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.

Crush Your Cat's Head Friday-You Can Lead A Cat To A Kitten But You Can't Make Her Like Him. Who Am I Kidding, You Can't Lead A Cat Anywhere.AC

Here is the kitteh update you’ve all been asking for.

How is Yoshi doing? Well…not great but not terribly awful either. She stopped eating all together a couple days ago and still occasionally (meaning pretty much every day) yaks bile which, I’ve discovered, leaves a lovely green stain on my carpet. Who said having cats was not like having kids? My berber disagrees.

So I started getting desperate and bought all sorts of yummy things Yoshi might successfully ingest with no luck. I vacillated wildly between guilt and exasperation. It was not pretty around here.

I tried to push the limits a little by keeping the cats separated all of the time except in the evenings when I allowed them to be in the same room with each other-supervised for fair play and safety. And the thing is that Yoshi, while not happy, was fairly calm and resigned to Dexter flinging his noodley kitten body all over the living room. She didn’t even blink when he chased a toy under her chair or ran close to her head. One night, when I was playing with Dexter and some toys she jumped down from her perch and crouched about two feet away to watch us, her eyes never leaving the kitten or the feather wand.

I thought I was seeing a very faint glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel. Not so much because Dexter started really wanting to be with Yoshi and to approach her and play with her and if he so much as looked in her direction that is when the hissing, spitting, and growling frothed up in full vitriolic volume. Only on Yoshi’s part as Dexter is probably the most laid back kitten I’ve ever met. Nothing fazes him at all.

So as I watched Yoshi losing weight and some days getting worse instead of better I started thinking that maybe this whole kitten idea was just not meant to be and that Yoshi simply couldn’t handle a new addition. I resigned myself to returning the kitten after the long weekend and feeling very incredibly horrible about it.

Then I saw this.

And I got MAD! People introduce new cats and dogs into their house all the time with little or no problems. I saw all those cats living together in harmony and I decided I wasn’t going to let a 9lb cat with a bad attitude run my household.

But I wanted a medical assurance that pushing her further wasn’t going to jeopardize her health. So off to the vet we went today and this is what she said:

-I do not have to get rid of the kitten!

-Yoshi is an exceptionally high-strung cat.

-It is possible if a cat has not eaten for a very long time for their whole digestive system to shut-down permanently and they can die.

-Yoshi is not even close to this stage.

-Yoshi has lost almost a pound this week but she is not underweight by any stretch.

-When a cat is stressed and vomits a lot their digestive tract gets all irritated and they lose their appetite. This is probably what is going on with Yoshi.

-They took blood and urine to rule out any other issues that might be complicating things.

-Being a jerk is not an official feline medical condition.

-I have to give her an antacid pill every night.

-I have to give her a syringe of laxative twice a day.

-I have to pry her stubborn Siamese lips open and force feed her a foul smelling cat mush every couple hours. Literally poke it down her gullet. Although she makes terrible noises and spits most of it out doing this will get her tummy working again and her appetite shall return. However, she will hate my ass for some time to come.

-This unanticipated and expensive vet visit means I will not be getting a new pair of winter boots next week.

The main thing I came away from the vet with is that while Yoshi is very high strung she only is so when it suits her. She did something similar to this several years ago when I went on holiday. I returned and that night she started vomiting uncontrollably and then started barfing blood. A visit to the emergency vet and almost $2000 later it was decided that she was stressed about my absence. And we all know what happened when I brought Lulu home. Yet every time I’ve moved into a new apartment she’s adapted just fine to her new surroundings. No hiding under the bed or anything. She was fine when I was going through treatment and in the hospital a lot. She acts totally freaked when the dogs come to visit or friends and family are over but the minute they leave she is all perky and cute like she didn’t just hiss and try to bite them. So there is definitely a component of my energy that is affecting her as well so I’ve got to get rid of all the guilt and fear and concentrate on visualizing exactly what I want to see happen in my house.

MY house.

Fight the feline power!

First co-mingling of death ray kitties- lasers on standby. Yoshi rasps, "Dexter, I am not your mother" *gaspgasp*

Second meeting-Yoshi is more relaxed. Dexter is trying to eat the kitty crate/cat jail/feline transport unit.

Third meeting. Dexter bogarts the kitteh drinking fountain. Yoshi is not amused. Barfs on my bed later to prove that bad manners go both ways.

Kitteh Update

Day 3 of Kitteh Intro Hell:

Yoshi is really, really, REALLY pissed. She has taken to barfing twice a day on a 12 hour-you-could-time-your-watch-to-it schedule. She also will froth at the mouth to make a point of her displeasure. She won't eat. Not even tuna. Today she has taken to her bed with the vapors. In Yoshi world that means she is in her Snoozen Housen and won't come out. Last night after a little hissing but mostly curious sniffings I brought the kitten out and I think that is when Yoshi realized that he was not even remotely phased by her growlings and might actually be hanging around. Things got nasty when the kitten went to jump up on the sofa where Yoshi was. She literally screamed, punched the kitten in the head and then levitated off the couch to behind the plant knocking over the phone as she went. The kitten was unhurt and totally couldn't care less. I tried to stay calm and laughed it off. The sad part is that the kitten is absolutely fascinated with Yoshi and clearly wants to be friends.

Yeah... *swallows a handful of anti-anxiety meds*

So I am staying firm on this. I'm not sure how long Yoshi can go without food but she has some weight to spare around the rear end. The kitten is in my bedroom for now. I am really hoping Yoshi will finally get so hungry she will give up. I am trying to stay positive and visualize the results I want out of this. Yet, there is a little tiny part of me that wonders if Yoshi could starve herself to death out of spite.

I thank you all for the most excellent name suggestions. I took the ones I liked and tried them out and ended up going with one I had written down many weeks ago when I started this whole adoption process. So with a nod of recognition and imitation-is-the-sincerest-form-of-flattery acknowledgement to Torrie and her pooch I have decided to call the kitten Dexter. Dexter von Cheddar. It simply suited him the best.

Dexter purrs constantly. I am totally serious. He purrs when he plays, when he snuggles, when he is getting a huge vaccination in his neck, when you accidentally step on him... The vet couldn't hear his heart because he wouldn't stop purring. When I lay on the couch with him he will walk up my body and throw his furry self onto my face drooling with purrs and joy. Settling in under my chin for a snooze is his favourite thing. So cute. He is absolutely the sweetest, bravest, cutest kitten. He loves everybody and is not remotely shy or scared.

Thank God because Yoshi will try to break his spirit after she finishes with mine.

Making Biscuits on Yoshi's Bed.
She Won't Sleep On It Now.

Den of Despair

One Of Those 'Life' Posts Filled With Questions That Have No Answers And Lots Of ' Marks

Do you ever find yourself in the same difficult and perplexing situations over and over again? You start to wonder if the universe is trying to teach you something or it is some heinous personal defect since the only constant element in all these situations is you.

Or in this case, me.

My particular situation is that am finding it increasingly difficult to be in the company of people.

I have a couple things going against me. First of all I have terrible social anxiety complicated by some pretty weird phobias. Any social situation is pretty agonizing on most levels. Secondly I am very sensitive to the emotions of others and so called ‘vibes’. Just very aware of the undercurrents of most interactions. Some therapists think this is why I have such bad anxiety. It is like I am lacking some sort of protective life filter.

That is another consideration as well. I’ve had a lot of therapy. A LOT. Some really bad but mostly good. I’ve learned a great deal about myself and the various limits and problems I deal with daily and as a result I am also able to recognize various psychological ‘issues’ (pronounced ithews) in others.

Let me give you an example. I have some family members who bicker a lot at family gatherings. You know, insults with smiling faces. They would also talk poorly about other family members behind their backs. When I first started seeing these people socially I would become seriously depressed for a day or two afterwards. On a couple occasions I was even teary. It got to the point where I would decline invitations to be social with them. With a couple therapy sessions I came to realize that bickering is the way some families show affection. Certainly not how I am comfortable with showing affection but each to their own, right? And I also learned that I could very subtly and politely show that I was not accepting of the negative talk about other family members. It totally worked and I am now able to be social with these people again.

The fact is that I was not raised to be assertive at all. I was raised to be ‘good’ and we all know that being ‘good’ often means being a doormat. For years I have not stood up for myself when being treated poorly and have swallowed all the emotions that go along with that. No wonder I have depression and anxiety, right? It is only in the last few years that I have stood up for myself and become pretty open about how I am feeling and, especially, how I want to be treated. As when anybody learns a new skill it is not always performed perfectly but overall I am happy with these changes. I’ve learned that not only am I a pretty quirky outspoken person with people I know and trust but in fact a leader in many respects opposed to the follower I always thought I was.

But here is the thing; I still am not sure how to deal with people who hold back from me. I’ve had a few friends/family members/acquaintances who I could sense were annoyed, displeased, or outright angry with me and for whatever reason couldn’t tell me so. I trust my gut that I am right about this and can probably guess what I had said or done to make them feel this way. Usually it is that I have an opinion that differs from theirs or have done something that they disagree with. And fair enough. I am happy to say that I am ok with all this and am totally happy to be disagreed with. I can safely be sure that I’ve not done or said anything out of malice or anger. Or it might simply be a misunderstanding. But they won’t tell me. They just start treating me differently. Sometimes it is just a feeling and sometimes it is outright passive aggressive behavior. In any case I just don’t know how to talk to somebody who cannot tell me what is wrong. And I hate being afraid to be myself and have my opinions and own ideas when I think they clearly are uncomfortable with that.

A few years back I had a very good friend who I met at work. We totally hit it off and became very close very quickly. We had a blast hanging out and were very similar in many ways. I totally trusted her and really felt like she had my back. After a couple years she seemed to be having some problems at work. I tried very hard to be supportive but found it very hard to know how to do that. So I just tried to listen and agree with her feelings. A few months went by and her behavior towards me started to change. I’d ask her if everything was ok and she’d say it was just work. But I knew it wasn’t. Unfortunately she decided to bring up everything that had been bothering her about me while we were on vacation together. Stuff that had happened over a year or two in the past and unto itself not a big deal but over time it had festered within her until it became so overwhelming she damned near lost her freaking mind. Her behavior scared me and after she brought up personal stuff I’d trusted her with and thought she accepted me for (mostly about the limits of my anxiety disorder) and then threw it in my face I knew I couldn’t save the friendship and I’ve never spoken to her since.

I hate that it got so out of hand. I really missed her but ironically not as much as I thought I would as I didn’t realize until I was out of the friendship how much I had to tippy-toe around her ‘stuff’. It was somewhat a relief in many ways to have her out of my life.

So what do you do when you just wish your friends/family/aquaintances would come out and say what they are feeling? How do you deal when you feel like you can’t be straight with them or else they will disengage or ‘punish’ you in some way?

Is this a common situation with friends and acquaintances or am I just some crazy lady? Is being up-front, honest with how I am feeling, and willing to talk about how we can agree to disagree maybe not a good thing?

Being with people is hard.

Well On My Way To Crotchetyoldwomanville

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

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

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

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

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

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

Crush Your Cat's Head Friday-Being Flexible About The Friday Part

So I took some video of when I dog-sat lat week. I wanted to do a little movie for you all but with a recent update of my Quicktime plugins I now cannot do anything unless I 'BUY NOW" the whole software package. Not to mention the fact that no other programs on my computer recognize the Quicktime movie format (MOV) all of a sudden. DAMMIT!

So here is a plain old unedited video for you. You'll need sound to get the full effects of Yoshi's discontent.

The Silence of the Hamstrings

I’ve never been one for video games nor do I salivate over the latest technology. I can’t say I’m afraid of it but have more of a certain distrust of The Hype and a desire to keep life pretty simple. I also don’t have a lot of disposable income. So the other day I noticed Dooce was giving away some Wii Fit sets and I immediately started to covet. Sadly being a Canadian resident I am not eligible for the contest. However, I suddenly decided that I desperately neeeeeed one of these things. Admittedly I’ve never tried one. I’ve never actually seen one in the shiny and plastic-y flesh. But for some reason I am absolutely convinced that this, THIS contraption is the key to my physical fitness reform.

I have a long and sordid affair with exercise that has left me wary as well as emotionally and physically beaten. It all started when I was born. I don’t have any other reason why I was never really adventurous physically or competitive on any level other than it has got to be missing from my DNA. Kids in the playground would run around screaming their fool heads off swinging on monkey bars and flinging their bodies in all sorts of dangerous ways and I was the one sitting off to the side with a book. As a child I was cautious and always afraid to get hurt. Perhaps it was that I was very small and not very strong. Or maybe it was that I was a city kid who wasn’t exposed to the great outdoors a lot. In any case I was, from an early age, an obvious target for ridicule and torment by ‘regular’ kids.

When I was 10 years old we moved from the city centre into a suburb and the new school had a very different type of Phys Ed curriculum. Specifically it was much more competitive, team based and not at all user friendly for geeky little wimps like me. Very soon I found myself caught up in a nightmare of bullying-verbal, physical and even, frankly, sexual from my classmates. It certainly didn’t help that my PE teacher laughed at my expense frequently and quickly nicknamed me ‘Useless’ in front of my peers. It got so bad that my younger brother soon was identified by this teacher as ‘Useless’s Brother’ and eventually transferred into a completely different school as following in the footsteps of my academic reputation was too unbearable to contemplate.

Some highlights of my PE classes were team captains arguing over who would NOT get to have me on their team. I also was kicked in the face causing my front tooth to crack and called a wuss when I asked to go to the school nurse. Good times. I could go on an on but I fear, should I do so, I may eventually find myself in the corner of my closet weeping and viciously stabbing my lone dusty pair of running shoes.

Later I was diagnosed with asthma which explained why my stamina wasn’t so hot but it didn’t take long before I was dreading PE to the point of other physical symptoms. Once at the doctor office I begged to be excused from PE class due to some small ailment. The doc sensed my desperation and asked me some pointed questions. I explained everything with tears rolling down my face and he wrote me a note excusing me from PE for the rest of my school life. And then the angels sang and the weight of the entire 6^th grade co-ed second period PE class was lifted from my shoulders. Literally.

A year or so went by and I joined a friendly neighbourhood girls softball team with much encouragement from my friends (AKA: peer pressure) and assurances (from my deluded parents) that it was all about having fun and it is not whether you win or lose but…say it now, people…how you play the game. I hated it and I totally sucked at it but I tried to be a good sport and did my very best, which was, obviously, not very good at all. Then one day I overheard the coaches talking about how they thought our team was ahead enough to put me on the field. I was so crushed and embarrassed and learned that for most obsessively competitive folk sportsmanship was a load of bullshit and even pot-bellied middle-aged coaches of girls softball teams only cared about winning.

So now I am an adult and as much I know that all that happened in the past is over and the bullies were a bunch of ass-wipes who are now probably meth addicts or in jail I STILL dread any kind of sports or exercise. I dread it, dread it, DREEEEEEAAAD EEEEET! I become paralyzed and absolutely refuse to participate in any kind of organized sports and fall into a shame spiral at the thought of working out.

I’ve tried all sorts of fitness regiments and I either hate it, can’t afford it, or I hurt myself. Damaged rotator cuffs and shin splints. I think I even broke my axel once. Pinched nerves and pulled muscles. $25 individual yoga classes which make you sweat. Crowded and smelly gyms where it is more about getting picked-up than getting fit. Driving in traffic and costly parking fees for specialty fitness centres catering to us gals who are chunky and just really want to be left alone when we copiously sweat while doing puny exercises with eeensy teensy weights. All of it = FAIL!

I get discouraged easily and bored almost immediately. And being prone to panic attacks in crowded and noisy places doesn’t help. But I have to GET OFF MY ASS! Some way, somehow. I’m putting on weight, I have arthritis in my foot and my right upper body is so stiff and sore from all my breast re-construction surgery even getting started on anything is daunting. I can’t even say I am out of shape as that would imply I once was fit. It feels like a lose/lose situation and I am not talking about the saddlebags below my hips.

But what? WHAT? What is out there for me that isn’t too hard, too expensive or too humiliating in some way?

And that is where the Wii Fit comes in. Yes, it is more than I can afford but it is certainly cheaper than a year’s gym membership. Bowling, boxing, tennis and yoga…interactive style! All sorts of fun stuff that I couldn’t and wouldn’t normally do right at my fingertips along with goals to set and achieve. My own little white cubic fitness instructor! It sounds like it just might work. Is this Wii Fit thing the way to go for a fitness-phobe like me?

FINALLY! *

So I’ve been a little sick the last few days. It started out like strep throat which, of course, hit me during our Canadian long weekend. By the time my doc’s office was open again the lurgy had morphed into a cold where antibiotics were useless. It was a weird and wonderful sniffle where I’d suddenly cough until I gagged and I’d sweat until drenched. My voice warbled, my tummy grumbled and I was very out of sorts. One of those kinds of viruses that make you feel like ass but don’t quite knock you on it. Being upright felt terrible but lying in bed was worse; really boring.

While I missed a much needed haircut and a consultation for laser hair removal (what a sexy theme) I did manage to go an ‘Emergency Preparedness’ seminar at my local community centre. I was asked to attend as I am on-call for a week every month or so for emergency situations in my apartment building. We don’t have an on-site manager after business hours so some tenants, including me, were hired to be available if the shit hits the fan. Figuratively. If any real shit hits any actual fan and causes a big mess then that is the tenant’s problem and isn’t considered a real emergency and, therefore, not my responsibility. However, if the fecal collision causes fire, flood or injury then I’m the one who calls the authorities and lets them into the building.

So what I thought was an informal chat about general emergency situations turned out to be an emotional plea from a uniformed fireman to get it into our thick heads that an earthquake, THE BIG ONE, was imminent and we should all GET PREPARED!

Now if you live on the West Coast you have heard your whole life that there is going to be a HUGE earthquake; sometime between the next minute and 600 years. This sort of time-frame doesn’t really light a Boy Scout fire under my butt to ‘Be Prepared’ with any kind of urgency.

Well sisters and brothers, after 4 hours in gory detail of what to expect when (not IF, dammit, but whennnnnnn…) The Big One hits I have been converted. I am now a card carrying fear monger. I’ve been spreading the anxiety to others and, to practice what I preach, spending the last few days compiling my emergency kit and making list of what I need to know to survive in the urban wilderness sans water, food and a toilet.

In the past, when thinking about what I would do in event of an actual earthquake I have to admit to assuming that, yeah, there will be a jiggle or two and I could just wander down to the local community centre, my nearest emergency resource location, and get water, food and medical assistance as I needed. Even seeing all the terrible news footage of the big California quake in the 90’s and what happened after Katrina I still managed to blame that on crappy building codes and stupid government policy. I rationalized that the Canadian government actually took care of its citizens and that we (the grand yet ambiguous we) had our shit together and would be taken care of.

Oh ho! Soooooo not the case. Denial was my bedmate but now I sleep alone. Afraid and alone. All sorts of acronyms were thrown at me but the one that sticks in my mind the most is YOYO. That, my friends, translates to You’re On Your Own. I learned that it will be at least 72 hours, if not several days, before anybody can expect any kind of assistance from authorities and aide workers. OMG! That means unless you provide the basics for yourself you are SOL. And if that is the case nobody will be there to hear your whining so STFU. Also BYOB. I packed water but vodka would work too.

So many interesting points were brought up, yet the one foremost in my mind was the suggestion to pack garbage bags into your emergency kit as it is likely your toilets will no longer work and you basically have to poop somewhere. Fabulous. The Bag of Shame.

* Um, actually this post is about a week old and I still have to catch you all up on even more recent news. Also my Bloglines isn't working right so I have to catch up on all your blogs as well. Bear with me. I'll be around, I promise.

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.

Crush Your Cat's Head Friday-Trollie Goodness

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

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

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

Well...crack my shit up!

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

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

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

Admitting that will probably get me arrested...

Dude. Chillax.

Right of Passage

I was not so fondly recollecting all my past wounds and woes a while ago and suddenly came to a startling realization; I am half cursed. Not wholly, completely or utterly cursed but only demi cursed. Specifically on my right side. If something is going to go wrong with me it disproportionately happens to the right side of my body.

For instance:

-Back in my college grocery gal days I pulled my right lower back and sprained my right wrist. I also got carpal tunnel syndrome in my right wrist after a couple years. Most of this can be explained as I am right handed so that side of my body would suffer the most wear and tear.

-Same when I got attacked by the huge dog. It ripped a chunk out of my right forearm and right foot. Also logical as you’d think that is what arm and leg I’d use to protect myself first therefore being first in the line of fire. But the dog also bit my left arm and didn’t break the skin.

-Once I fell and sprained my right foot. I’ve never sprained my left foot or wrist or anything on my left side at all.

-Then about 9 years ago I noticed a lump forming under the right side of my jaw which was diagnosed as an AVM. Had that surgically removed with no problems and didn’t think much of it.

-Then I was diagnosed with breast cancer. You guessed it. RIGHT BOOB!

-Recently I wrote about how I got the eyelid herp on…MY RIGHT EYE!

-Just a couple weeks ago I had to get a bone scan due to right foot pain which turns out to be arthritis. I am a little young for it but since it is on my right side I am not shocked at all.

-I nearly forgot to mention that when I get migraine headaches it is always on the right side of my head. Always.

-Then last week I got a staph infection on my thumb. Wait for it…MY RIGHT THUMB. And from that pain and stiffness has been creeping into my other fingers. Serves me right for hanging out at so many hospitals and clinics.

What the frick is this all about? Do I need to sprinkle salt on my right side? Or Holy Water, perhaps? Do I get a half price deal for a shaman to bless my right side? Do I have to do something about the left hemisphere of my brain to benefit my right bits?

Anybody got a theory?

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-The Wrath, Oh The Wrath

So a few of you have asked me what is wrong with Yoshi due to my Yoshi Barf Watch updates on Twitter.

Lulu my Almost Dog is staying over until next Tuesday. Her momma and pappy are in Winnipeg and her sister dog Xiola is at her Grandma’s house. Lulu doesn’t like Grandma’s lab puppy so she is hanging out with me.

As usual Yoshi is pitching a fit. I will be videoing her operatic discontent for your viewing pleasure next week. If she wasn’t so miserable it would be funny.

Who am I kidding? It is funny.

When I brought Lulu home that first time Yoshi stopped eating and started puking in protest. Hence Barf Watch and Hunger Strike news.

This is how things stand now:

Yoshi ate fairly normally on Thursday, the first day Lulu arrived. By evening her Hunger Strike was in full force. However no hurling.

Today I took Lulu out of the house for 7 hours hoping Yoshi would eat and chill the fuck out. No such luck. When I got home I tempted her with tuna which she got very excited about and gobbled down. So much so that she immediately puked it up. She ate some more and that seems to be staying down. For now…

Yoshi-1
Off white carpet-0

Lulu will be here until Tuesday night. Let’s hope Yoshi can cope until then without popping a neck vein. I’ve fattened her up over the last couple weeks so she has calories to spare right now. But will it be enough…

Just now Yoshi walked within about 6 inches of Lulu and hissed and spit right in her face. Lulu ran to me for protection. I praised them both.

Don’t judge me!

This may or may not be a brand new teddy squeaky toy bought to compensate for all the hating aimed in her direction...

Crush Your Cat's Head Friday-MY HEAD is in Jeopardy Today

I’ve never claimed to be a patient person but right at this moment I am losing my fucking mind. So much so that Yoshi is in danger of a head crushing for reals. After my own head explodes.

Ok, here is the thing.

I went to sign-in to my Flickr account today and was immediately diverted to a Yahoo sign-in page. Ok, whatever. I know all about how these sites buy each other out so I did what they told me and signed into my Yahoo! account. It then took me to a page where it asked if I wanted to start up a new Flickr account or associate my old one with my Yahoo! account. Well, obviously, yes, I would very much like to merge the two accounts opposed to starting up a new one. So it asked me to provide my Flickr account ID and password to do that.

This is where it gets very ugly.

I have all my log-ins and passwords saved per Windows XP’s auto-prompt security feature so I haven’t actually had to physically type in my Flickr info since I started the account a few years ago. But for some reason when prompted this time to log into Flickr my computer didn’t automatically fill in my info. I had to do it manually.

No biggie because to keep things simple I use the same email address and password for pretty much everything frivolous like this. I know this is supposedly dangerous but I figure if anybody wants to hack into my Flickr account and mess with my Yoshi costume pics they can do it. It would probably crack me up more than annoy me.

So I entered my info and Flickr told me that it was wrong.

This is slightly possible as it has been a couple years since I had to type in this info myself and I might have done something different password-wise that long ago in a fit of originality. Yet I am about 95% sure I’ve got the right password. Sadly I am just not very original that often.

Well, it gives you the option to click on that dreaded “Lost Your Password?” link where you have to answer a bitch million questions to retrieve your info. So I did that and it gave me my info. Except it is the ID and password to my Yahoo! account and not my Flickr one.

WTF!?!

I tried it anyway to see if they had automatically merged my two accounts together and they now both had the same password but they don’t. It doesn’t work. I still get prompted to enter my original Flickr password etc. WHICH ALSO DOES NOT WORK!!! Because it is apparently wrooooooooonnnnggggg!

I have now entered a cyclic hell of internet password angst. I cannot access my Flickr page anymore and I cannot seem to find the right path to get that crucial info retrieved.

Can somebody heeeeeeellpp meeeee and get my frickin’ blood pressure down? I’ll bake you cookies!

Yoshi's New Favourite Sleeping Position:

Hiding Head From Potential Crushing

Who Needs Fiction When You Have This Kind of Life.

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

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

So I was in this suburban mall parking lot.

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

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

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

Sadly I cannot because she is blocking meeeeeeeee.

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

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

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

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

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

Oh! OK!

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

Me: So what are your dogs’ names?

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

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

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

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

Lady: (singsong voice) We knooooooowwww!

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

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

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

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

Crush Your Cat's Head Friday-On Strike

Yoshi here again. I refuse to come out from under the bed (except to post this important notice) because my stooopid Food Hag brought over two ugly and dumb dogs for the whole frickin' day! My dinner was 3 hours late and my mom is covered in dog fur. She also smells.

So I am boycotting a photograph today and will only consider posing over the weekend if the following demands are met:

-1 (one) can of tuna served in 2 (two) installments for my dinner.
-uninterrupted use of the lap.
-my litter box scooped every hour on the hour.
-scratching of my chin combined with light bum spankings on demand.
-unrestricted access to all hair clips and elastics.
-undying devotion of all mortals.

Only if all my demands are met will I attend a photo shoot. If any of these conditions are not met in a timely manner I will penalize My Slave by pooping in her shoe.

Your co-operation is greatly appreciated.

However, I still hate you.

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

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

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

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

Oh…my…god…

And the damned shoes never made it on screen anyway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

Memories of Summers Past

Many MANY years ago when I lived in my parent’s basement I was working in my jewellery studio at some ungodly late hour when my dad came creeping downstairs holding my brother’s old childhood air rifle. He asked me if I had heard any strange noises outside in the back yard. I totally had not because I was not only using my jewellers’ drill thingy but I also had some sort of music cranked up pretty loud.

I turned down my music and grabbed my trusty pepper spray from my purse ready to kick some thief ass and have another great father/daughter bonding moment. I joined my dad at the back door with our ears to the crack trying to hear if anybody was trying to break into the cars or worse, into the house itself. We crouched down in a commando stance and whipped the basement door open hoping to surprise any criminal in the act.

Nobody there.

We had just straightened up grinning at each other over our excessive worry and reaction when in a blur of grey a wee kitten Yoshi streaked through our legs and out into the yard.

Yoshi was not allowed to be out at night as the neighbourhood had raccoons and even coyotes which would make kitten chow out of her in seconds.

We ran out chasing her and she hid under a bush just out of reach. I put my little spray bottle in my pants front pocket and crouched down to coax her out…

PFFFFST! I pepper sprayed my groin.

I had forgotten to flick the safety switch back on.

We got Yoshi inside and I spent the rest of the night lying on my bed with a cool wet facecloth over my crotchal area.

So if you cannot aim at an attacker’s eyes I can assure you spraying their private parts will work pretty good too.