It’s Sunday and I just finished eating this steak-like dinner. It refer to it as steak-like because its original composition was a juicy, t-bone cut, however, after forgetting about it in the oven it came out like something closer to what a Birkenstock marinated in Lea & Perrins would taste like – Chewy but flavourful. Plus, it’s red meat and a good lady needs red meat at certain times.

This day has gone by quite lackadaisically. Had brunch at T.Mo’s place this mornternoon (thank-you T.Mo) and was sprightly with her on the backyard trampoline while we talked about various meandering thoughts out loud.

When finished, I head home with big plans for nothing to do in my head. It was the most fantastic thing. First thing I did upon arrival was sit in the middle of my sofa, feet on coffee table and just stare at my black television. I sat there for a while waiting to see if perhaps an idea would come to mind. Which it didn’t – not at that time. So I made my way into my bedroom; a place where I catch my deepest breaths. It’s quite a charming place. I stripped down and lay down; my sheets had this kind of cool, creamy feeling that put me to sleep almost instantly. An afternoon nap had commenced on account of not having anything to do.

I awoke at precisely 4:20 and didn’t get high, but I did lay still for a while. I could hear Marshall & Otis stirring outside the door and someone outside was ringing clothes in from a squeaky line. I began to visualize my living room for some reason and eventually narrowed it down to an image of my dining-room table (which in actual fact is a computer table, that I use for neither dining, nor computing) and my collection of unfinished canvas ideas. One in particular came to light as clear as if I were right in front of my easel and it looked complete. I took this to mean I needed to paint this afternoon and wandered into my living room to do just that.

As a tangential side-note – I find a lot of my impediments to completing these paintings stem from a dislike of the actual set-up, then tear-down of my art space. I would love to be good and focused enough to complete a painting in say, four sessions; but it’s never the way with me. I have a HUGE fear of screwing up that I think I’ve actually convinced myself that if I stop the painting the moment I fall in love with it then I leave no opportunity to bungle it up. I leave it where I love it and omit the chance of hating it. Then, this business of complaining about the set-up and tear-down is really just complementary to the hardship I cause myself by fearing artistic failure. It’s so funny that I do this because I don’t fixate on such things in any other aspect of my life. I very much just do.

People see my paintings and say, “Forget about failing, just finish them.” My reply is usually non-verbal and I just stare at whichever one we’re discussing until the silence explains everything and we move on to something else. The truth is just that… I really don’t know how to answer why.

Today I began painting books into a bookshelf. I cleared my head and just painted them. I let go of the pressure of perfection I put on myself and just painted. I’m going to take a photo and post it now – so I have a bit of accountability to the painting. I appoint my readers to hold me accountable to just finishing this. Okay? We work together.

Before today this painting was sitting this very way, sans books, for approx eight months. Eight months! Today I’ve accomplished nine roughed-in books. Maybe tomorrow I’ll finish the first shelf with rough books. Yes, that’s what I’ll do.

Painting brought me pretty well up to the moment I decided I wanted to eat my steak. Yes, if you do the math it took me about three hours to paint nine books. That’s three books an hour, twenty minutes a book. I suppose that’s okay for me as I only have my own progress to compare to. I may finish the rest of the shelf more efficiently now that I got the pages going the right way. The perspective was really off at first – thankfully oil paints are so forgiving. My steak cooked while I scrubbed my brushes, then I noticed a smell and realised I had been scrubbing for far too long and opened the oven only to be cloaked in over-cooked steak smoke. I nearly sprained a jaw eating much of my dinner but the fatty edging tasted so crispy and delectable. I completed the evening doing 60 sit-ups on my living room floor and here I am about to finish the sentence my post title started with.

… is how to shoot somebody who outdrew ya.

Think about it.

It’s a lyric from k.d. lang’s version of Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah. The original misses out on some brilliance that k.d.’s touched this song with. I’ve posted the link on my Facebook but will share it, with another song right now.

Some triv pour vous: This version is from the 2005 Junos in Winnipeg. This particular performance garnered her a two-minute standing o. As well, Leonard Cohen and his partner Anjani Thomas once heard k.d. sing Hallelujah and collectively decided that Hallelujah could actually be put to rest as it had reached perfection. That’s quite the accolade but she deserves it. I think this song was written for her to sing. Hallelujah | k.d. lang

Secondly, please enjoy Jeff Buckley singing Lover, You Should’ve Come Over. Lovely, beautiful Jeff Buckley – another in the collection of musical souls lost much, much too soon – accidentally drowned one night swimming in Wolf River Harbour while singing the chorus to Zeppelin’s Whole Lotta Love.

Hear this song and think of a winter night. It has to be a cold, winter night – you’re not in the tropics – you light the fireplace but keep the room dark otherwise then get into the most comfortable position you can think of – it’s probably best if there is another body beside you – then close your eyes and be silent for a while.

Sundays | Summertime

This Sunday Jam’s right on schedule for once and perfect because it’s the Sundays singing Summertime.

O. o. Oooh. Mmmm. It is summertime. Like, full-swing summer times. I remember lamenting rain not too long go. What was that all about? I have so much to write about I’m not sure where to begin. In addition I am up past my bedtime but made the mistake of drinking a Coke about two hours ago and now it might as well be 10:AM. My mind’s telling me no, but my body.. my body’s telling me yes …

(that’s from Bump n’ Grind; I can’t make stuff like that up)

Shall I recap?

Gee and I boat trip to Sechelt for some RnR in June as seen here:

We were lying on the grass under the sun under blankets because the wind was brisk.

Gee disturbs my peace.

Then visits me under my blanket.

It’s like crabs in the bucket, but not really.

I found this to be one of the proudest wolf bust lamps I’ve ever seen.

Gee demonstrates “engrossed.”

If there was ever a Cutest Cemetery I’ve Ever Seen contest, this one would be my entry.

William’s in the photo holding their catch of the day, standing beside who he would have likely referred to as “a great catch.”

I’m kind of like, “Let me try engrossed now.”

My sweater won the Sweater of the Weekend award.

Once upon at time this was a floating Grocery Store, Pizza, Coffee Shop-type thing.

Grade 5 Chris came for Canada Day times. He lives in Arizona now but spent both Canada and Independence Day in Canada. I mean, obviously.

It was sometimes like we were in grade 5 again. But, that could have been my fault.

It’s hard to make a photo of this nature look genuine.

These guys were so easy-going.

Some pretty art along the sidewalk.

To Cathy, Chris is grade 3 Chris.

A really small W. Erskine Johnston Elementary School reunion.

I then went Jericho-ing with T.Mo and Keira.

© Keira

© Keira

© Keira

© Keira

So a week later, Hannes is in town from Mexico where he is studying Spanish while on an extended vacation from his home country of Switzerland.

Which now brings me to this past weekend. I had Kate’s puppy, Penny with me all weekend. The most precious Penny.

This morning I hauled Penny and all my purge-ables over to Cathy & Kyle’s in the hopes of making some cash at their multi-family yard sale. I sold nary a dollar, not even a quarter. But, I had fun and so did the dogs and the kids… and I was in the sun eating cookies, Cheezies, watermelon, and pink lemonade. Who needs money?

In Coquitlam dogs can actually float. It’s the neatest thing.

“The doggy licked my hand.”

Muffin loves how a half-off nightie makes her look like a flower.

Penny and Buddy demonstrate how to properly share a tennis ball.

My niece and my nephew whom I babysit.

Perfect Penny.

Claws on the inner arm feel so good.

So I’m kind of in the middle of these two dogs…

And after a hard morning of yard-sale’ing, Gee and I make for the beach. Kits this time.

While Gee read Barbara Wawa’s autobiography, I entertained myself with the latest GQ using a little treasure I found.

Baby crab-leg Imperial.

Baby crab-leg Pancho Villa.

Baby crab-leg Mono Brau.

Baby crab-leg Barrette.

Baby crab-leg Slip on Thumb Party Trick.

Please stop.

I think about my blog sometimes and my thoughts are usually something like: I wish I could think of something to write in my blog.

This weekend has already come and gone. It’s already 10:18 PM on Sunday night and I look back and feel like only an hour ago I was leaving work on Friday.

We did have a beautiful day on Saturday though, that day felt like it was around for 24 hours. Every other day though was pretty well blurry.

I brought Marscapone home Thursday right after work after his 48 hour stay at the clinic. I had visited with him Wednesday night where he basically held me tight for 45 minutes straight while he fell asleep on my shoulder.

The vet techs told me Marshall was such a nice boy. They taught me how to administer Subcutaneous Fluid Therapy (aka, sub-Q) to Marshall as well. We even did a trial injection. This is something that is going to become a part of our lives until the end.

At the clinic, during our trial injection, it was the three of us. At home, it’s just me. Me and a 1000 mL bag of Lactated Ringer’s Solution, an IV line, and a needle, plus Marshall, of course. Otis doesn’t really care to help but I don’t really blame him.

Our first attempt was in my bed. I figure the more comfortable he is, the better. At the clinic the needle slid right in so in my over confidence I was expecting the same ease. Poor Marshall turned into my feline pin cushion. So much for this comfortable position he was in. I felt like the biggest asshole finally getting my third poke into his scruff properly. He was semi-okay shortly after it was in although clearly not entirely at peace.

The techs had told me to hold the needle in place with my left hand while holding the bag with my right and at the same time squeezing it so the fluid gets into his skin faster vs the drip method like an IV. I remember the very moment Marshall noticed something strange was occurring in the subcutaneous layers of his neck and he jolted upward and attempted to walk away while he was still connected to the IV line. So I’m stretching across my bed trying to prevent him from jumping off thus risking sending the streaming needle in who knows what direction while at the same time trying to keep a steady flow through the bag.

The prescribed amount was 150 mL, I got in about half that before giving up because it just got so clumsy and precarious that if I had continued that process any longer one of us would have ended up tumbling off my bed.

Note to self: Don’t perform sub-Q on bed.

Today was our scheduled 2nd therapy treatment. This time he was passed out against the arm of my sofa. I tested his scruff accessibility in the position he was in and it was decent. So I practiced forming the tent of scruff that the techs had showed me. Marshall started purring – poor thing had no idea what I was about to do to him. This time, the needle went in all the way but he shifted his shoulder and it went on this weird angle and in realising this happened I attempted to squeeze the bag double hard to get as much in as possible before he knew its positioning was weird which then surprised him and up he shot again and froze for about 5 seconds while he tried to make sense of what the hell was going on then proceeded to jump off the sofa. I had to let him go that time.

We took about a 4 hour break when I realised that it was imperative that we make today’s therapy flawless because he only had half of what he was supposed to have two days ago.

Back on the sofa my Marshall was again and this time I decided I was going to do this procedure my own way. I looped the bag around the hook of a hanger and hung the bag from my floor lamp – just like my very own IV stand. Marshall let me massage and knead his scruff again only this time he was doing this kind of corner-of-the-eye staring game with me and began to purr with hesitation. I told him I was sorry and with one swift poke in the needle went. This time I kind of lay lightly on top of him and immediately started scratching his chin and forehead with both my hands while the bag dripped on its own time.

This was a MUCH more relaxing way to administer the sub-Qs for both of us. I don’t care if it took 5 minutes, I was able to get all 150 mL in and Marshall only tried to wriggle away once and I think it’s because his back paw was a little twisted under my weight.

It’s really interesting looking at a cat with sub-Q under its skin. He looked like Quasimodo a bit. He had this huge pouch of fluid sitting above his shoulder blades that felt as soft and squishy as what I imagine a saline breast implant would feel like, only covered with cat fur. Pretty, eh?

Apparently as the cat moves around so will the water under their skin and because gravity pulls things down then I am to expect that at least once the water will travel down his legs and he’ll look like he has elephant legs, only covered with … cat fur.

Cute.

I swear, this cat will survive based on my neuroses alone.

I don’t care though, I’d do anything for my boys.

This has been a difficult journey that began only 6 days ago. Part of me hopes it never ends.

Marshall’s life will be forever changed. Chronic Renal Failure will be terminal. The when is the missing piece now that I’m not going to focus on. Just my Marshy and the pure happiness he brings me.

We’ve got the Queen of Soul here. Aretha Franklin. Now, tell me this song doesn’t send shivers down your spine. That’s Whitney’s ma in the background, too. Ain’t No Way. I just find her so fantastic.

Some photos for reflection:

Marshall was admitted with his kidneys functioning at 5-7%. They had lost over 90% of their functioning. As a result of this, toxins were building up in his body which resulted in the ulceration of the inside of his poor, kitty mouth.

Looking at these again makes me feel like crying. He was so sick. My heart was in such agony for the first three days, it actually shocked me.

Home again. Phew.

Ooh, oopsie. My blog has taken a backseat to my living, breathing life. Actually it could have even been straggling behind my living, breathing life for a backseat would mean it’s still relatively close in thought but it really wasn’t.

At any rate, I’ve had a busy month or so and it’s funny because if I look back at one of my more recent posts, where I started doing that puzzle like a grandma, things were just plodding along then. Although I can tell you the exact moment life livened because it was when I finally finished that puzzle and realised I only had 499 of the 500 pieces. 99.8% of that damn puzzle was complete. It was such a crushing disappointment. I had been committing my evenings and early Saturday mornings to such a relaxing past time only to have it conclude on such a farcical and ass-chapping note. I swear I immediately got down on my stomach and slithered around every nook and cranny of my living room floor. It’s a good thing I live alone sometimes.

You’re probably picturing this harried, possessed, maniac writhing all over like a rabid ferret …

As a side note, don’t ever do this to your ferret. It’s weird.

But, let me explain… in many ways this would be considered maniacal behaviour. However, my mood never escalates to the point of complementing what my body is physically doing. So although it may look strange to the average person, I am actually very calm and purposeful in my mind. I probably get it from my mother. She once came home from a date to her water and smoke damaged home and her front tree smoking and crackling. She drove up and said, “Well I’m really happy now that I had such a nice date.”

I did go as far as cutting open my vacuum cleaner bag. There was enough cat hair in there to create a third and fourth cat and enough dust to create a bunny for them to play with. I found my favourite pen, some bobby pins, but no blasted puzzle piece.

I left that 99.8% complete puzzle sitting on my coffee table two weeks after that because I couldn’t bring myself to break it up and put it back in the box just in case by some miracle it turned up.

Kenny arrived at the end of the second week on Sunday. I still attended to my scheduled domestic responsibilities but this time had a helper. “Good. Reminds me of when we lived together; I’m glad I came.” He said in a not very nostalgic tone.

Kenny helped by using his big muscles to lift up my furniture while keeping his eye on Britain’s Peep Show he was streaming from the Internet. Lo and behold there was that cursed puzzle piece wedged under the far leg of my sofa! Only Kenny knows me well enough to accept that those tears in my eyes were confirmation of the level of absurdity I am capable of reaching and luckily he’s okay with that. I completed the puzzle and we tore it down about 5 minutes later.

So Kenny stayed for a week and we adventured around and lounged around. It was nice having him around. He left on a Friday and I flew home to Ottawa that Wednesday for a little four day jaunt. I just got back this past Monday night and I’m adjusting to simplicity, serenity, and autonomy again. I didn’t go through my usual withdrawals and feelings of vacancy that I get when I normally return from home. I think the reason I can feel that way is because of how surrounded I am with family and friends every single day that when I return to my apartment-for-one, on the other end of the country, life can all of the sudden seem overly still and eerily quiet. This time it didn’t feel like that which was fantastic. It might have helped that Vancouver’s weather has been so beautiful to welcome me. There is always something so redeeming about sunshine and a skyline that’s embossed with a luscious mountain range.

This trip home was nice because I caught up with two friends I haven’t seen in at least 7 years. One was actually a bouncer I met when I was an over-zealous teenager abusing my body by going out three nights a week and staying out until five o’clock in the morning. I was 18, underage, he was a bouncer. Sounds like a country song. So after we became grown ups there was no reason to see each other three times a week anymore. He went on to become a cop, I went on to … find myself, and here we are, still in touch after 15 years.

The other was a girl friend from 1st year college in the Advertising program. Neither of us were ready at the time to handle such an intense and immense workload let alone know if this was really what we wanted out of our lives so we didn’t return to second year. We remained friends but eventually relationships get in the way of frequency. She went on to get married and have babies, I … got disengaged and moved across the country that same year. I’ve watched her daughters grow on Facebook so it was wonderful to see her family in person.

I spent a lot of my time at home feeling guilty for having to tell people I couldn’t connect. I tried so hard but the days were just so short. On mother’s day I left so early in the morning to say bye to Chelsy and her family, then Shannon and her family, then lunch with my dad, then to reunite with my old classmate, that I didn’t even see my own mother until 6:30 that evening. Oi.

I suppose I’ll end this now. I’ve been typing it over this last day or so I don’t even know how fragmented it’s going to seem when I actually publish it. Perhaps I will distract and overwhelm you with some photos over the last couple of weeks now.

Oh and Frigs! worth mentioning:

Frigging Home Depot!
Frigging Vancouver Canucks!
Frigging Gulf of Mexico Oil Spill!
Frigging Landslide in Quebec!
Frigging Graham James!

Here’s your Sunday Jammin’ Song on a Thursday.

A young woman who died much too soon. I would have given anything to be around when she was.  Janis Joplin | To Love Somebody. If you’re going to click the link it’s worth reading the two highest-rated comments as well. Nailed.

My birsday dinner with  Keira and T-Mo.

Kenny and I discover Lynn Canyon.

A very long Seawall stroll.

Only at English Bay have I ever seen sunsets like this…

Home now. Family first.

My poor dad.. taken about fifteen minutes after he walked into his kitchen only to find me sitting at the table when I should have been in Vancouver. I’m such a trickster. His brows are still furled.

And then there was one. This was so much more majestic when my mom had four of these.

Aves had no idea I’d be there to greet her after school.

Cute.

My same-sex soul mate.

Time to play with their Auntie Andrea

Good-bye tea

Shaun wears his new, spiffy hat he bought at tarts n’ crafts.

F-ing disgusting

Have you ever considered upgrading yours?

This button is to give your shoes some sun

Oscar – my dad’s.

…especially when Katie’s back in Vancouver! Oh how I miss my Katie B. She’s only a province away but she used to be only ten minutes away. She’s from home and home out here feels good. Comfortable.

Man this weekend was busy for this hermit. I moved TMo with Keira, got my atrocious split ends dealt with and my hair enriched thanks to Marlee, a birthday party that ended at 2:30 in the morning, coffee early this morning, and Katie’s baby shower Vancouver-styles.

And the weather was beautiful.

Oh wait, well… SaturDAY was not beautiful. It was rainy. But, Saturday evening was balmy because the finished rain made it so. The city smelled pretty. Clean almost. Moist too. Good for my soul.

So I spent the weekend with my circles of dear friends experiencing a sense of renewal. New apartment, new year ahead, new life on the way. And, I just kind of cycled through it all floating around and watching everyone experience their moments of magic.

Tomorrow’s back to work, back to the people who need me and back to the business life of Andrea.

I’ve got a week’s vacation coming up next Sunday. Oh my it’s my birthday too. I will feel this newness but at the same time I reflect and wonder how the hell it got here this quickly. How is it that I’m going to be thirty-three years old already? I test myself at times and my memory still goes vividly back to three years old. Okay good; I hope that never changes.

I wish I could present more photos, but I only brought my camera along for Katie’s shower. So here they are…

But first here’s your Sunday Jammin’ Music song actually on a Sunday for the first time in a long time!

Click it for the beautiful song, the lyrics, and the beautiful video.

The Warped 45s – Radio Sky

Tried to get us with the tummy.

I thought this was a lovely and intricate tree.

This is Smokey, I found him to be very handsome.

Can I please just reflect on my Saturday as of late? I spent the day time cleaning. Spring cleaning perhaps, however, it only really felt like official Spring in spurts where the rest of the day was coloured with grey skies. Saturday night approached and I was without commitment. I did for a moment contemplate leaving my apartment but then this brilliant idea came over me. I drove to the 7-11, picked up a bag of Sour Cream & O, came back home, popped in Gladiator, and opened my 500 piece puzzle of the Notre-Dame Basilica in Montreal. It must be the Italian in me.

My dinner was chips and glasses of water. It was amazing. My guests were Marshall, Otis, and Gee’s cat Whiskey; who looks just like Otis but isn’t. I sat on a pillow on my floor for approx 2.5 hours hovering over my coffee table, desperately trying to finish the border before the movie was over.

I was six pieces short come the end of the movie but at that point had also reached my capacity and became unable to look at the pieces with any kind of uniqueness any longer and called it a night.

It reminded me of being a kid and playing games that stimulated the cortex. Games that required dexterity and precision. Once I’m finished with the Basilica, I’m onto another 500 piece of Times Square to warm up before the 700 pieces of Provence, then 1000 of Casa Loma. 

After this phase I think I’m going to go buy a couple model cars to build and paint. 

I can imagine how excited this must make you.

Only a day late with the Sunday Jam. Here we have:

Citizen Cope – Holdin’ On

This one’s really good for those lazy days. It might even be raining outside. Or, you might be feeling sad. Or maybe you’re just driving on a hot, summer afternoon on a long stretch of highway.

Otis makes sure the pieces don’t move.

Presenting Mister Whiskey.
These cats just love my bed.
Rightfully so, I say.

It was actually yesterday, but that’s besides the point.

You know when you go through phases of such severe frustration toward everything around you except for animals?

Don’t you?

Oh.

Okay anyway, that was me for a while. When I enter a state like that, the catalyst is usually associated with someone’s emotional turbulence of sorts and I can’t handle it when it catches me completely off guard. Especially when I’ve been carrying on like everything’s hunky dory. La la la.

I like to pretend that I live my life in a state of ignorance and/or bliss. It has to be pretend because the reality is so much the opposite. This method of denial has its advantages, however, a potential disadvantage is that it’s still denial. And, a life spent in denial is a life spent.

You can quote me on that, even if it doesn’t really make sense.

I got to the point where I actually wondered if there was some recent change in the earth’s surface magnetism. It was really the only way I could try to make sense of why many people around me were crumbling in their own kind of way and somehow it was coming down on me hard. It was really weird I must admit. I felt like I was in Michael Jackson’s Leave Me Alone video.

So then, I took a look at myself, and wondered if perhaps I had changed. Being the self-deprecating, over-analyzer that I am, I did in fact contemplate if perhaps it was me. Maybe I was giving off some kind of energy that was opposing. But then, one of these breakdowns was via instant messaging with someone I haven’t chatted with since December who is a distant acquaintance. At least I thought that was our understanding? Oh maybe the feeling wasn’t mutual. Damn these work dynamics.

Things should be ironed out by now and the reason I’m able to kind of carry on past this is by practicing another one of my deflective methods of coping and that’s pretending it didn’t happen. I have a tendency to sometimes be weighed down by all the complexities of humankind and just how heavy we can be. But, if I were to fixate on all the ways in which I am left stunned on a daily basis I’d probably sell everything I had to go live on an island in the Archipiélago and exist among turtles, albatrosses, sea lions, and iguanas. So? Pretend. La la la.

Lessons learned lately:

- Kenny’s always going to take my phone calls in the middle of the night
- It’s not nice to call Kenny in the middle of the night
- No matter what you do, you’re going to disappoint someone in some way or another
- A good, kind heart should make up for all the things that piss other people off about you
- Marshall likes tomato sauce
- It’s been way too long since I hit the road 
- I am satisfying in a deeply unsatisfying way (figure that one out!)  
- There really is nothing like Steely Dan’s Aja album on vinyl specifically. Fireplace = On. Lights = Off.
- Breathe. 

Now you’re all…

Okay my darlings, it’s a little bit past ten o’clock and usually if I’m still typing in this state of exhaustion I am bound to tangentalize and read it again in the morning with regret wondering what kind of lousy drug I could say I was on to explain myself. Then again, I would never take drugs of the lousy kind. 

See there I go. I’ll regret that.

Steely Dan – Aja - This album and I are the same age.

Some clever Steely Dan trivia pour vous:

It’s actually a fictional Japanese dildo that finds itself in William Burroughs’s Naked Lunch. An excerpt:

Mary is strapping on a rubber penis: “Steely Dan III from Yokohama,” she says, caressing the shaft. Milk spurts across the room.

“Be sure that milk is pasteurized. Don’t go giving me some kind of awful cow disease like anthrax or glanders or aftosa…”

“When I was a transvestite, Liz in Chi used to work as an ex-terminator. Make advances to pretty boys for the thrill of being beaten as a man. Later I catch this one kid, overpower him with supersonic judo I learned from an old Lesbian Zen monk. I tie him up, strip off his clothes with a razor and fuck him with Steely Dan I. He is so relieved I don’t castrate him literaly he come all over my bedbug spray.”

“What happen to Steely Dan I?”

“He was torn in two by a bull dyke. Most terrific vaginal grip I ever experienced. She could cave in a lead pipe. It was one of her parlour tricks.”

“And Steely Day II?”

“Chewed to bits by a famished candiru in the Upper Baboons-asshole. And don’t say ‘Wheeeeeee!’ this time.”

“Why not? It’s real boyish.”

Needless to say Burroughs wrote this while he was under the influence of something he liked to call “the sickness,” AKA drug addiction, where Naked Lunch “… means exactly what the words say: naked lunch, a frozen moment when everyone sees what is on the end of every fork.”

I mean, obviously.
Fantastic. I love authors when they’re high.

Burroughs and my buddy Kerouac were buds too. In fact, Burroughs credited Kerouac with suggesting the title “Naked Lunch” to him.

Sorry for the delay, I’ve been dealing with the Olympics. Yes, the Olympics. They’re over now. Two days over and this city I call home is shrinking back down. Calming down. Coming down. I have no excuse to be out until the wee hours of the morning anymore and frankly I’m glad. I can go back to being the hermit I am deep down inside.

I’ve been challenged by the Universe again recently which came at a time when my energy levels were still very much thriving in the spirit of the city. There really wasn’t much energy to deal with one of the heaviest things I’ve ever had to deal with to this date. Someone I know left this earth very recently in a quick surrender to a life shrouded by inner turmoil, torment, and a deep sadness. It has been very upsetting to me in a way that is surprising me. It’s probably because I am such an emotional, deep, and sensitive person that I’m looking deeper into the reality than just accepting it for what it is. I think also what feels really strange for me is that when I look back at people who I’ve shared my life with, in love or in friendship, my memory of them comes along with the awareness that they are still around, I may even be seeing them tomorrow. It’s something you kind of take advantage of in that way. Remembering time spent with someone who is now gone under those circumstances feels like an incomplete thought process. It’s a different kind of memory.

You know when you’re driving? Or you’re reading, cleaning… whatever… and you have music playing in the background but you’re focused on the moment and you might snap out of it and realise you can’t even place what the last three songs were? That’s kind of what this feels like right now. I’m existing very much in the moment, going about my life… work, friends, responsibilities… but there’s this continuation of thought that’s running in the distance.

No matter who it was, I find myself most upset by knowing that someone’s life was so unbearable they had to rid themselves of it. Death is so permanent. So then imagine for a moment what that heaviness must be like. Imagine just not being able to pull yourself out. We all deal with our feelings in different ways. Some of us can ignore them, maybe dismiss or diminish them, cover them up with other emotions. Some of us just so consumed by them. Some of us are only limited to three or four basic emotions, where others have multi-dimensional ones that vary and fluctuate according to the situation. Some people feel their pain. Some people pretend it’s not there. Some people have no pain.

We really are such complex and fragile beings aren’t we?

 

In the midst of all this I had Franklin with me while his human parents were in Maui. While they were being evacuated from their hotel for tsunami safety, I’m coming home to new surprises of destruction including the box of baby food I had. Pablum and dog saliva seems to result in a glue-like residue that can really only be scraped off laminate flooring with hot water and a putty knife (sorry Sylvia, aw jeez). The pièce de résistance happened last night when Franklin tried to party with a skunk. Unfortunately, skunks don’t run away like squirrels and cats do, unfortunately still, when an animal presents a dog with their ass they will go nose deep. Luckily skunks will demonstrate a variety of self defense warning moves before actually bringing out the big guns, unlucky for Franklin he didn’t give a shit. 

I learned a new thing last night. Actual skunk spray doesn’t smell like the skunk spray aroma we often smell when we can’t see the skunk. Actual skunk spray, to me, smells like a mixture of burning rubber, sulphur and rotting flesh floating in a soup of gasoline, sour milk, and vom. Needless to say I was quite upset at this predicament for several reasons: a) It was 11:00 at night. Groomers are sleeping. Grocery stores are closed b) My soap products consist of things that smell fruity and pretty. My soap products don’t include ingredients powerful enough to deodorize a skunky dog c) Poor Franklin basically made it home face down, ass up. He literally pushed his face along the pavement alternating sides the entire way home. In as much as I’m fairly certain I wanted to punt him into tomorrow this was very difficult for me to watch. 

He eventually handed over control to yours truly and for the next hour or so he sat in my bathtub while I stayed by his soaking side rubbing various experimental, soapy scents all over his face and chest. I wiped the poor guy’s swollen eyes with a warm face cloth over and over again. He just looked so forlorn and pensive; like he kept living it over and over again in his mind.

In hindsight though we had a lot of fun together, like we always do. We took a two hour road trip up to Manning to spend the day at Randy’s getaway. We cuddled, played fetch, wrestled… (Oh, this is with Franklin by the way, not Randy). Franklin was a good distraction in a week where I really needed it.

Oh ya, Sherene and I finally made it out this past Sunday. She’s been here for a year working for Bell on the Olympic contract and we finally got in some good, honest play time. Too bad she’s leaving tomorrow. This makes me incredibly sad. We’ve been friends for 20 years and Sherene is like home to me so this is going to be a tough transition to not have her around anymore. 

Okay so, I guess that’s about it for the majors. I’m hoping life slows down a bit now. I’m ready to spend some quality time in the arms of my sofa and some good movies for the next little while.

An apropos tune for Sunday Jammin’ on Tuesday:

The Kinks – Better Things

Everything’s going to be okay. 

Check out that happy little guy in the back

Weeeee!

Eastgate Diner

That’s Dave in the back.

“Can we please trade benches soon? It’s cold being in the shade all the time.”

Party Time Begins

We did some posing that we thought was fit for a Sears catalogue

Granville’s still bumping at 1:00AM

Pwetty girl

Oh mmmm

Now’s the time for cool down. You know, you’re going to look at these photos and think we’re both plastered. I can’t speak for Sherene (ahem) but I wanted to make mention of this… The damn cover at that bar was $32! The coat check was $5! $37 dollars spent before I even set foot in the bar.

So this is me drunk on club soda and lime. Yes, the least they could do is give me free club soda. Gotta love Vancouver… and the Olympics in Vancouver.

Now you’re all: Okay wait, she’s not behaving this way because she’s drunk? She’s really weird.

Snuggles

Oops, careful

It’s been a busy week that felt long which is always the worst. The highlight of the week though was having someone’s blood dripping from their mouth onto my counter. Shortly thereafter I sent a love letter to Plexiglass inventor, Otto Röhm.

I experienced gastro euphoria for lunch on Thursday which could have very well redeemed my week because good food tends to fix everything. There are bright sides to working in the Downtown East Side and that’s being so close to Gastown. For my visiting readers from cities aplenty please forget not to experience Gastown if you’re in the neighbourhood. Then find The Black Frog and call me, damn it.

I overhauled my living room last weekend (which is really two weekends ago now, this has taken me that long to write). This will be my fifth arrangement since October 2007. I’m not sure how normal that is but normal doesn’t usually apply to me anyway so I’m not going to worry. 

I did acquire a new piece of furniture as well and that is a big, IKEA Billy shelving unit with glass doors that Gg handed down to yours truly. Ghetto me could never afford such a thing brand new so hookups are nice. Now that I think about it, this may have all started when I sold my IKEA Benno shelves on Craigslist. For approx 5 nights 140 DVDs and probably an equal amount of CDs were actually taking up space on my living room floor. If you know me then you know how devastating this disorganization was to me. At the same time, those who know me will also know that it makes perfect sense that I sell the shelves on a whim without any sort of plan regarding where the DVDs and CDs will go when the shelves are actually sold. I lament the disorganization I bring upon myself. Go figure.

So to recover from this not-very-well-thought-out situation that was my living room, I reorganized, shuffled, and rearranged my furniture just to prove something to myself. As a side note, I never feel wholeheartedly lonely because I seem to be perpetually in a state of autonomous interaction with my conflicting personality idiosyncrasies. In this case it was the impractical visionary vs the disciplinary and the end result, fittingly, was a living room I love and one that so far Cathy and Gg are not so fond of. It only makes perfect sense.

What do you make of it:

Here’s why I like it:

1. Previously my computer was against the wall behind where it is now. I faced … the wall. Again, for those who know me, they know I can’t face walls – especially in restaurants – and while also sitting at my computer desk. It’s not claustrophobia, it’s neurosis. 

2. I like feeling cozy and workstations are sometimes hard to make cozy. But tell me you wouldn’t curl up into a ball right on top of my desk now and fall asleep there.

3) I spend most of my reading, scheming, escaping, daydreaming, and playing crossword puzzles on that there sofa. There’s something very tranquil about lying down on it and having those wide open windows in front of me. Previously they were behind me and what kind of purpose does that serve? None other than to make me wonder what’s going on in the world. Pointless; I need to know everything at all times.

4) Other than three glasses of red wine, Gravol, or Coronation Street, there is not much else that turns my mind off other than flames from a fire with a flavouring of José Feliciano from the vinyl.

Oh come on, you appreciate the effect and secretly wish you were sitting in my living room too.

5) The wall that now stands to support my books, DVDs, and CDs is the only wall long enough to keep them together as a family. 

And with that I will not justify my logic any longer. You will either enjoy it, dislike it, or not really give a shit either way so there really isn’t much more to discuss. 

I’ve now been composing this post for two weeks and four days. My new year’s resolution really should have been to finish my blog posts in a reasonable time frame…

Last weekend Mandy bunny and I made a fairly spontaneous plan to go to Whistler. The last time I was there they had the peak express lift closed because it was miserable and torrential. But this time, although it wasn’t a clear day, the snow conditions were probably the best I’ve skied in my 22 years of skiing. It was abundant and frigging fast and this is perfection to me.

In the words of whistlerblackcomb.com: “Whistler’s Peak Express offers some of the planet’s most rugged high alpine.” Now tell me that doesn’t send a shiver down your spine in all the right ways. We reached the peak and were submerged in heavy clouds. It was blustery and dark making the ground impossible to decipher from the atmosphere. I’d be lying if I said we weren’t scared shitless and that’s simply because when you’re on a sharp decline and you can’t see even ten feet ahead of you, you’re pulling guts from areas other than the pit of your stomach. In fact we were stealing guts from each other. We swore the whole way down to the first ridge and upon survival we masochistically wanted to do it all over again just for the thrill of it.

Isn’t Mandy the cutest thing?

On one of our lift rides we started talking about what the hills in Ottawa were like. Myself, I learned to ski at Edelweiss in Gatineau. We thought of all our favourite hills and how sadly they pale in comparison to what we are so lucky to have here. Just to put it into perspective, I did some quick calculations and came up with this very roughly scaled example of how Edelweiss might compare to Whistler. Technically speaking, Whistler has a top elevation of 2,182 metres compared to Edelweiss’s 350 metres. 

I mean, check out this vista:

Whistler © Andrea C.

Oh, am I bragging? Sorryyy.

What else is new…

Oh yes, here’s the car that’s going to replace my Ford Fo’ once my lease is up. Thirteen more days to go, by the way, and my last car payment comes out. Then I will be car-payment free. Free! Fr.EE! F|r|e|E! f:r/EE!

Cute isn’t it? Rando found me this little gem and I couldn’t be happier. I introduce you to my 1991 Civic Si.

Okay I will leave you with some Sunday Jammin’ Music on… yes, Thursday. This one’s solid for jammin’. Thievery Corporation – Un Simple Histoire

Please also enjoy with me this incredibly sexy photo of Johnny Depp.

In which I go on.

And on.

Have you seen The Young Victoria? I saw it last week and fell in love with it. The era and the history of the Royal Monarchy is beautifully depicted but, for me, the love story between Victoria and her prince was equally so. *Deep sigh.*

Okay, I love war epics, I love movies that are so horrifying I think I’m going to throw up, I love foreign films, I love movies that upset me and anger me, I love movies that I can watch once a week for the rest of my life (Dirty Dancing) and be happy, and … I love stories of love. 

I don’t want to give too much away because it’s still in theatres, but, The Young Victoria is a beautiful and touching love story. What’s really nice is if you read about their actual life together, its portrayal is nailed in the film. Apparently Victoria kept a diary through much of her life and her early writings after meeting and spending time with Albert demonstrated a brimming affection for him. For example:

“[Albert] is extremely handsome; his hair is about the same colour as mine; his eyes are large and blue, and he has a beautiful nose and a very sweet mouth with fine teeth; but the charm of his countenance is his expression, which is most delightful.”

It was her maternal uncle, Prince Leopold I of Belgium, who introduced them; and her other maternal uncle, Ernest (also Albert’s father (yes, Albert was Victoria’s first cousin)) who approved the match. 

To her uncle, Prince Leopold, Victoria once wrote in thanks:

“… for the prospect of great happiness you have contributed to give me, in the person of dear Albert … He possesses every quality that could be desired to render me perfectly happy.”

I’m not sure if I’m just screaming lonely, single girl here, which is fine, but this doesn’t have anything to do with loneliness. I will never deny myself the fact that this is what a relationship looks like to me. I don’t know many passionate, soulful women who would think otherwise. Men too for the sake of argument. It has been documented that Victoria and Albert unified for love which was uncommon for royals at that time. Albert had a deep love and respect for his Queen and brought to bear that title in more than just the obvious. He technically was her liege, but her husband as well. 

This is that constitutional desire we all have to be understood, accepted, and respected by the Alberts who come into our lives. I walked out of the theatre looking for Albert but he was nowhere to be found.

Which is okay because I’m not sure I ever will find him.

Also okay.

Therein lies the conundrum for someone like me. I can cry over this movie and wonder if one day I too will have a relationship where I am cherished, devoted to, loved, accepted, stimulated, challenged, protected, etc… find it in a thesaurus. I laugh at myself though when I realise that the reason this is so difficult for me is because I know I can be very perplexing to some men who are used to a certain kind of woman.

A man (we’ll call him Albert) could be staring me right in the face. He could tell me all the wonderful things that brought tears to my eyes in the movie. But, so help me God, I can be such a particular, picky moppet that I just may end up single until I leave this earth. 

Make sense of that? 

I barely can.

See, having an Albert is well and good – but for me to be satiated and contained by this Albert I’d need him to be a challenging, broken, sensitive, kind, distant, open, advisor, learner, loving, comforting, clairvoyant, intellectual, hilarious, video-game loving, bookworm who is patient, smart, soulful, clever, devoted, deep, demanding, spontaneous yet regimented, logical yet illogical… did I mention patient? On top of all this I would require an absurd chemical attraction toward him that offers a fine mix of the following adjectives: cheap, lusty, lascivious, surly, gentle, sweet, considerate, slow and steady. I like to be where I can melt.

On the bright side I am clearly not expecting perfection.

Can you imagine? 

Then there’s the whole other issue of the person I am and if the type of person I’m attracted to can actually tolerate someone like me.

If I were in a relationship with me I would not know what to do with myself sometimes. Although I suppose that’s the way in all relationships. Some just have the potential to go completely sideways in a very dramatic way – it’s just whether or not you can pick the same battles. Like Vicky and Albert did. 

I resign myself to the fact that this is highly unlikely that I find my perfect match and have considered the advice of some people who tell me I need to trim the list a little bit or become either a lesbian or a nun, but I’m a terrible human being when I’m settling for something or someone. Settling is like giving me 50 years without parole. That would bring me to roughly 83 years old and by that time everything on my body will be at least four inches lower than where they started and then what?

Make no mistake, I re-evaluate my options regularly, look at the pros and cons and have come to understand what missing characteristics I can acquiesce to and which ones are compulsory. It’s like that  job interview – there are always requirements, but most of the time a relevant amount of experience is considered an asset but you never want to settle for an employee who’s not the right fit.

It doesn’t sound that awful – just look at the relationship you’re in right now. Are you happy? Can you see yourself gladly purchasing Depends for this person years from now? When life’s up are you going to look back at its entirety and not feel like the biggest mistake you made was to spend a life in a relationship where you were essentially alone anyway? Mistakes should be about things like selling shares at the wrong time, wearing stirrups in the 80s, buying a Geo Metro, or being fired for photocopying your breasts. All recoverable. A lifetime of unhappiness is not and we’re all grown-ups here; we only get a shot at life once. 

Back to Victoria and Albert…

When Albert died of typhoid at the age of 42, Victoria entered a state of withdrawal, then perpetual mourning, and wore black every day for the rest of her life. I don’t find this necessarily healthy and I’ll leave that up to the psychologists but if you look at this from a more bittersweet perspective, that’s love. The pain comes from when the person’s gone and not from the ass when you’re together.

For now, I’ll purchase the movie and treat myself to its charm as I see fit. It’ll sit right between Dirty Dancing and The Notebook on my shelf. 

I will leave you with one of mine and Gee’s favourite moments from the movie as well as the Sunday Jammin’ song on a Wednesday.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yW3B-MK19_w

The Shins – New Slang