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.

The Curse Continues

It has been a less than fun week for me. I got sick. Quite sick. In fact 2008 will forever be remembered as The Year I Puked On My Birthday And I Wasn’t Even Drunk. And if you don’t know me then you cannot fully understand how traumatic this was on a couple levels.

First of all I suffer from this pretty severely. And as such I will not get into my particular lurgie with any great details. Secondly it was my 39^th birthday. The LAST YEAR I will be in my 30s. A dinner party was planned and had to be cancelled. In fact my whole birthday weekend was a complete blur of ick and grossness.

I woke up Saturday (March 1-my birfday) quite early with terrible cramps. Whole torso cramps opposed to your typical gurgley tummy type situation. Only now that I am feeling better do I understand how sick I really was as I simply laid in bed, labour breathing through each spasm, idly thinking, “Hmmmmm…I wonder why my stomach feels so bad.” Opposed to say, calling 911 or getting my ass to my doctor.

I eventually called my folks to let them know that I was likely not going to make it to dinner citing ‘gas pains or something.’

I then took some Tylenol 3s and dozed for awhile.

Other than the cramps I felt fine.

Then I got out of bed and walked around a little.

Big mistake.

Gravity was the final incentive my gut needed and I experienced the worst Thunder From Down Under in my life. Thinking it was a good idea to drink a little to keep hydrated it was then I was joined by a disgusting rally from the northern regions.

The next few days were unpleasant to say the least.

As such I was unable to attend the Apartment Blessing and remain cursed. I wonder if my stomach flu was a clever ‘spirit ploy’ to keep me from the ceremony thereby reducing the youthful (borderline) energy I would have contributed to banishing the bad vibes or simply a pesky Norwalk virus compliments of the old people in my building. Either way, well played intestinal horrors, well played.

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.

Craptastic

Quite the day yesterday. Here is what happened.

1. Photographed the Yoshi calendar on Tuesday. Wasn’t happy with a lot of the first shots so I stayed up all night worrying and got up uber early yesterday and re-shot the whole thing again. Yoshi was not amused but did just fine and was a little furry trooper.
2. So while busy returning the camera gear and putting together all the appropriate images for my graphic designer friend I get a phone call… My dad is in the hospital emergency room. He fell while changing a light-bulb.
3. I run to the hospital and there he is all sad on a gurney. He has broken his hip. Fuck. I hang out there for a few hours.
4. Start making all the appropriate calls. My mom is on Vancouver Island on a mini holiday helping a friend and I can’t get in touch with her. Rally my bro and sis-in-law to “Man The Bedside” while I do some business stuff for my dad and deal with his car, his cell phone and his clients. Dad is feeling ok with just a couple Tylenol 3’s under his belt. All the nurses love him already.
5. Run to my parent’s apartment to get some stuff for him, make more calls, and email another client.
6. Go through a couple hundred photos and burn a disc to take to my graphic designer friend.
7. Return to the hospital with magazines, chocolate and books and hang out to 11 pm. Totally forget to eat all day. My thighs will thank me later.

So poor dad is going to have surgery today to replace part of his hip joint. The docs say despite his age (the nurses keep on betting each other to guess his correct age without looking at the chart. Nobody can believe he is 77. Most guess in the early 60’s range.) his bones are strong and his health is great so he’ll heal up fine and be out of the hospital early next week. He is in good spirits and pissed off and bored already. My mom should be home today in the late afternoon.

So between hospital visits, running my dad’s business and doing the Yoshi calendar I’m going to be scarce around these parts. I’ll update when I can.

A Karmic "Kick Me" Sign

I must have been real real bad in a previous life because the nasty stuff keeps coming my way.

So as you read in my last post the nasty peeper wanted to be my Facebook friend. I emailed him telling his that he was a “disgusting pervert peeping tom” and that under no circumstances would I ever want to be his friend-even through Facebook. I told him never to contact me again and I then blocked him.

It just wouldn’t have worked to accept his friendship request and then call him out that way as he could delete very easily anything I said about him.

I also don’t want to engage him in any way.

I’m working my ass off on the upcoming Yoshi Calendar and things are going slower than I hoped. I will start two months earlier next year. And to add to that time crunch starting Friday workmen will be coming into my little apartment to scrape the ceiling, patch the cracks and then re-texture. Did I mention my dining room table, set up with sewing machine and glue gun, is about 4 feet from where the work will be done? Crap! I have nowhere else to work while they are doing this so I will have to work around them somehow.

And then to add insult AND injury to this I had a wonderful little appointment with my doctor today. Thursday night my right eye felt sore and I noticed a bug bite sort of thing right near the corner of my eye. I put antibiotic ointment…

**MRTL Style Tangent-I love the word ointment. It is such a great combination of sounds. Say it to yourself a few times. Try some different accents. See what I mean? End of MTL Style Tangent**

..on it but it wasn’t getting any better. So off to the doc I went today and he took one look at it and told me what was wrong.

Eyelid herpes.

Yes, I have a cold sore on my eyelid.

Fuck.

Frantically, I told my doc that I practiced safe eye-socket sex (I put my whole head in a baggie for that) and he assured me that it is merely something I picked up from life. So every public door I opened, bank machine I used, grocery cart I pushed, second hand store I rummaged through (for props for the calendar), elevator button I touched, and piece of money I handled over the last few days flashed before my eyes and I got a little queasy. Then he told me I might have been infected years ago and only now having an outbreak.

I knew I was a germ-a-phobe for a reason, washing my hands several times a day and using that antibiotic stuff too. For NOTHING!!!! Dammit!

I have to be careful the infection doesn’t actually spread to my eyeball because that would be bad. *Big Sigh* Seriously, what did I do in a previous life to deserve this? I was probably one of those guys who didn’t wash their hands after peeing and then handled food or something. Or brought small pox to the natives.

At least it wasn't cancer.

I feel like a Petri dish. Please still be my friend.

Crush Your Cat's Head Friday-Meltdown

Well, talk about technical difficulties...isn't there a pill for that? Oh, never mind.

Mrtl made a great new logo for Crush Your Cat's Head Friday but I cannot get it to work animation-wise on Blogger. It just shows up as an image. So please go here to see what was supposed to be posted here on Friday.

Thanks, mrtl, for your evil genius. Thanks, Blogger, for your buttheadedness. And thanks to anybody who can troubleshoot this animated gif issue for me.

OK, Now It's Getting Silly.

You know what? Most guys ask for your number or for a date. Not these guys. They come on a Saturday night to lurk around my building bothering the neighbours with their sirens and flashing lights.

Stalking me under the pretext of checking on a sick old lady. Saw right through that one, I did.

And then they came back on Monday night too. Jeeez, guys! Seriously, just send me some flowers or a box of chocolates. Leave the poor old lady from across the street alone.

FINE! I'll go on a date with you. As long as you wear those cute boots and suspenders.

Clearly, my 'glowing' skin and matching outfit really dazzled these guys. I can't get rid of them.

Seriously People. SERIOUSLY!

Guess who showed up again today?

There I was, minding my own business when, with sirens blaring, the man who snubbed me showed up with all his buddies.

My first thought?

“WWWWHHHAAAAAAAAAAATTTTT! What!”

What is wrong with this building?

So I got the cat carrier out again and located my shoes and purse expecting to be told to flee the premises any second because while there were two fire trucks outside our fire alarm wasn’t actually going off.

So I waited…

I watched the fire guys swarm out of the trucks putting on their gear and standing on the street looking up and pointing at the building. They were pointing above me so all I could think about was that the construction crew had set the roof on fire or something.

I didn’t know what the ‘or something’ would be but I could imagine it might be pretty damned bad.

Fuckity fuckity fucking fuck fuckers!

So the fire guys and random pedestrians are all looking up and pointing and milling about and all us tenants are standing on our balconies craning our necks to see what they seem to be looking at and totally clueless about what the frick is going on…

Until one of the bystanders noticed something. A totally different building about 2 blocks away that seemed to be leaking black smoke from one of its apartments.

Oh!

They got the wrong building.

Yeah…they get a call to the area and just automatically assume it is my building that is the culprit.

The manly men got back into their trucks and turned on the lights and sirens and toodled off to the actual emergency.

I am so proud of the legacy my little lodge is creating in the neighbourhood. The building that cried, “Fire!”