a huge bottle of scotch as his gift. By the age of 75 I figure you pretty much have everything you need. Now is the time for luxuries. My mother made a fabulous meal as usual complete with cheesecake for dessert. I am so full I can hardly move.

My dad who is seventy-five is still working full time. We often tell him to slow down a bit but I think he would be bored without work. He likes to work. You just can’t argue with that.

So Happy Birthday Dad, you hard working scotch drinker, you.

Check It Out

New music is up on the radio blog!

DJ Kranki

I spent several hours yesterday night burning CD compilations to send to Lbo’s lovely husband, Big D, who is deployed to Afghanistan right now. I had a long chat with Lbo about what I could send to the poor guy to make his life a little bit better. Fortunately they are treated really well over there and are not wanting for much. Except for home that is. They are wanting for home.

I happen to love creating CD compilations for friends and for myself but I do tend to get into a bit of a rut. I find that a lot of the same songs get put on my CDs over time. I guess we all have our favourites and getting fixes of those tunes is good. But I don’t want to repeat myself too much.

So I ask you all a favour. Please list your top 5 (or more if you want!) best songs you would like to hear on a compilation CD. Big D has VERY diverse tastes and likes to listen to all sorts of stuff. Any era and genre. So put your musical thinking caps on and comment your hearts out. I would really appreciate the help in creating some fabulous ‘tune festivals’ for this guy who is working 16-18 hour days. The good news is that he can play music on his laptop while working.

Not sure how old but damned cute!
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Age 2
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Age 4
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Looking Back

I thought I’d post some baby photos of me today, as I am feeling quite nostalgic. I was remembering simpler times in the olden days.

I had an upbringing unlike most people. I was raised in an apartment building right in the city centre. We lived on the 19th floor in one of four penthouses. The elementary school was across the street and the beach was only two blocks away. The building had a pool as well and my best friends lived on the 18th and 9th floors respectively. We had an amazing corner store just kitty corner to the building that had the most wonderful array of penny candy known to mankind. I came by my sweet tooth naturally. We were allowed to walk there ourselves and spend our allowances from a very early age, as it was totally safe. At night the prostitutes would come out and I then needed an escort home from my weekly Brownie meeting.

I would say I had a really great upbringing. We were never bored and there were lots of kids also living in apartments in the area. I had to share a room with my younger brother but didn’t know that this was so terrible as all my friends had to share their rooms with annoying siblings.

With the ocean and the pool so close by I was a good swimmer and loved the water. The park was really close as well with its zoo, petting zoo and aquarium. Are you getting my drift here? We were very engaged kids with always something to do. No, we did not have a backyard swing set but we had the school playground with the jungle bars right out front.

Halloween used to kick ass as we went from building lobby to building lobby where we had our pick from the piles of candy provided by every single tenant heaped on tables. We are talking about full sized candy bars, people! No stairs and measly handouts for us. It was a Land O’ Plenty and we reaped the benefits. Those were the days…

As I got older I was very active at the local community centre that offered great kids’ programs. I joined a pottery class and got quite good on the wheel for a little kid. I did gymnastics and trampoline as well. There was also a skating rink in the centre, which was a favourite wintertime activity. They even had Pre-teen Disco night and I knew all the moves for The Carwash and every dance from Saturday Night Fever. My mom would give me a dollar and that would buy me a donut from the cafeteria and unlimited McDonalds Orange Drink just off the dance floor. My friends and I would boogie the afternoon away. After our dance time was done the teens would come in and I remember being rather fascinated with what they were wearing. Ah! Clothes from the 70’s. I couldn’t wait to be 13 years old and dancing with the big kids.

When I was 10 we moved out of the neighbourhood to the suburbs as the problems with the local ho’s were getting out of hand. Also I was getting a little too old to be sharing a room with my pesky brother.

I remember my first day at the new school. I showed up with my little disco bag and French Cut corduroy pants. I think I had platform shoes. I know I had feathered hair! I looked like a freak amongst all the Holly Hobby print dresses and other frumpy threads. I was a city kid amongst the suburban crowd. I didn’t know how to play Kick The Can. I had never mowed a lawn. Never owned a dog or cat. Never had my own room. But I had been to the Art Gallery and could kick ass on a city bus. Needless to say I was a curiosity for a while.

My whole family lives in the city centre again and I actually live only a couple blocks from the old apartment building. We have all made it back to The Hood over the years. Things are very different now but the candy store is still there exactly as it was 30 years ago and even owned by the same people. The Safeway is in the same place but recently renovated. Kids don’t trick or treat here anymore. Or at least to my house anyway. I wish they would. They must go to the suburbs to do it. I bet the community centre does something for them. It is still a good neighbourhood to live in. It really feels like home to me.

Sunday Blues

I am just exhausted. My new downstairs neighbour had a party last night. He is actually an old neighbour as he used to live in the attic suite a year ago. We were all glad to hear that the previous downstairs neighbour was moving out. He was weird. First of all he would sit on the front porch and drink beers until he was drunk. Often he had friends with him. Let’s just say you really didn’t want to have to walk by them to get into your apartment as they would get really creepy. You know, sorta get too close and smarmy. The second thing he used to do was play music and video games at supersonic volume. The whole house used to vibrate. I know from the other four tenants that have lived in the downstairs suite during my own tenancy that it really takes some serious volume for noise to bleed through. In fact, it wasn’t until Creepy Guy moved in that I knew you could actually hear stuff from that suite.

So last night when it became obvious that there was to be a party downstairs I was not too worried. There have been plenty of parties down there over the years and I have never heard much. I have to admit I was a little hurt that I was not invited to the party. I would not have gone but it would have been nice to be invited. It has normally been a tradition here to invite all the fellow tenants to a party as they will have to hear it anyway with such close quarters and all. I have always invited all my neighbours to every get-together I have hosted. I would have been happy to have them but mostly it was just as a courtesy so they would feel ok about coming by if the noise went on too late. I always give them my phone number in case they need to call me. My next-door neighbour was at the party last night; I heard her voice. I know it probably didn’t occur to New Neighbour Who Is Also Old Neighbour to invite me, as he knows that I am sick right now. But still. It would even have been nice to be warned.

In any case last night’s party was a little out of the ordinary and I am a little pissed off about it. First of all I was sleeping away and at around midnight my door buzzer started beeping away like crazy. I ignored it as I thought that maybe somebody had made a mistake with apartments. Earlier on in the evening somebody had buzzed me looking for the party. I knew they would see soon enough where the party was. I had just dropped off to sleep again and my buzzer rang AGAIN! I got up that time and it became obvious that some assclown at this party had moved onto the front porch and was leaning against the intercom panel. Not cool but it happens. The only problem was that now I was up. And I couldn’t get back to sleep.

I have been living here for more than five years and over this time I have become very familiar with the noises that the house makes. I know the sound of the basement door banging shut. I know the sound of the bike lock as one of my neighbours locks up his bike when he gets home from work. I know the sound of the creaking floor when my next-door neighbour walks to her living room from her bedroom. I know the sound of the racoons that shit on my fire escape. Last night this noise started that I had never heard before. It was an intermittent banging noise from downstairs that made my picture frames rattle against the walls. I have no idea what this noise was except it went on until 4 am. That is right. I did not get back to sleep until after 4 am.

And it has started again this morning at 9:30. I still have no idea what this noise is. I can tell you this. I really wish it would stop.

So why didn’t I go downstairs and complain? Well, for a couple of reasons. First of all I am have to admit I am a little old to be living in this place. This house is more suited to a younger crowd. Most people my age are married with kids and a lucrative career and live in much cushier digs. I am single and make very little money. I can afford the rent. Barely. So I try to give my younger neighbours a bit of slack. I am already known as a bit of a crankypants round here with my “high standards’ and all. From a previous post you know I have a strict criteria I follow before I complain about noise. It either has to wake me up and/or keep me up at night. Or if the music is loud enough that I can sing along with the words I will complain. Or if it is loud enough that I have to up my own TV volume to compensate I know it is too loud. Last night’s banging does fall into the first category. But the fact is that I am so sick and tired of complaining about obvious shit. I don’t wear shoes on my hard wood floor and I try not to be heavy footed. I don’t crank my tunes and if I want to rock-out I use headphones. I don’t use my subwoofer as the vibrations carry too far. Normal bass is enough for me. I turn down my TV at 11 pm if I am going to stay up late. If I am doing home improvement projects I try to finish by 6 pm so I am not hammering through a dinner hour. I don’t talk loudly in the common hallways and keep the front door and my door from slamming shut behind me. These are very obvious things I do so I don’t intrude upon my neighbours’ peace and quiet but these are the same things I constantly have to tolerate from them. And I am so sick of it. The main reason I didn’t go downstairs last night is that I am sick of being the one to complain all the freaking time. I would love to move but I simply can’t afford it. I have a really good deal here. Well, obviously not that good of a deal.


I am soooooo tired.

**Update-Monday Aug 8th
My next door neighbour was NOT at this party after all. I seriously thought I heard her voice but I was mistaken. I don't feel so bad about my lack of invite now. It was silly to think that way as I am practically old enough to be this kid's mother. Who wants their mother at their party?

***another update-Downstairs Dude just bought brand spanking new speakers and a subwoofer. FUCK ME!

Serious Yum

Since my cancer diagnosis a lot of friends and family have really stepped up to the plate to help me out. I can’t even begin to tell you all the sweet things that have been done for me over the last few months.

We have a family friend who was initially a client of my real estate agent dad. She and my dad hit it off and she trusts him to help her with her personal business. She is a lovely lady who is originally from Iran. When she found out about me the first thing she did is offer to make me her special rice every week.

Iranians have a very delicious way of making rice that causes it to have a browned and crunchy layer. Every week Mrs. S calls up my mother to ask if I would like rice. This is how it goes.

Mrs S.: Hello Mrs. H. How are you today?

(She still calls my parents Mr and Mrs. H even though they have asked her to use their first names for years. They, in turn, call her by her last name too. I find this very quaint.)

My Mom: Hello Mrs. S. I am fine thank you.

Mrs. S: Does her majesty (me) require rice this week?

Mom: Yes, Mrs. S. She would love some.

Mrs. S: All right. Pick it up at 5 o’clock. Good Bye!

And she hangs up. Mrs. S does not like idle chitchat on the phone.

So she makes me my favourite kind, which means there are lentils added to the rice. She thinks this is good for my blood.

I think what she does is cook a bunch of basmati rice and lentils along with saffron until the rice is tender. Then she adds butter, which collects at the bottom and browns the rice so it forms a crunchy layer. My mom shows up with a big Tupperware container and she tips the rice into it. It holds the shape of the pot and the crunchy layer is on top. It tastes incredible and if any of you can ever try Iranian style rice I totally recommend it. The crunchy bits are considered the best part and are often saved for the younger or older members of the family.

So Mrs. S has been making me rice, on average, 2-3 times a month for the last few months. I always can’t wait until my appetite returns after chemo so I can have this rice. And I am so unbelievably touched every time I get it.

Mrs. S is 86 years old.

Urp!

Snoozy!
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For the past couple of days I have been fighting a bladder infection (TMI?) and have been put on some antibiotics that are making me feel quite vile. I am not sure what is worse, the infection or the cure. So that is why I haven’t posted. Please forgive. In the meantime here is a pic of Yoshi because she is so cute. Still not uber cute as she hurled all over my bedroom today. Damned beast. Now that is really too much information.

Sadness

It is a very sad day today in Blogville. Many of you already know through Susie’s or Sarah’s Wacky Loving Family’s site that SarahKaplan died yesterday. I am very sad. She reached out to me through my comment section with lots of positive encouragement and candy suggestions. When a lovely lady who just a couple weeks ago was boosting my moral in my fight with cancer looses her own battle, life seems that much more precious and fragile and strange. And unfair.

She was very positive about the future and it wasn’t enough. And sometimes it isn’t. There are so many things that have to fall into place to guarantee a win over this disease. And that isn’t fair either.

What comes to mind most is a recent email a parent of a friend sent to me who extolled the benefits of positive thinking in fighting cancer. She very mistakenly assumed that my homebody-ness was equal to negative thinking. She feels I should be doing Cancer Walk functions and attending loads of support groups. Obviously this works for her. I find such peace and happiness at home with a good book or with visits from my parents. What she suggests sounds foreign and stressful for me. My positive attitude manifests in a different way. Each person who faces cancer or any other life threatening illness just has to do their best. Some days are not a pretty as others. Some days you can barely get out of bed. There is no right way ‘do’ this thing

Sarah confronted her illness with light and humour and strength and love. Her relationships with her sisters and her partner were inspirational. I never met her and I only knew her through her blog and her comments but I won’t ever forget her, as she has become a part of my own fight. As have all of you who visit and comment on my site everyday.

Fuzzy Wuzzy

Feeling better.
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I have hesitated to put a photo of myself up since my chemo treatment. My bald head just made me look so sick and I didn’t want any record of that online. Honestly, it was even a little hard for me to look at my baldness in the mirror. For me, more than anything, the hair loss really represented my cancer to me. I didn’t want to dwell on it all too much. I even wore a hat or kerchief around the house when nobody was around. Honestly, it wasn’t a vanity thing but more of a symbol of my sickness kind of thing. I know this isn’t an issue with others so much and maybe something else about their symptoms and treatment was hard for them to take. Anyway, that what was hard for me.

The good news is that my hair has very suddenly and quickly started growing back. It still might fall out again as I have more chemo to go but for now I am quite the little Q-Tip. My hair seems a bit darker and is very soft right now. Almost like duck down. It might even be a little curly. It is still too short to know what it is going to look like in the future.

So here is a photo of me and my hair. It looks silvery on the sides but isn’t. It is just a bit thinner there and maybe a little shiny.

Rockstar:INASPRINT

Ah ha! Feeling almost human again. If not eating a lot at least thinking about it. Spicy things are my main craving right now. Channa massala or pad thai. Won’t be trying that any time soon but maybe next week. It is nice to dream.

Tonight I am looking forward to Rockstar:INXS. I am really enjoying it and am quite the armchair rockstar myself every show. I am surprised at one or two people who have been asked to leave as well as amazed at some who have been asked to stay. That is what is so good about the show so far. That and Dave Navarro. Yummy.

When I was nineteen I worked at a Canadian clothing store that has a very innocuous name in North America but turns out to be a very rude word in Australia. We sold these leather letterman jackets with the company name blazoned across the back. Our boss had given us permission to give away a jacket to any rock star that would provide free tickets for all the staff in the store. This was really cool deal and while I never reaped any of the benefits at my short time working there I had heard some great stories.

One night I was working late and the mall was deserted. A guy walked in who looked vaguely familiar to me. He was looking around and I greeted him. He wouldn’t even look at me and didn’t answer. I was wracking my brain. Who was this guy? Why did he seem so familiar? Then it hit me. He was the keyboardist from INXS. You know, the short ugly one. But I wasn’t 100% sure. I conferred with my co-worker in the back and I was elected to be the one to approach him with a free jacket in exchange for tickets to that night’s concert.

So I did what any person would do. I calmly walked up to him and said, “Hi! Are you from INXS?” and do you know what happened. He ran. He literally ran out of the store. Full sprint down the mall into the hotel. I was so surprised I just burst out laughing. So did my co-worker. Dumb ass. If he had just stuck around he would have got himself a free leather jacket with a very rude word on the back.