31 July 2006

The Race is On!

I told myself no blogging until I get my shit together today. And finally, said shit is together. Here I am, at 11:42pm. It's a little later than I expected and I'm a little less full of piss and vinegar. Hopefully, I will entertain someone out there.

I heard from my partner early in the afternoon. He was calling from a small city about 2 hours west of my hometown. This means the easy part is done. Now comes the hard part - driving through Ontario. It would have been incredibly easier to simply drive through the States but they do not have any proof that they are NOT doing shows there. Otherwise, they would technically need a work permit to cross the border. Instead, they painfully cross the large province of Ontario. I wish them luck but what I really wish is for them to be home...NOW.

You see, the race is on. Yes, they all want to be home. Yes, they all want to see their significant others. However, I am full-on PMS monster. The race is on, bitches! I'm going to get my period anyday and, sweet baby Jesus, I want me some dirty sex. Damned period. I'm not what you call a regular girl. The only thing regular about my cycle is how it always seems to come whenever something relatively special is going on. Fuck you, Aunt Flow, fuck you! *shakes fists to heavens*

I wish I knew exactly when they were arriving, because I'm neurotic that way. The house is tidy. There's food in the house to eat. I will shortly finish watching the "things" I've downloaded and I'm too embarrassed to watch in front of my partner (it may or may not be Big Brother 7 live feeds). Also, I can just see him coming home when I'm taking out the garbage in my pajamas - while, not to mention, being incredibly bloated from PMS. I want him to come home and see the pretty me. Not the bloated whale in unsexy pajamas handling a bag of garbage, haha.

All in all, I am so very happy that he will be home very soon! It's exciting actually. It brings me back to a time when we were doing the whole long distance relationship thing. I feel like that girl of two years ago, getting off the airplane to see her lover again! I'm all giddy inside and elated! My knees are weak! I want to look extra pretty for him (even though I'm sure he thinks I'm always pretty, even in bloated pajama pants)! I just want to give him that long-at-last kiss! My best guess is that he will be home either VERY late Monday night or anytime Tuesday. Sigh...kisses!

The rest of the day flew by. I spent the majority of the day completing my last lesson on my online French course. I need a break. There is too much to remember about past and future tenses, too many verbs. My head is toast. I'm surprised I can write in English here tonight because the French honestly kicked my ass tonight. I don't think I have learned too much but I'm proud that I stuck to it nonetheless. I wasn't too pleased with the Barnes and Noble class anyway.

Other than the French, the rest of my day was great. I lingered at the bookstore, caressing the spines of gently used books. I picked up some groceries in a, believe it or not, relaxing environment. I talked to my plants. I talked to an old friend. I may or may not have done a short and spontanious robot dance to Gnarls Barkley. The sun was shining, the temperature was very comfortable, and old men ogled me in my neighbourhood. I feel sassy! Maybe a little bloated, but definitely sassy!

Perhaps it was the wine and estrogen - I had a couple of girls over last night for a soirée. It's nice to be surrounded by girls, as strange as that sounds. Our apartment is usually full of boys, which would probably appeal to my single girl friends. I'm usually swimming in testosterone and band sweat. It was my first time buying white wine and I ended up with a bottle that had a drawing of a monkey (not a member of the 60s band) eating a banana on the label. It screamed quirky, even though I dislike monkeys. It was also my first time buying a bagette. Does that mean I am now officially a true resident of this city?! Anyway, it was a lovely evening of drinking on the patio and girlish gossip. I look forward to more nights like that before summer is over.


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29 July 2006

Power Cleaning - A Romance with Mr. Clean

One of the great things about having the house to myself is that I can freely dance like an idiot and not feel ashamed. Tonight, I slapped on my track pants (or something close to being track pants, I'm just trying to make myself sound gangsta) and threw on a Kanye West cd...and power cleaned. Holla! Usually, I listen to heady depressing music when I'm alone but I figured I'd "raise the roof" *insert Arsenio Hall dog calls and hand motions here* and kick it up a notch. Actually, I just wanted to make sure my power cleaning went quickly instead of listening to mopey music while tragically scrubbing the bathtub.

Yeah. Power cleaned. Everything is sparkly shiny. I think Mr. Clean loves spending Friday night with me. He reassures me that I am not a loser for staying in on a Friday night. So there.

I'm afraid I do not have any witty and captivating cleaning stories, unless you get off on girls who clean in low-cut shirts. Cleavage heaving away, with each and every scrub. Meow! Actually, I guess I got some more lipstick on the bathroom floor somehow. No big surprise, I get lipstick on everything. When I mopped - cleavage heaving, by the way - lipstick was smeared everywhere. Oh, Mr. Clean! Our love affair continues!

The guys are playing in a small city out west tonight. I wish I was there. There have only been two venues that I have been jealous about. Obviously, back home was one of them. Party with my friends, get drunk with my sister. Then, there was tonight. The only reason I want to be there is to meet my close online friend. No fair. I want to drink out of sour cream containers with her. Le sigh. Regardless, I hope they have a fantastic send off to the road home. They are missed and I hope they can return to the city in good spirits. And not wanting to kill one another.

Soon, soon, soon!

28 July 2006

I Broke Myspace

Insert some Europe hair metal band synth here...because it's the final countdown! Oh yeeeah! One more show and then a whole lot of driving - it will be nice to have my partner home again. I received a postcard from him this morning. Sigh, it made my week.

Today, every website I go to is down. Everything I touches no longer turns to crap, but crashes. I think you can no longer blame it on Tom - I'm convinced I broke myspace. Sigh. Actually, I lied. I didn't break myspace. Although, I would really love to give myspace a punch in the neck, given the chance.

I shouldn't be surprised, nor am I in any desperate need to check my myspace. I just wanted to spend Friday catching up on email. I punch in my email and password - oh look! An unexpected error! I punch it in again. And maybe a few more times. It eventually works, right? Well, then I received a bold red message that said I punched in this password too many times and now I must punch in the verification code. Here's the kicker - the verification code wasn't showing up. Thanks, Tom.

Hours later, the code is now appearing but I still cannot log in. Unless I've suddenly become dyslexic this afternoon but the code ain't working worth shit. I don't know how it is to run a major website that's very popular - but the amount of errors and shit becomes really tiring. Somedays, I just want to turn my back to it and press delete.

On a good note, I'm happy to say that I feel much better today! Yay! No more heart attack! I even had a dream last night. I was at a friend's place and she was having a garage sale. She was selling bulk canisters of lime flavoured novelty condoms and a ton of vibrators. I wanted to buy a vibrator, so she showed me how to hook it up. She pretty much put the faux cock onto this power drill body - it was rather intimidating! Still, I bought it.

Not much to report. I spent the afternoon chatting to a friend online, doing French lessons, and coloring my roots. My hair is a major pain in the ass. Let's just say, it's not fun coloring your hair when it reaches down to the middle of your back.

I'm turning into a goddamn hippy.

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27 July 2006

Brought to you by the letters P, M, S

So, I think I've had enough of this Tour Widow business. It was fun while it lasted; those sweaty girly sleepovers where we all lounged around in our panties and cooled each other down with ice cubes, those strip poker nights with all my oh so lonely female friends....

(Okay, so that didn't actually happen. I just wanted to impress any male readers.)

But seriously, I've had enough. I want my partner home already. I'm sick of eating for one. I'm annoyed at going to bed alone. I hate having no one to talk to in bed. I haven't had any dreams since he left, probably because I only dream to amuse him in the morning. I loathe this whole having no one to rant to when I have PMS thing. I think this is the first time I have had no one really to lash out on while having PMS! Maybe that is why I feel so ill lately.

Yeah, once again, I am not feeling well. I don't know what it is. It feels like how I felt after drinking that Corona a while back. It just so happens that I drank red wine on Saturday night and felt this a day after - just like the beer. Except, this time I drank more wine and this time the feeling is sticking around a few extra days. I don't know what it is and it bothers me. It feels like heartburn combined with the physical feeling of having a panic attack - you know, that weighty feeling on your chest. Plus, I feel kind of tired. Being my own worst enemy, when it's late at night I go online and investigate my possible ailments. It's not really healthy to sit in front of the computer at two in the morning and question, "what if I'm having a heart attack?". Of course, thinking that way ends up making me feel panicky for real which doesn't help how I physically feel. And if anyone makes a "maybe you're pregnant joke", you'll win a free punch in the throat. Tong!

The good thing is, it feels better when I'm in bed and after I eat. At least my sleep isn't robbed from me.

It doesn't help when you feel sick and exhausted. I'm now picking apart everything I haven't done while my partner has been away. Maybe I'm not doing enough...maybe I have failed...See, I completely need someone to check in on me and supervise me! I always seem to choose to dwell on all the things I haven't done rather than focus on what I have done. I've faithfully done these online French courses. I have something to be proud of. Dammit.

So yeah. Sick of being a Tour Widow. I want him home. I want to make a bookcase with him or maybe even lay down some new hardwood flooring, if you know what I mean. I'm tired of overestimating my dinner portions for myself. My boobs are in dire need of fondling.

The only good thing about him gone is the fact that the mornings have been so quiet. It is as though those construction workers and the neighbour's poodle were up to something - a plan to disrupt his each and every morning! It's strange. Ever since he left, it's been very quiet. No poodle barking at 8am. No construction work. If there is a bit of construction work, they are extremely quiet. I'm convinced they knew he was gone. MwaHA!

You know what I'm also tired of? Portly cross-eyed groupies trying to pick up my boyfriend just because he plays a guitar on stage. That's all. Also, I'm happy to report that so far on tour - the Boobs of the Prairies have been the nicest, according to him. I should write some sort of Farley Mowat-esque illustrated novel called that. Hahaha...ah, I think my humour is deteriorating since he has been gone!

Instead of more complaining, I'll leave with some good news:
I'm coming home August 16th for two weeks. Yay! Gin! Friends! Prairie boobs! Air conditioning! I'll-be-broke-so-buy-me-a-coffee-and/or-gin! Mom food! My cat! Oglin' with my buddies! Yippee!

25 July 2006

Groupies

What is it with girls and musicians? If someone has an answer to that, I'd really like to know.

I understand that when you settle down with a guy in a band, you have to learn to deal with the "fans". There's no way around it. Yeah, it's not fun to have flashes of secret jealousy but it comes with the package deal - and it doesn't help when the band's lyrics praise naked boobies and anal sex. Though it's all in good fun for the boys, I'm certain there are fans who naturally assume that these four guys are swinging playboys and mansluts who are just waiting to take a groupie back to the van and then it's on their way to the next gig.

That is the concept that creeps me out, only because I know the band personally. I'm aware of their personal lives and I know who they are when they aren't plucking guitar strings or singing into a microphone. They are far from playboys and mansluts - heh, maybe only for their patiently waiting partners at home!

I know I didn't lead the life of angel in my single days. I know I got myself into some pretty messes. Like most girls, I can be attracted to musicians. I can also be attracted to postmen or waiters or athletes. Heh, I don't discriminate! Maybe I am just a shy person, but it never really crossed my mind to set my drunken eyes on a musician with the goal of fucking him. Well, maybe young Leonard Cohen...but that's another story.

The other night, a cross-eyed hefty gal tried to pick up my man. She was cool at the beginning of the night. She had a boyfriend and he was to stay with them, as the others were at another house that was full of cats. Fine. She ends up dipping into the sauce and suggests that they "screw in the van". Don't worry...her boyfriend was only in the house with her four year old child. Yeah. The night before that, two girls tried to pick up him and another guy from the band. At least they backed away when they said they were in relationships.

Screw in the van? Jesus H. Christ. That irked me. I keep reminding myself...this is what happens when you're with a band guy...this is what happens when you're with a band guy. I threw it back at him. What if a man said that at the party I went to on Saturday night? Would he be pissed off? He said he wouldn't be, especially if the guy was that drunk. I know the truth, however. He would be very pissed off. I'm not into these games that make other people jealous but it will never happen here. I'm invisible to the eyes of Quebecois men. Back home, I was on fire. On fire!

This is the bottom line. These girls are only after them because of the fact that they're on stage and playing music. Would they be approached if they were simply that guy in the crowd enjoying the band? Probably not. Place an instrument in their hands, add some hair grease, and show your tattoos - and they're Gods. Take away the instruments and they are just any other guy with styled hair and tattoos. Dime a dozen. If you overanalyze that to death, there's not much compliment to be had there. Like I mentioned before, I know I've been through some pretty lil messes in my past. Now, I would hate to know the only reason why someone wanted to fuck me was because I was on stage. I would hate to know that I am just another girl that was unfuckable beyond the stage. There is so much in between to discover that goes unnoticed - and I think it's kind of insulting that all the in between stuff is completely disregarded.

Of course, I'm not a man in a band. I'm sure they probably get off on simply knowing that these girls are stupid enough to put out - and that's how these guys usually think, my dears.

It used to really make me crunchy when they coaxed girls into showing them their breasts. I've threatened to do that myself but I'm a little uneven, if you will. Then it hit me. Not my boobs, haha. I would be way more hurt and jealous if my partner actually sat down with one of these fans and had an intense conversation about those little but significant details. I would be hurt if he deeply asked her what her favourite book was.

So anyone, please tell me - what is it with girls and musicians? Why is it that they can say they are in a relationship or married, but these girls still try to weaken them into "screwing in the van"?

I would really like to know.


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24 July 2006

Sick, Mail, and the Breakfast Club Revisited

Well, there are only three more shows and a whole lot of driving in between. Soon, my man will be home. Le sigh!

I think I caught a little cold. I don't feel that bad but I could feel a lot better. I feel so incredibly lazy which makes me wonder where all this time has gone. I haven't written this book that I babbled enough about. I guess one cannot force creativity. I know I can't. I'm like a dry wash rag. No matter how hard to squeeze or wring it, you ain't gonna get water - not even a drop. I built up this amazing large task for myself and I ended up a little overwhelmed. That's not to say I have no ideas. Au contraire, mes amis. There are some ideas blossoming in my head. The thing that concerns me is that I have nothing to show for my time apart from my partner. By the way, I am way to critical of myself. I wanted him to come home and be as proud of me as I am for him. I have been doing a lot of those French lessons online so I guess I have a little something something. I don't know if I can use it in public but c'est la vie.

I did hear from my partner tonight and he has fallen sick himself. Poor guy. He is a very typical Cancer. He likes his home, he likes his space, and he likes doing things on his own terms. I think he just wants to come home, regardless of feeling ill. I don't think I could handle being with the same people every day and then work with them at night. I'd go nuts and just want to go home pronto. He's sick and I know how he is when he falls ill. I wish I could have him here just to make him a little tea and honey, before cuddling in bed. I miss those simple things. I wonder if I am feeling ill because he is. Ah, that's the romantic version. I'm sure I just caught a germ.

Today has been a groggy one. Luckily, I woke up to a lovely gift in the mail! Oh, if there is anything that makes me happy - it's receiving mail! My friend from back home, a newer friend at that, send me a little something in the mail. A random gifting, if you will. Wow, what a surprise! She sent me a little makeup bag that is white with flowers and card deck faces (it actually reminds me of the 50's floor tiles in my grandmother's house). Inside, another surprise! A $25 gift certificate from MAC Cosmetics and a pair of Bettie Page barettes! And best of all, a short handwritten letter. Letters are wonderful, a true lost art!

Just to let random readers know, the barettes rock. I have about four different kinds of barettes now from the same company - BeBop Hairwear. The designs are rockin' and fun! They are full of attitude and style. I don't even know how to do my hair and these barettes cause me to gather up the compliments. Whether you want skulls, Betty Boop, polkadot bows and bats, tiki stuff, or even Elvis - she's got what you need! I love love love this girl's stuff - and she is an amazing person in real life. Check it out. Mine are little Bettie Pages with a light blue with white polkadot ribbon! Very cute and sassy!

I tried to rest up today, in order not to get sicker. I curled up on the couch and watched The Breakfast Club again. Now, I'm gonna get a lot of slack from 80s movies fans here - but I really would love to see a Breakfast Club reunion or look into their lives in 2006. I know such a movie would bomb completely. I can see Brian being the rich, smart computer geek. I can see Andy and Ally Sheedy's character being the oddest couple - kids, she's bossing him around because he can't talk to herself, basically taking care of him and the family until she has a big ol' breakdown. Claire and Bender - considering how his dad talked to him and berated him, he's a prime candidate to be a miserable bastard as an adult when he's in relationships - will obviously have an abusive relationship. She'll eventually become an alcoholic. Maybe Btian would like to dabble in coke. Or did that happen in the actor's real life?

And I just realized what a lacklustre idea that was - haha. Hey, I'm not feeling well.

22 July 2006

By the Power of the Prairies

Day nine...and I'm trying to be a busy lil bee. Well, I'm probably doing a horrible job at it! I slept in and I woke up feeling at peace. I find that I am sleeping on my partner's side of the bed now, with my back facing the wall. I wonder if it's a territorial thing? I usually sleep facing the wall, with a body behind me. I have yet to spoon with my baseball bat, haha.

This afternoon has been all about tidying up, while fitting in my pathetic attempt at exercising - HAHA. I must laugh in all-caps. Basically, I've ate a lot of pasta while he's been gone. The carbs are all going to my thighs! Well, not really. I'm doing situps and some other type of exercise that is probably not even considered an exercise. I'm also lifting 10 lbs weights. HAHA. It's getting a little easier. Maybe by the time he comes back, I will look like Arnold and challenge him to an arm wrestle...heehee. Oh yeah, I'll tell you which way is the beach!

Everytime I go to the store, I forget to buy Mr.Clean. Or M.Net, if you live in Quebec. My floors are kinda grubby and it doesn't help that our hardwood floors are all scratched up - at least it hides the grub. Now, I'm paranoid if my tour widow friend sleeps over. I don't what to be known as the girl with the dirty floors...and I don't want her socks or bare feets to look like she's been running through a field of dirt...

Tonight, I am conquering my fear of parties...HAHA. Another loud laugh in all-caps. I should go as it will be good for me. I need to start being more out there. I'm sure it won't be as bad as I dream it will be. It should go smoothly and it will probably be fun. Maybe I'll surprise myself with some witty banter! Maybe I'll be on fire!!!!


By the power of the prairies, I will be on fire!!!

Youtube & HHOF!

Ah, to be a kid again! Thanks to this show, I grew up to be a creepy adult!

21 July 2006

Learning French ... ou quelque chose

Being the sassy broad that I am, I decided to stir up the proverbial pot and use my French at the grocery store. Instead of saying a mumbled "merci" - I added a semi-loud "beaucoup" to the end of it. Heh...it's something. As well, when I asked for cigarettes (yes, yes...smoking again) I proudly said "aussi" out loud. The cashier looked at me blankly. They're not super friendly at my local grocery store. Whenever I hear people ask for cigarettes, they never say "Players, aussi!". Ah well, it's something.

Actually, I don't care for this Barnes and Noble course too much. I think it's truly meant for people who just want to order food in France and get by with random sentences. It bothers me that I am reading over these lessons and not getting the full explanation of proper verb uses. I know my verbs in present tense but I can't talk about the future or my past. I'd really appreciate a lesson or two on that, even though it would simply be there to refresh my rusty ol' memory. And don't get me started on their message board - it's so difficult to navigate.

When I got home from the grocery store, I decided to shut off the computer for a while. It wouldn't. I silently freaked out and became glad I bought those cigarettes. I hate the computer. If it was mine, I wouldn't care as much. It is not my computer, however, so I have to be extra careful. The last thing I need is my man returning home to lost files and blood curdling screams as I curl up on the couch crying. That's not a good way to say hello after three weeks on the road.

Anyway, I called his father and he talked me through shutting it done properly. I'm not a dummy - I know how to do this. I just wanted him to guide me so that my partner doesn't think I just did what I thought was best (and then having it fuck up). Everything is okay. Whew. The only issue is that when I am shutting down the computer via that window that says shut off, restart, etc - the screen goes black and white. When I hit cancel, it returns to color. I'm gonna keep my fingers crossed and hope that something tragic does not happen. According to my astrology loving friend, we are in a mercury retrogade and we should back up our computer files.

I'm with headache tonight. I feel better from my little breakdown this morning, but I am feeling a little lonely. I'll survive. A party tomorrow night will probably change that fairly quickly.


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20 July 2006

Sincerely, L.Cohen

Today, is my partner's birthday. He is now officially half-way to 40! Like Willie Nelson, he is on the road again. No birthday blowjob for him, nor cake - and I love to decorate me a mean cake. I am without cake and cock!

Regardless, I am enjoying the place to myself. I must admit the first couple of days, I may have overdid on the porn. When I get into something while I'm alone - be it smoking cigarettes or listening to a particular song or watching a dvd box set - I completely over-endulge. Perhaps, it's the mild obsessive/compulsive disorder that runs in my family.

The most interesting pieces of news have been freely flowing towards me. My favourite singer and poet, Leonard Cohen, has been spotted in my city. Not just once. I have heard this from tons of people. Even from people that I thought despised me - well, I'm only on their slight shit-list - wrote me to say that he is floating around town. I like this thought.

If you do not know me, you will shortly discover my tremendous love for this man. I love him. I love his voice. I love his words. I love his poetry. I love how he can put together a simple sentence. I bet he could casually say he was going to get some bread at the corner store and make it sound luscious and seductive, make my heart beat a little faster. I love this man. He has stuck by me since high school and watched me blossom into that complicated woman he wrote poems about. Okay, not really...haha. I only wish. Le sigh. I'm such a girl when it comes to him. I imagine myself walking down a snowy street on a winter evening, a scarf wrapped around my neck and wearing a classy peacoat. My red lipstick staining the end of my cigarette. And walking towards me is a man...that man is Leonard Cohen. He would say something simple to me. Maybe ask me to walk alongside him or to go for a quiet glass of red wine. And then we would fall in love and he would write songs about me and we'll live happily ever after.

*insert stupid smile here*

I must admit here that I don't particularly enjoy his newer stuff. The words are still powerful but the plethora of synth keyboards cheapen it, in my humble opinion. It was okay in the 80s but it's not acceptable in this day and age. I would like to see him do something like he did in the 60s - just him and a guitar or at least a string band. I think that could reach a whole new audience. And I also know that it's probably not normal for a 29 year old to have a crush on a 72 year old. Unless you are Anna Nicole Smith.

So Mr. Leonard Cohen is in town. Walking about. Enjoying the city. I am tempted to seek him out, as crazy at that sounds, just for a simple glance at this man I so admire. Of course, I am here at home. There's a very good reason for me being here.

Due to my own physical circumstances, I am positive that I would run into him. My first reason not to seek him out is because it is too hot. These past few days I have been heat stroke queezy. I sit still and I'm sweating like I ran 5o miles. The last thing I would want is to stand before L.Cohen and sweat. I wouldn't know what to say in the first place due to nervousness. And when I am nervous, I pick apart every single motion my body makes. That makes me break a little sweat which makes me pick apart why I am sweating. I have ruined perfectly fine conversations just by holding another one in my head, obsessing about the line of sweat on my brow. Hi, Mr Leonard Cohen, I'm ___ and I have a sweating problem.

The second reason is truly obvious. I have the biggest and reddest zit....on my fucking nose! Jesus Christ, it's awful. I know I don't have the best skin but I can deal with it. This is embarrassing. It's the brand of junior high embarrassment that is really hard to take! All of a sudden I feel fourteen again, for all the wrong reasons! Hi, Mr Leonard Cohen...I'd like to introduce you to my friend, the monsterous and reddest mountain of a zit. I literally look like I am growing a beak. It's on the bridge of my nose and accurately in the middle. It's bright red and I am a pale gal. Just a little higher up on my nose and I would like a bindi. The only good thing about it is if I do choose to go out - my dark framed glasses will hide it, to a certain degree.

My zit, I've called him Rudolph, and I will go on to finish this hot cup of coffee before conquering the day. Who knows, maybe one day soon I will be writing about my saucy love affair with a certain Leonard! (not Nimoy.)

Being Jealous So Far From Home

Ah, day six. Time is going by, ain't it?

Well, last night I lived vicariously through my partner and each and every old friend of mine back home. The band played in my home town and of all cities on their schedule, it was the only place I was truly jealous about not being able to attend. Last night, I sat here and grumbled to myself. I bitterly smoked cigarette after cigarette. I waited. I was even nervous - will they impress my friends? Will people show up? Will they end up hated my home town as they assumed they would? What if they think my friends are lame and square as the rest of English Canada?

Thankfully, I had a lot of sleuths who took of every single detail to satisfied my analytical mind! I was wired all day so I stayed up rather late to get wind from people, either online or via telephone. And that I did.

The first person to call was my lovely sister. She, ever the optimist, confessed that the show went very well. They blew the other band off the stage and my man's guitar playing was very impressive. A few people danced at the front of the stage. It was reasonably crowded for a Tuesday night (according to another friend, it was more full than usual!). The people seemed to enjoy it and the band members were all in jovial moods. There was only one set of home town boobies flashed to the band. Yay, for home town boobies!

My partner met a lot of my friends that he never had the chance to meet when I was in the process of moving out of my city. I felt a little sad at knowing I was not there to give big hugs to old friends with him, but I am very pleased he had the chance to meet my crew. I even got one friend to grab his ass and tell him that I send my regards - apparently, he got a kick out of that. From what I heard from people, it seemed to prove a positive environment for the boys and a relaxing one at that. It's just want they needed, methinks.

I went to bed excited like a kid hepped up on candy. In fact, I couldn't fall asleep until well past five in the morning. I was wired. I have to admit that I felt on fire all day - I was witty as fuck and I had no one to bounce my brilliance off of. The thing that made me so giddy was hearing from my sister and many other friends about what my partner was saying about me. I felt like that kid in school who finds out that their crush likes them back! He said so many sweet things! He told everyone how much he misses me and loves me. He told them that he just wants to come home to me. He told my sister that he wants to come back to my home town to become more close to my family and he that he wishes to meet my grandmother. Yeah, I was getting teary-eyed at this point! He said that he was sorry that he called me up in a grumpy mood (I took no offense!). He was introducing my sister's husband to the band as "his brother-in-law" - that made me get very sappy too! Also, he told my sister to tell my family that he is really a doctor who drives a cadillac - I don't really know where that came from other than the rum, haha. I know I turn to my very protective big sister whenever things aren't calm in my relationship, so it was nice for her to see how much of a gentle, peaceful, and kindhearted person he really is. Don't get me wrong, she has never doubted that. It made me very happy to know that many of my other friends saw that side of him as well, even though they don't know him very well.

I talked to the man in the morning. I set them up to stay at my friend's place. It made me truly happy to know that they were being well taken care of and that he would be well fed in the morning. Perhaps, that sounds a bit silly of me. I figure, it must be tough on the road as they are constantly sleeping the van or on the floor and not able to do laundry. My friend's mom was very hospitable and extended this invitation many months ago. He called in the morning, the sounds of sizzling bacon and sleepy chatter in the background. He was well rested and happy to declare that he actually slept on a bed last night - in his own private room, at that! I talked to my friend for a moment, who is sending a gift with the band for me. He told me how the show went and how much he loved and missed me. They sounded like they were in for a big breakfast. I told him to give my friend's mom a big hug from me.

Later, I received an email from the mom. She said many sweet things about him - how intelligent he is, how polite, and how young he looks! He is a very nice man, she said. I believe they just may stay there on their way back home. Ah, if only my partner could see my folks while he is at it.I suppose it's close enough but they'll be worn out.

I've been walking on air today. Tomorrow is his birthday. Sigh...no birthday blowjob, haha. Actually, I don't think we have ever spent his birthday alone - he's always been playing a show. Next year, it will be the same!

On a side note:
-I am struggling through lesson two of French. Good Lord. I thought I kicked ass on lesson one. Je suis stupide! Mais Oui! Nothing sinks in in ye olde noggin.
-I am smoking too many cigarettes in lieu of kisses.
-I feel like all I am doing is sitting here and getting fat. I'm probably not but I fear my boyfriend will come home to a beluga of a female.
-All I have been eating is pasta salad. I really should learn how to estimate because my pasta salad for two could have served a family reunion.
-And best of all, I have recently grown another nose that I fondly call my new beak. Yes, the brightest and biggest zit you have ever seen on the bridge of my nose. Hot.

18 July 2006

Francais, mais oui!

The break from the heat has given me a better opportunity to take full advantage of the day. Sure, the bedroom looks like a shopping mall vomited all over the floor again but I think I have made a good effort at my time off.

I entered the virtual class room. I am taken an online course at Barnes and Noble University. It is French for Beginners. I have gone through lesson one all afternoon and it stretched into the early evening. I'm proud of myself! I still have to complete to writing exercises and perhaps I should practise on here. Thankfully, a lot of it makes sense. Those two damned years of French in junior high paid off. I still regret not using my paid - gulp - course to the full extent. That was a good waste of $300. Ah well. It's never too late.

The biggest hurdle with learning French is becoming more confident. It's hard to just strike up a conversation at this point. Everyone knows me as English. What would they think if I, all of a sudden, started parlez vous-ing at them. It makes me laugh, because in my head I can see my brilliant expertise. Ah, that is only a dream. One day, I'll show them. I'll be mais oui-ing and s'il vous plait-ing until the cows come home. You'll see.

Another thing is, with a lot of these beginner French courses, is that it is Parisian French. It is far from the Quebecois French they speak out here. It's more chewed up and spat in your face. That's not an insult to the Quebecois. I'm just calling it like it is.

On a side note, I am completely and utterly jealous that my partner's band is playing in my hometown tonight. I want to be there! I told a few friends to grab my man's ass and tell him I send my regards. I hope that happens. I hope my hometown proves them wrong, oh yes. Often, it is a city that is at ease with complaining. People complain there are not enough good shows or events to attend. When there is something finally great in the city, no one shows. They are much more content to sit on their couch and complain until winter-time. I hope for a fun show and lots of people. If the city disappoints them - I will take it personally!

I just want to be that girl surrounded by friends and loved ones, enjoying the music. Bah!

Speaking of my love, he is stressed out. I don't like to hear him in this state. I sincerely hope that it is just the lack of sleep that is talking. I just want to rescue him and be along side him. He is a typical Cancer. He loves being at home. He loves his space. He gets cranky when that is denied. And boy, does he ever love his own bed. Meow!

I will, hopefully, hear from him tonight. I lined up a place for them to stay. There will be beds and a hearty breakfast in the morning. Selfishly, I hope there are a lot of good wishes for me from my old friends that I miss so dearly.

A Better, Less Overheated Update

Who's kidding who, the last few days have not be fun. I'm missing my very own musician, but I'm dealing with it. It is humidity/heat that I have the problem with. If humidity was a person, I would punch him or her right in the neck. Ha-zah!

It's still very warm and sunny out. The humidex reads 32C (89.6F) but compared to the last few days, this is like the damned arctic. If it's one thing I hate, it's sweating like a marathon runner when the only active thing I am doing is simply sitting still. Not hot. I think I have suffered from bouts of heat stroke over the last few days in my sweat-box of an apartment. I have been very lethargic for no other reason. I set out to have a very enthusiastic and active day. By mid-afternoon, I am done. My sinuses get blocked, my head aches, and my stomach becomes very unsettled. I am normally the type of person who does not get nausea so it causes me to become very whiny and needy. Heh, it's easier to control when you have no one to complain to! Anyway, whenever I get a bout of nausea, I end up becoming paranoia. Did he plant a seed? Did I drink bad milk from the fridge? Do I have worms? Nope, it's just the damned heat. I guess I should be happy that it's not a case of the worms.

My in-laws brought over two fans. Unfortunately, they did not want my autograph (Hey-o! I'm here all week!). I have three fans in total. My living room is like an 80's model photography shoot - my hair blowing around in the wind, while I wear my Jordache jeans and neon tube top to the sounds of Michael Sambello's Maniac. Ah, paints a lovely picture for y'all!

Seriously though, this heat is causing me to become a great sloth. I can't think. I can't do anything with such an uneasy stomach. I can't focus, even on the most easy tasks. At least I cleaned up the apartment yesterday, before my fellow Tour Widow came by for dinner. After my surprise in the garbage though, I had to retire from everything. I was done for the day. Blarg!

It was lovely having my girl friend over last night. She brought over a bottle of chilled white wine and strawberries - she claimed she was not going to seduce me, haha. I don't think a guy has even done that for me before (I do recall, however, trying that out on a man in the past. He was more interested in the television. At least, I didn't have to share my damned strawberries)! We sat outside on my patio and talked for a few hours. It was really nice and I appreciate her company. I'm no master chef, but I like making dinner for friends. I made a cold pasta and bean salad - which doesn't sound like much. Originally, I was supposed to make chili but after sitting in my apartment, otherwise known as the fiery depths of hell - I imagined the both of us spontaniously combusting due to being overheated.

I'm such a cheap drunk, it's not even funny. Half a bottle of wine and I'm fuzzy headed. This is the reason I care not to drink in public anymore. When feeling the booze, I get warm and loving and social for a good half hour. After that, I just want to sleep. I've always wanted to be that wild and crazy drunk. Well, it wasn't my life ambition - I just wish it didn't hit me in such a sleepy way.

After my tour widow company left, I went online and chatted with a friend I haven't talked to in YEARS. This was a girl that lived back home. We used to go to this particular bar together and dance our asses off. We used to have a blast together. She's a very kind-hearted girl and I always wished the best for her. When she moved back to her reserve in Ontario, I was very sad. She ended up falling in love with a French man and now she is "with seed". It was nice catching up. The only stupid thing is that I found out her partner's family is from here and they were out here last summer! If only I knew, we would have hooked up for a coffee!

Tonight, the band plays in my hometown. It's the only stop on their tour that I am rather bitter about. I know my old crew will be there. I would have been in MY environment if I was there. I would have been the one dancing and getting my boobs grabbed by my friends! I would have felt a lot more comfortable and into the music. I hope my town treats them well. I know, sometimes, there is a lack of spirit and participation. I want to prove the band wrong! I want them to love playing there. They better put on a good show for my friends...or else! I'm certain I will get the full update later on tonight or tomorrow. I really wish I could be there.

Le Sigh.

It's Been Too Hot

Forgive me and my indecisive stitches, I know I have been a stranger around these parts lately.

Recently, my partner-in-crime left on a musical tour of duty. The weekend before he left was a stressful one. A bunch of us went to a show about eight hours away and the first half of the trip went just fine. I was having fun and I was being chatty. Everything was smooth and fun. Then the combination of heat, sun, and social anxiety kicked in. I was a bit on edge, if you will. A passing comment made me irritated and the swarm of invited people to our hotel room made me even more irritated. I do not function well without sleep. The second half of the trip was quite uncomfortable, but mostly due to my own prior mistakes. Not a single person talked to me and I built up an even bigger wall around myself. I shut down. It happens when you are surrounded by people who are more comfortable to speak a language that you are not familiar with.

We came home to a monster blowout. I heard a lot of words that were very bitter to swallow. I am with someone who is very much into tough love. It hurts at the time but in the long run I appreciate his ways. You see, cuddling and sweetness only goes so far. It's the tough words that cause a reaction - hopefully towards change. He's looking out for me.

He has left and I feel alright. Actually, I enjoy this time alone. Before he left, I made a list of things to accomplish. I admit that I am failing. Like the great Steven Tyler of Aerosmith once said, my get up and go must have got up and left! It's only day five though, I suppose I shouldn't worry. It's not like I am being a lazy television watching sloth anyway.

What's holding me back is the heat. There is a big block of humidity hanging over this city and by the middle of the day, I am messed up. I wouldn't know how it feels to get heat stroke but I think I have suffered it! Currently, I am okay. I have just got out of bed - a little late, at that - so it has yet to hit me. In my little sweat-box of an apartment, the last few days have been a stunted hell. My sinuses get blocked up. My head begins to pound. I get very queesy. I'm never queesy so the first thing my paranoid mind assumes is - what if I'm "with seed"?!

I sincerely hope this heat passes because I find all I want to do is sit in front of my very small fan and close my weary eyes. I want to have something to show for being alone after all these days. I have convinced my partner that I will write, goddamn it! So far, the most creative thing I have come up with is a short tale about taking a bath that is full of ice cubes.

I have requested more fans. I hear they are on their way. Maybe I'll actually be able to get things done!

** As I was writing this, my two bigger fans have arrived. Sweet Baby Jesus, it's a like an old 80's photo shoot in my living room - wind blowing my hair around seductively! Cool kitty.

17 July 2006

On the Edge of a Panic Attack

Call me dependant on my man.

Call me a stupid defenseless girl.

Paint me whatever you wish - I don't fucking care.

Right about now, I would really love my man to be around. No, not for a moment of passion and not even for the companionship (though I would not object). I need him to kill some bugs. Oh, sweet baby Jesus...I need him to kill some bugs.

The summer I was 23, I smoked weed here and there. I never truly liked the feeling of being high. I would become even more quiet and withdrawn. I would stare at people for a little too long. I would obsess about how I wasn't saying anything and how boring I was. That same summer, our city's trees were infested with tent worms. I never liked worms but I could deal with them. I mostly just avoided them. Being high that summer and getting over some personal issues, for some reason, helped me develop this panic and fear of worms. Plus, I had a really bad first date where I found a worm in my tea - after I finished drinking it.

I guess I can't say I'm scared of any kind of worm. Seeing them fills me with panic, especially those tree worms and maggots. Even thinking of them turns my stomach. I'm pretty cool with earthworms but feel very uneasy when it rains and they are all over the side walk.

I've been a very busy bee this afternoon, getting the house all clean and tidy. Tomorrow is garbage day. I kind of put it off last garbage day and I don't put the bag outside as raccoons have been a problem lately. I take the garbage out of the can and worms. Worms. Maggots. I'm domestically embarrassed to admit that, but I suppose it has happened to everyone at least once.

I freeze. I feel shivery, cold, and dizzy.

Usually, at this point I call for my man to deal with it. Instead, I stand there and breathe deeply. This has been the only moment I have truly wanted a cigarette, as I stopped last night. I run for my bottle of hairspray to kill them, because I am that much of a girl. There are a few on the floor too. They won't die. I get hot water and disinfectant for the garbage can. I'm armed with too much paper towel to kill them. I want to vomit and I want to cry. I hate worms. I am still shaky...

Somebody give me a fucking cigarette and a shoulder to hang onto. I'm on the quivery edge of a panic attack.

15 July 2006

Inner Demon

It's always hard to hear from someone you admire that you are fucked up. The worst thing about it is actually knowing it.

There's a good reason why I do not go along with the boys, when there is room for me in the van. I feel like I stick out like a sore thumb and I feel social anxiety kick in full throttle. I'm not one for team sports.

Last weekend was no exception. In fact, it was a rough one. Well...only half the time.

The first part of the voyage was great. I felt very positive and I pumped myself up for the outing. It's not like I'm some sort of recluse or wack-job in the first place. I just have to encourage myself to not fall into a pile of anxious messiness. I try so very hard but my inner demons always seem to win!

I know it's probably not healthy but I tend to stick to the people I am most comfortable with. Being in Quebec and not French, I lean towards the English people. It's a comfort zone, though I realize I should try a little bit harder with the French. The only reason the first half of the band trip went smoothly was because I had another girl friend there. An English girl friend and one that I understand when she speaks French. It calms me and, besides, I honestly enjoy her company. We chatted, we laughed - it was a good time on the road. Eventually, everyone fell asleep in the van with the exception of the driver and myself. I felt at a loss for words, but there's so much you can say when you are in the backseat.

The show went just as well. I chatted up a storm. I was friendly. I felt good inside. It was a hot summer day and I felt my skin getting redder and redder. I tried to revive myself with my good friend, Beer. I drank a quarter of a can and felt uneasy. It was one of those days where I couldn't hold down alcohol. I shouldn't be drinking in the first place, given the heat and the lack of food in my tummy. Sometimes it is either drink and be a part of the crowd until I black out (low blood sugar) or stay sober and healthy. At least I know better to not listen to the Beer Demon, that lurks inside each and everyone of us. I floated around here and there, but mainly stuck to the people I drove in with. I made a couple of rounds, talking to a girl from back home (what a pleasant surprise!) and another girl I met off Myspace. Everyone was having a good old time.

Enter inner demon.

At the end of the night, I was tired and sunburnt. I just wanted to chill out and relax. Take it easy, if you will. I should have known better because before I knew it, people from the outdoor show were being invited to our hotel room left and right. Insert the beginnings of social anxiety here. I fell into a less than pleasant mood to say the least. It took forever for everyone to pack up their vans and I got stuck manning the merch booth. I have no problem with that. A local approached me and we talked about the town we were in and I casually mentioned how I would love to see Niagara Falls as it was only 15 minutes away. I figured that while we were this close, we may as well see one of the world's biggest tourist spots.

He replied, "It's only fucking water!"

That was almost the straw that broke the camel's back! It's only fucking water? What the hell? It's freaking Niagara Falls! I tried with clumsy words to explain myself. I proudly stated that I was from the prairies and you don't, obviously, see landmarks such as that. He looked utterly bored. He turned his attention to the French girls and they all began to rave about Quebec. It's the best, it's the greatest, the woman are the best women. Yeah. I felt like a big ol' prairies reject! After that moment, this guy did not speak another word to me nor did he acknowledge my presense - even when saying goodbye the next day! I have to say, it kind of kicked off that mood and offended me.

We all piled into the van and it's drunken French people everywhere. And it's also drunken French people singing drunken French songs. People are laughing. They understand. I sit there, clued out as usual. Frustration is beginning to rear it's ugly head.

We get to the hotel room and there's a good number of people. I am instantly cranky. Cranky like a little child who has been stuck in a mall or out in the sun all day long. I just want to crash. I don't want to socialize with a bunch of drunken strangers. They sensed that, I assume, as no one approached me.

There's always a kind of awkwardness when you are the only sober person in a room full of drunks. I was glad that they were all having a good time. I just felt a little disassociated, a little disconnected from that brand of fun. I know it was my choice to come along and not drink, I know it's not my say to what the band wants to do. I tried to swallow my seemingly selfish feelings but it was next to impossible. I know I showed a look of irritation on my face. I felt isolated and in my own nervousness - all I wanted to do was flee. I seem to always want to flee when I am far away from my own shelter.

You know, I don't like this about myself. It's a side I have always known but it seems to have come into bloom upon arriving to this city. I'm the sober one. I sit back and watch people being asses. I see them having fun and taking silly photographs and grabbing boobs and doing stupid dances. I sit back and what kicks in is a longing to return home. I used to be like this, I recall as I sit back. Now, I am stuffy and stiff and awkward. I cannot seem to let loose. I know I'm fun. I know I am interesting. And I certainly know I am downright silly! However, with the majority of the people in this city, I cannot seem to break out of this very tough shell I have built around me. I feel left out and I know I have made myself feel left out all on my own.

I go for a walk. I would prefer to go on my own but I do not know the city well. I long for a visit to a trusted 711. They don't have any here. I settle for a lacklustre convenience store. I curse the postcard situation. My partner is not impressed. I can almost tell that he wants to keep away from me.

As we return, I latch onto two younger girls who are very nice and sweet. They are sober and tired - they, too, are waiting on their boyfriends to quit partying and head back to their hotel. I sit there, smoking endless cigarettes, and outright complain. I vent and vent and vent. They feel bad for me. Not only can they see the tired expression on my face but they can see the irked expression that comes with the other kind of younger girls who think it's so fun and cool to flash their titties to a band in front of a camera. Ah, the sweet icing on the cake. These girls I sat with felt so bad for me that they took it upon themselves to take me to Niagara Falls. I tell them how appreciative I am for their gesture and thank them for listening. I bond with these girls, even though one of them said she was age five in 1990. Upon hearing that, I imagined myself as a complaining old hag! I get to see Niagara Falls. Just my luck, there were no lights on. Still, something amazing before my prairie eyes!

We return to my party and the token completely fucked up girl was awake (again). She had this shrill voice that made you want to spontaniously do roundhouse punches to the neck region, to anyone in your path. A lot of people were gone, but they were still in and out of our room to rescue beer. I clenched my fists, tried not to storm into my room(but probably did), and went directly to bed to the sweet sounds of shrill voiced completely fucked up girl yapping away about something to gain any kind of attention.

Sleep. Sleep is always a beloved companion.

In the morning, I was full of rise and shine. I had another one of those sympathy hangovers. My head was killing me but I was happy to get out and enjoy the drive back. It was a waiting game. Hungry and anxious, I paced about but was in a calmer mood. It was morning. And then we went for breakfast.

I'm all over breakfast. Nothing makes me happier than a greasy breakfast and that first cup of coffee. A group of 12, we were. We get two seperate tables. I, of course, get stuck at the French table. Usually, I enjoy listening in (though it has taken me a long time) and I sit back. Eventually, the words are translated. I sit there in silence and gobble down my grub. I think only a few words are spoken to me. I get pissy at the rude comments they say about the waitress in French.

We drive for eight hours, plus rest stops along the way. All French, once again. No one says a word to me. Once again, I shut my doors. I feel a sad storm brewing inside. No one talks to me and I barely understand (only insults and dirty comments about women, I seem to get). I just sit there. I sit through the long drive and nothing. I come to the point where I pretend to read and sleep because what's the point, I figure. I know I cannot speak French and I know it's my own damned fault. I could have tried harder. I know it's easy for them all to fall into it. But I just sit there. I feel unimportant, left out, cast aside. It's an incredible lonely feeling that I have only tasted since moving here. It's bad enough when someone is involved in a fun conversation without you, but it's worse when you barely understand a single word being said. It's incredibly lonely and I do not think anyone in this circle of acquaintances can relate. I come off as a grumpy snob when all I feel is tremendously left out. After eight hours of that, I fell into another round of sad.

Not only did I mope around with a little angry cloud over my head on Saturday night, but I stared off in my own silent world for hours upon hours. I know it's mostly my doing, my own odd feelings. What was I suppose to do? How was I suppose to act after that many hours of non-stop language that I just did not understand? How was I suppose to react when the only English spoken was in regards to the young attention whores displaying their naked boobs? The only thing I could think of was a good swig of homeopathic anxiety remedies.

I know I was a bit of a pain in the ass, this past weekend.

When we got home, we both exploded. And when I say exploded, it's honestly not that bad. Perhaps, the proverbial pot bubbled over. It was long and messy and full of tears. Sigh.

I reacted to the whole weekend and chose to bring it up by turning into a wingnut. I brought up the naked boob attention whores. Not cool. Just insecure. Whenever I try to verbally explain myself, sludge flows out of my mouth. Nothing works. I sound like an insecure idiot. I tried to explain that I just couldn't fit in and I felt left out, so I reacted harshly. I told him that I felt lonely. That I used to be cool and fun and wacky. I told him that eight hours in a van and not being spoken to once drove me crazy. I told him that I do not know what to say to new people, especially when they are not sober. He told me next time to stay home.

He told me that it is not normal for me to be here for two years and not have a set of friends. He's right. He told me that it's not normal that I have been here for two years and haven't tried to learn a stitch of French. He's right. He told me that I haven't tried hard enough and that I sit to watch the world go by. He's right. He's right. He's right. He told me that I am not well adjusted. He's right again. He told me that I have a lot of potential and he wants to see me use my talents. He's right - problem is, I have no idea what this potential or talent is. He told me that I am not a very happy person. He's right. He told me that he is afraid to go away for three weeks, in fear of me going insane. That hurt.

(Of course, being the paranoid person that I am...I actually wondered "what if I do go insane!?")

He compared me to his friend the schitozphrenic. Yep, and that hurt too.

The thing is, I know he is right on a lot of levels. Maybe I just don't like hearing it spoken so bluntly.

Sometimes, I am so afraid of letting loose here and getting close to people. I feel like I am on a constant first date with a lot of people. You know, those wonky gaps of silence and that small talk. I'm fine with that, only until I start thinking about home and I get very lonely. I recognize that change within me and I am not sure it's a good change. I just want that old set of friends like I had back home, like people have here. Sometimes, I am afraid of letting those old friends go in order to accommodate the new ones - yet I know there's no reason to why I can't have both. Sometimes, I am so very afraid of losing my own identity here in the sea of French. I want to be that prairies girl for a long time. I want to be proud of where I come from. I never want to forget my home, my background.

And that is the reason why the Tour Widow doesn't go on tours. I complicate things. I complicate things there and in my own damn head. I make a molehill into a mountain. I panic. I want to be at home or in private. I desire my own schedule. I don' t want to socialize with girls who are barely legal who have no shame to piss in a parkade or flash their tits at every guy who holds a musical instrument. I'm better off left at home. I may go insane but at least I'm not miserable.

02 July 2006

Mangy Cats, Pigeons, and Raccoons - Oh My!

My sister gets cute fluffy wuffy wabbits living in her lush back yard. My mom gets well-behaved squirrels that frolic in her flower beds. My grandmother, a country yard full of birds and an arthritic handsome cat that is too tired to chase them (he prefers food of the canned variety, in his graceful elderly age). Ah, sounds lovely and complete when you look up to a sky full of stars at the end of the day.

What do I get? You would think not much as I live my life in the fast paced city. Maybe a little smog? Maybe the occasional late night racket?

What I did get the other day was a lovely visit from a raccoon. By the way, raccoons are only truly funny when they are going through your neighbour's garbage cans. As we were sitting back and enjoying a Japanese monster flick, something inside kept telling me to look back at the door to our patio. It was early and we usually leave the door open for a breeze. A few moments later and out of the corner of my eye, I see something move inside. I didn't have my glasses on so I thought it was just the stray cats that have been recently lurking around our building. As well, a summer or so ago I saw a family of raccoons and mistook them for a family of persian cats - that's how bad my eyes can be (at least I amuse myself with my bad vision). I turn around, only to see a large raccoon with beady raccoon eyes stepping foot into my kitchen.

"A fucking raccoon!" I yelped.

We both jumped up and it turned out the door. I guess he was under the impression that he truly wasn't welcome in our humble abode. By the time we made it out on the patio, he skidaddled across the neighbour's fence into the backlane. What a brave little raccoon, saying hello in an un-nocturnal kind of way. I'm just glad we noticed it before it was too late. The last thing I need is to be trapped in a small apartment with a raccoon that may or may not be full of piss and vinegar and rabies. Although, that would have made for a very interesting blog.

Dear Blog,
Today, I was attacked by a rabid raccoon. It became frightened by my screams of bloody murder and proceeded to take a dump on my kitchen floor, before raiding the garbage can. I no longer has any feeling in my lower limbs and digits.
The end.

That's what we get. Raccoons in our kitchen and pissy, mangy cats. At least, our new friends - the pigeons - have been rather respectful. They have yet to go mad with hunger and attack my throat. On that thought, perhaps I should train them to do that so that they can attack Bono and/or Tom Cruise next time they are in town. Caw-Caw!

01 July 2006

Books - May & June 2006

I suppose you can say that spring took a hold of me and I became a little distracted. I haven't read as much as I would have liked to!

May 2006

1) Watership Down - Richard Adams
I took my sweet, sweet time with this novel. It was beautiful, tragic at certain times, and a delightful pleasure to read. I never thought a simple story about the life of rabbits could be so marvelous! He takes you on a journey through the eyes of a strong and lively team of rabbits and creates a completely believable story. I was impressed, to say the least. I cried, I smiled, and I cheered on those fiesty little rabbits. It's a must read, I believe. I did not want the story to end as I felt as though I befriended each and every rabbit. I like to believe now that rabbits have their own little personalities and worlds in which they live.

2) Farewell My Concubine - Lillian Lee
Perhaps, this was another case of lost in translation. Overall, this proved to be a beautiful and rich tale of unrequited love. I'm all about sad and tragic. I love stories like that, especially when they are set in Asia. I could almost feel the texture of the costumes and painted makeup. However, I know what it feels like to love so deep and not have it returned. I did not feel as though the characters truly felt this pain. I only believe that this was a case of lost in translation.

June 2006

1) Tough Guys Don't Dance - Norman Mailer
I have always heard about Norman Mailer and I was expecting great things when I picked up this novel for one whole dollar at the used book store down my street. Maybe spring distracted me, I don't know. I just couldn't get into this book. It wasn't a bad read. It simply didn't do it for me. There were a few lines in it that were pretty crass and made me chuckle. I couldn't get into it.

2) Runaway - Evelyn Lau
I love reading published journals of any kind. I thought I would give this a whirl since it's sitting in a box in my apartment, ready to be given away for free. This was a widely acclaimed novel about a young runaway from Canada, living on the streets and making her way through drugs and prostitution and thensome. I have to take into consideration that I cannot relate whatsoever to the life that she lead, when she was only fourteen years of age. I wasn't like that, at that age, and I am certainly not like that now. It was good for a while but soon, I became annoyed. I realize she was only a young women when she wrote this so I shouldn't judge so harshly. I found that she became very repetitive in her use of sentences/phrases. I found her to be kind of self-centered and spoiled - when she clearly had many opportunities to be something big. Her diary became quite annoying and I was glad when I finished reading it. I suppose if someone published my own private diary, they would call me spoiled and self-centered too.

3) The Unconsoled - Kazuo Ishiguro
Man, was I ever glad when I finished this book! This was 535 pages of well-written nonsense. As you can tell, I didn't enjoy this read. I'm confident that Ishiguro is a fine writer. This was the first novel of his that I read. It simply went nowhere. It went in circles and didn't successfully wrap up - maybe that is why it is called The Unconsoled? Whatever the case may be, the story just irked me. The main character is a famous pianist who is visiting a city. He has no complete memory of this city, it's inhabitants, or why he is there. Yet, he wanders around without admitting he is clued out. He runs into people who know him and they rant and rave to him, telling him on and on about old timey stories. If I want some of that, I would go back to my old town and listen to the folks babble on and on about something I am not really interested in! The main character often gets sidetracked, becomes arrogant here and there, and ditches people. He walks around in circles and ends up right where he started, at the hotel. He runs into more people he cannot remember and they tell him more stories that make no sense. 535 pages of unnecessary dialogue! Good grief, at some point during reading this (while having PMS), I actually threw the book at the wall.

4) Foods That Harm - Foods That Heal - Various Writers (Reader's Digest publication)
This was a treat to read. I read it over several months, tasting a few entries per day. I'm often dumbfounded by domesticity and I figure that I must have fallen asleep during home-ec when I was in junior high. There were a lot of quirky facts about food and a lot of probably widely known facts I didn't know whatsoever. It wasn't a suspenseful read nor challenging, but it was informative and pretty to look at. Lots of great food photographs. The section about worms in food, however, frightened me a bit.

Favourite Books of May and June?
Watership Down by Richard Adams and Foods That Harm-Foods That Heal!


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