venice is sinking

so we were oot and aboot last night happy houring it up and i managed to fall on my bottom not once but twice and now my foot hurts and i'm hobbling around like a gimp.

so very hot.

so very graceful.

technically though it wasn't my fault - i was wearing new shoes, so that was definitely to blame for the first tumble and the architect shoved me into traffic the second time he must have taken out an impressive insurance policy on me or something yesterday.

hmph.

anyhoo, i currently have a red wine headache and am STARVING. I'm totally craving fried potato products but there's no way i could make it to the nearest fast food outlet hobbling like i am. someone bring me mcdonalds hash browns STAT! i may die if i don't get them! seriously!

that disease comes with a hot chick and a puppy

ok if you are canadien-eh and haven't seen this week's how i met your mother, run don't walk to the nearest cbs website and watch that shizz.

brilliant, i swear. almost as good as robyn's quote in a previous episode about her coworker being a hockey player: "i'm canadian! he's a hockey player! if he was missing a tooth i'd have hit that already!"

on a discussion board i frequent, there's been some discussion about food shortages hitting the us. People are starting to hoard staples like rice n flour as the prices rise. it's interesting how food riots in africa, haiti and some asian countries barely cause a blip on the western radar (unless you are one of those crazy do-gooder radical liberals*) until costco slaps your hand for overdoing it on the starches.

while i could say amen to a fiscal impetus to cut carbs, at the same time i worry that such things will only encourage short-sighted government administrations to reward the big industrialized agriculture machines to rip out whatever crops they are currently cultivating and plant grains to the exclusion of all else, when in reality we should be looking at encouraging crop diversity and region-appropriate plantings.

le sigh.

maybe i should use some of my free time to look into starting or volunteering with organizations that plant community gardens. not that i know anything about this, and my thumb is so black i worry that it is going to fall off, but i could probably do something. it's either that or go to work for peta lobbying for soylent green.


* i'm clearly saying this tongue in cheek.

dang

man i'm sorry. this working thing where i have no access to a computer really sucks. it's seriously interrupting my casual computering time and i resent it thoroughly.

not completely, though, 'cause i am anticipating my paycheque come friday afternoon. the sister will be in town this weekend and mama needs some new spring clothes.

the architect had to finish his taxes when he first arrived home last night and i wanted burgers so by the time we finished eating it was 9pm. this (combined with the lack of alky-ma-hol i drank) led to some pretty serious insomnia - like i was up till almost one and awake before 5, fell back to sleep around 6 just in time for the alarm to go off at 6.45. now i'm waiting to get into the shower but he's been lollygagging so he's cutting into my quality scrubbing time.

le sigh.

sorry for the uninspired post... bear with me for a few more days and i will be back to your regularly scheduled randomness i swear.

yeah so?

maybe i am getting old.
wtf i don't care.

the thought of going to farina tonight and morcheeba and then bt tomorrow night just sounded... meh.

it's not like i don't love farina and don't always have a great time when i go, it's just that essjay isn't here and i am not sure how it would go without her. even last week at sharam all i kept thinking was how weird it is without the vancity crew. i know i have to get over it it's just.

just.

tonight the architect is snoring on the couch at 9.30pm. he works really hard and i fed him a whole bunch of wine when he got home. then we went down the road for dinner with tony dancer and drank some more. i came home and yakked it all up ('cause what would dinner be without a yak or two by me) (seriously - i think i should get a refund for every restaurant meal i puke) so i'm dead sober.

yeah i'm a bad blogger but i've worked all week with little/no innerweb access till i get home and when i do get home i gots da other craps to do. sue me.

no don't.

xo

stairs

i have these recurring facets of my dreams where i'm climbing something - stairs, a hill, what have you - and just as i'm about to reach the top my legs stop working and i can't climb anymore. it's like they just collapse underneath me and am pulling myself up with my arms. it's not a pleasant feeling, and it tends to carry itself into my waking life.

anyway.... so some of you may recall that my crazyexboyfriend was a hairdresser and i spent a couple years of my life as his unpaid servant (ran the kitchen in his cafe; was his salon assistant). anyhoo... for the next two weeks i'm working as a salon assistant up the road. when i went to meet'n'greet a manicurist for a wedding day treat for the sister, my mama and i, we got to chatting and it turned out the salon she works in needed a temporary underthetable type person to do some vacation coverage. it pays ten bux an hour and cash so i said heck yeah. at the end of yesterday they paid me for the few hours i've been filling in (like 5 or something). it was a really awesome feeling - walking home from a day of work with cash in hand. we went and bought wine and groceries with money i'd earned and i felt super happy and awesome. yeah i've done a couple of the cruiseship things but for some reason this felt like real work. just different. i guess i'm really not cut out to have a sugar daddy. i like paying my own way.

young dumb don't see a problem

one of the classic stories of my childhood is the time that my parents took us over to a house party. i, a wannabe foodie even at the tender age of 4, helped myself to several shrimp from a platter and promptly vomited all over the place.

i'm such a joy to bring to parties.

anyhoo, fastforward to wednesday night. a new friend is a former sushi chef and wanted to come over and cook a salmon tasting menu for the architect and i. one of the appetizers was chopped salmon tartare stuffed in a mushroom and topped with a jumbo shrimp. i ate one because i was trying to be polite - if you have gone out with me or cooked for me, you know that i rarely eat seafood or shellfish or anything (firm believer in the fact that just because it lives underwater doesn't mean it's not a bug). hop skip and jump again to 4am at which time i awoke, with a burning pain in my belly. i promptly started to yak and continued to do so until 8am, at which point the architect took me to the hospital (the er at scripps-mercy has a lovely clean ladies room, by the way, but those in the bowl air fresheners are murder on the lungs when you have your head stuck in there. i can *still* smell fake flower grandma perfume, i swear.)

a bunch of tests later, they put me on an IV of saline, supplemented with a shot of anti-nauseant and dilaudid and sent me on my way. yay narcotics!

i've been drunk since i left

so one of the folks i've met down here is this super cool vietnamese fellow who sings like dean martin. i know this is improbably and/or incongruous, but there it is. i've tried, on more than one occasion, to teach him home for a rest which is possibly the ultimate canadian drinking song. he's doing pretty well - got the tune and now just needs the lyrics down.

strangely this is the one song that i can sing without sounding like a cat that someone is using as bagpipes.

anyhoo - the architect, pho and i ended up at an irish pub last night discussing the probability of intent in the naming of various asian-type restaurants. anyone who's lived in or visited vancouver in the past ten years has probably seen pho bch nga which used to be at the corner of kingsway & victoria. pronounced phonetically, it's always worth a giggle in mixed company. ditto fuku roku. i figure that it's probably a decent sense of humour at play - why not fuck with the white folk? he figures it's not like that though... and apparently bch nga means something to do with being russian. who knew?