True Confessions

So they say that confession's good for the soul. My soul could use some salvation and/or some salve, so let's get this out of the way, shall we?

1) I was on man hiatus b/c I had a really weird, uncomfortable internet date. I guess the confession is that I've been going on internet dates. Maybe the blog will get interesting again, hm?

2) The verb in that sentence is *was*.

3) I'm totally and completely addicted to Top Chef. I've watched 4 seasons in the past two weeks.

4) I'm terrified of my garbage disposal.

5) Also of escalators.

6) I keep buying underwear so I don't have to do laundry.

7) I've developed a weakness for shoes with 3.5" heels & higher. I ended up picking orders in my warehouse for 3 hours today. I can't feel my toes, but I'm sort of happy about this because I suspect that, when the feeling comes rushing back, the feeling will be pain.

8) The couchsurfer told me that the reason he doesn't want to fuck me is b/c I don't smell good. This has made me vaguely insecure about the way I smell, so when I meet you I will hope and pray that you smell me and enjoy the experience.

9) It's 8:05pm and I kind of just want to take my glass of wine to bed and watch more top chef.

10) I recently had an exceptionally filthy dream about Sam from Season Two. Look at him, though. Who wouldn't?

Sundae afternoons....

So I finally met the blogfather. He said to me.. "Do you like Elvis Costello?" I said yes, but I'm disappointed that he married Diana Krall, because I love my Canadian girls, but she's as whitebread middle america as they come. She's no Canadian girl, thrust up from the permafrost screaming for sunshine and heat and passion. She was born in.... Arizona where the temps are a steady 98 degrees all day long - not hot enough for a boil. Just hot enough for a boy band.

So yeah, I met his highness and it's probably about time 'cause there's been a few craigslist connections, but shit doesn't happen 'til it's time, right.

It's probably time.

acrobatics

So there's a comment two posts down that might be the best ever.
Can't really take it to heart, though, because a girl's gotta have hobbies and mind is self-immolation for your entertainment.

After Wednesday's epic shitty day I asked the couch surfer if he'd please spend some time with me yesterday. He's not nice and not cute but somehow he makes my head be still. He said he would, and when I got home from work he was here, but on his way out. "We'll hang out," he said, "but it'll be sandwiched between me doing something now and doing something later. I'm running myself ragged."

I told him to not wear himself out on my behalf and headed down the road to have dinner with a friend. When I got home I sent him a text... basically said that it'd be cool if he was here. Hours later he responded saying he was in the burbs and too drunk to drive. He's even giving up the pretense of wanting to hang out with me, which is fine, but it'd be cool if he quit using me as a place to crash at the same time. If I'd wanted to live with someone platonically I would have stayed married for pete's sake.

Like water for

So I was bitten by a cute, dreadlocked circus performer last night. Three times, actually - once on the arm and twice on the neck. I can't remember how it happened, exactly. I do know that she was introduced to me by a (smokin hot) acrobat as his girlfriend. He then introduced her boyfriend, and his date. I commented that the situation seemed complicated. He said "Fuck no. *Monogamy* is complicated", and then proceeded to pet me all night long.

RAWR.

I was, however, in the company of a friend, so did not go home with said acrobat or his multitude of female companions. I would be SO ok, however, if he were to find a way to find me, as we do have certain people in common.

Damn. The things we do for love.

And when I say love I mean, of course, the verb, because I've abandoned hope (all ye who enter here) of the noun.

My couchsurfer (the one who is fucking with my head) told me he loved me. I have only seen him for a few minutes here and there since that moment. This could be construed as partially my fault because I opted to spend my evening last night with circus performers and other interesting characters but, let's not kid, I didn't expect him to actually spend any time at my house yesterday. Or at all. 'Cause, you know, tonight I'm home and he's told me he's probably not coming back this evening.

Which, by the way, makes me feel like crap, even though I'm pretending really hard that it doesn't. Except for bawling my eyes out the whole way home from my walk, of course, but I was wearing sunglasses so who cares?

A choir of furies in your head

I quit taking the lexapro after one month because it's $100/ bottle and who the fuck can afford that when there are things like wine and shoes to buy? Things are blacker than black, though, and I can't get out of my head so when I went to the dr about my fire ant eyes (yes I've got fire ants in my eyes, currently; dr says it's 'pink eye', but I know it's fire ants) I asked him to give me something else & he wrote me an rX for paxil.

Came home and did some research & found that paxil makes you gain like 20lbs in the first couple of months and makes you not have any sex drive or be able to have an orgasm. 'Cause, you know, exactly what an almost-40yr old with depression &  major self esteem issues needs is 20 extra lbs.

Anyhoo, promptly decided against taking that shit. The question now, though, is what do I do? Do I call him and ask him to prescribe me something else or do I just succumb to the horror?

The previous post is kind telling 'cause I'm going through the same shit right now. Last night I heard "I love you. You are my dearest friend and the kindest person I've ever met in my life but the thing that makes it so I can't keep my hands off you is missing". A) that's the first time I've ever had a guy dump me because he *didn't* want to fuck me and B) shit how the fuck do I get myself into these situations? Like what part of me decided that it'd be ok to half fall in love with someone who only ever wants to fuck other people and who can't give me what I need & what I deserve?

And it's not as though he's conned me into this - he told me straight up that this is who he is and what I should expect. "I will hurt you", he said. And he has. A lot.  So last night he decided it couldn't go on because he doesn't want to hurt me (for the above stated reasons) and I practically begged him to continue.

I'm
So
Fucked
Up

How much damage can I do to myself before I completely self-destruct? How much pain can I take before I'm nothing but pain - banjo-plucking on each tendril sending white hot shoots through my heart? Who wants to watch?

I used to be a writer.

I kind of even remember how some days. (fr. November 3, 2005)

warning - pity part to commence in tminus seventeen seconds.

In 1915, The National Council of Teachers of English established the first week in November as Better-Speech Week. I'm not sure why this tickles my fancy, but it does. In honour of this, I shall construct one of my rare blog entries which actually conform to most of the laws of grammar - most especially capitalization.

I'm quite incapable of lucid thought today. I'm trapped in a werewolf forest constructed by my own ennui. The trees are falling and the only one who is around to hear them is me, but I'm tired of being a witness to the systematic destruction of my own faith in love and relationships and happiness. I need to call TNB and ask him to just get it over with - just say the sentence which is, inevitably, a variation of "You are the best person I know and I don't want to lose you in my life, but because of [insert random reason here] I don't think we can see each other anymore".

Do you know how many times I've heard that sentence? I'm wondering if I should try to be *less* of a better person - maybe be a bit more of a Judge Judy-style harpy. Would that be more appealing to the opposite sex? I seem to attract men who are at a crossroads in their lives. They meet me and have a lovely time - have their faith in women restored - then move on to the next one. I can't seem to shake the roll of the cool chick you shag for a while then keep around 'cause she's such a great buddy. Maybe if I were more of a selfish beeyatch guys would take me seriously and stick around.

See - you all think I'm kidding when I talk about my bright future surrounded by my cats and discarded tv-dinner trays, but I'm really quite serious. I'm losing my energy and my desire to even try anymore. 'Cause really, what's the point? It always ends with the same sentence. The only variable is how well I can pretend like it doesn't matter to me - wouldn't want to blow the charade, you know, but sometimes it's harder than others. Only you know how it takes little pieces away from my soul, how it steals the sparkle from my eyes. Only you can see the how my shadow is growing in the midday sunshine. The werewolves are circling, circling, and I'm just lying here waiting.

fuuuuu

So I'm starting off 2011 car-less, phone-less, and half in the bag over a guy who really doesn't feel more than vague affection for me.

I'm trying so hard to put a positive spin on everything. I'm trying so hard. And I'm sorry that you get to hear the shit but if I have to smile and laugh on the outside then this becomes the only place where I can curl up and cry. Well you know, except for when I'm on my 10mile walk home from a party I didn't want to attend last night.

I would like to be curled up in my bed crying, but the aforementioned gentleman is there currently. Credit to him - he did spend an hour driving around looking for me after I texted that I was walking home. Unfortunately I couldn't respond to him b/c (naturally) I lost my phone.

Happy fucking new year. 

Cleaning house

There comes a time after the end of almost every relationship (of the romantic variety) where you have to step  back, take stock, and decide whether or not that person still brings value to your life. Like after you break up and you cling to the pedestrian notion that you can still be friends. Can you? Can you really? Or are you just holding on clutching the final shreds of whatever it was you had together?

I've kind of had those moments a lot in the last couple of months - sure with the architect*  but also with the guy I was hanging out with when I was separated the first time. He's kind of a moody bitch and I quit talking to him a while ago and felt blessed utter relief at not having to deal with the drama. Yesterday he started texting me again.. said he loved me and missed talking to me. We texted back and forth for a while but sure enough it soon degraded into him admitting to something he'd been lying about to me for months, me getting pissed off & telling him so, him getting self-righteous (as though the confession should absolve him of the actual act). Do I look like the fucking catholic church? Nuh. Anyway, I'm going back to the not talking to him thing because it really REALLY was better for me. He doesn't actually bring value to my life and the more he opens his mouth the more I realize (as you do in these sorts of situations) that he's not the person I'd hoped he was.  And that's ok - you can't blame someone for being who they actually are. You can only feel sort of disappointed in yourself for not realizing it the first time they revealed themselves.

All the drunks they were singing

I'm unnaturally attached to "fairytale in new york" this holiday season. Like, I keep listening again and again, and it reaches deep inside of me and plucks on my heartstrings in ways that nothing else has been able to do this December.

Well consciously, anyway - I admit that there are moments when I encounter a random news story, or watch a commercial, or hear a song, and start bawling my eyes out. Nothing, though, nothing comes close to filling me with the sense of melancholy and *LONGING* that this frickin' pogues song does.

I'm back in my old room (rebuilt into guestroom extraordinaire), back where I started, no farther ahead than I ever was. Shit if we could drop back four years and do it all again I'd be almost exactly where I started.  That's fuct.

I'm hiding down here getting drunk by myself b/c if anyone tries to scratch below the surface of my shiny happy exterior I'll start bawling my eyes out because of how royally I've screwed up.

And I don't nec. mean the architect- seriously we didn't have sex for 5 months and you guys *KNOW* me - there's no way that could have ended in anything but tears.  I just mean in general.


Le sigh. I'm drunk. I'm sad. I'm lonely. I genuinely *really* like a boy who's probably really really really bad for me - who's a consumate con artist and who (deep down I know) is probably just practicing his own agenda for being with me. Tonight's one of those nights where I think to myself that I've spent time with the kiddo; I've spent time w/ my family.. if ever there was a moment to walk in front of a truck and put everyone out of my misery it's right now.

Everything old is new again

I've been making a big effort to get out of the house and socialize this past week & it's def. been interesting. I'm meeting a bunch of people and having my sense of desirability (sexpottiness) reaffirmed. There really is something in me that needs male attention. Always has been, I guess.

So last night I went with a friend to see a DJ show at a local lounge & was just minding my business ordering a cocktail* when the guy standing beside me started to chat at me. Turns out he was another good friend of the friend I was with. He had just returned from China so we got to talking about that & basically enjoying a decent conversation. Sadly, this did not sit well with the guy's girlfriend who is, by all reports, a lovely lovely woman. She did *not* like me though. My friend and I were puzzled & kind of amused by the whole situation. I don't want to cross this chick though - she's apparently quite the kickboxer.

Anyhoo, point to the story is that .... actually there's no real point to the story other than that my rather low self esteem was a bit bolstered by the last couple of nights. So that's cool.

*(forgot my card there - second night in a row. I'm going to have to track halfway across SD county to collect all belongings left in bars tonight. Le sigh.)

Rainy Monday

Thanks to a fairly high dose of prescription Ambien and some more than decent red wine, I've actually managed to get +6 hours of sleep the past two nights in a row. Sure I know it's prob not the most healthy approach to bedtime, but hell - I was so tired I was starting to hear voices. Sooner or later they were going to convince me to walk naked down the overpass or something equally newsworthy.

My apologies for depriving you all of the story.

The architect came in with all of the forms to fill out for divorce yesterday. I was more than a little surprised at the suddenness. I mean, sure I guess I figured it was going to happen, I just thought maybe we'd have a conversation about it or something first, you know? Like I'd get a little forewarning, not just a file folder on the kitchen table when he popped by to help me fix my closet door. He says he wants to get it all over with so we can go back to being best friends, and that he wants me to be happy. He says he wants to start dating and wants me to do the same thing.

I laughed. I'm a chubby, almost 40 loser in a state packed full of lithe blonde prom queens. I'm hardly the ideal date. He's gonna have no problem. In fact he told me that he's already got a girl that he's been talking to. I kinda suspected b/c there is one particular new face on his facebook page that rang an alarm bell for me. C'est la vie, I guess. At least my blog will get (somewhat) interesting again.

I was looking back to see if you were looking back at me

super hot bathroom shots for everyone

So last night I went to see Massive Attack & Thievery Corporation. I actually was really looking forward to MA b/c they've been my favourites for as long as I can remember, but it turns out TC kicked major ass. Not because the music was better, but because it was better suited to a live show, I guess.

The one silver lining to these past shitty weeks is that I'm losing weight like nobody's business. I've never been one of those 'can't eat when I'm distraught' people but all of a sudden I am.  I must say it's a nice change from the human hoover I usually become.

I guess eventually I'm going to have to think about dating again. There's a kettle of fish I'm really not looking forward to, believe you me. I had enough trouble when I was in my early/mid thirties finding age-appropriate men who shared similar interests with me. Now I'm 5 years older, almost 40, and still socialize like I'm 25.  Dating the puppies, though, leads to fucking pulling your hair out and stabbing yourself in the eye with a #2 pencil, so I'm kind of caught between a rock and a going to bed alone with for the rest of my life place. Le sigh.

le sigh

One of the forgotten drawbacks of being single - there's no one to help you fold the fucking fitted sheet.

I've had family here for basically the last week so just washed a veritable mountain of laundry. That's exactly how I wanted to spend my sunny sundae. Trust me. 

In other words, I have some wicked fucking insmonia. Like even the sleeping pills won't make it go away.  I've been awake since about 3am. I'm feeling pretty good about life right now - believe you me. Though the positive side to this whole thing is that I've lost six pounds. I was being chipper about that to a friend the other day because god knows you can't be chunky when you are back on the dating market. His response to me was that he didn't think I needed to worry about my 'sexpottyness'.

Say it outloud - it's a fun word. Plus it's about the nicest thing anyone's said to me in a while so there's that.

not so smrt

So my parents were visiting last week and they're big tea drinkers. Tea + my white porcelain sinks = unsightly discolouration. No problem, she thinks, as she digs out her soft scrub with bleach, her mr clean magic eraser and her barkeeper's friend abrasive cleanser.

Belatedly (you know, as the fumes began to rise from the sink) she checked the label on the barkeeper's friend & discovered that you are not supposed to mix it with other cleaners. Especially bleach.

If you haven't heard from me in a couple of days can you please send help? I'll most likely have been eaten by my cats.

Some days

you wake up and realize that your efforts to be a grown up are for naught, and that even though you've really been trying to smile and make things ok, bring them back to where they used to be, it doesn't matter because you've fucked everything up so royally that it's beyond repair and beyond smiles and beyond the powers of grown-uppedness.

So all there's left to do is crawl into bed with a small blue teddy bear and a box of kleenex and wonder if there are enough rX medications in the house to put your out of your misery.

every day is like Sundae

Somedays I wake up and I'm just a blubbering mass of emotude and San Diego's habit of being gross and cloudy till 10.30am or so really works for me. It's like neither one of us really wants to get up and admit that it's Sunday and tomorrow we have to go to work and be all chipper n shit because we manage people and therefore have to be professional and all that bullshit.

Well probably the weather doesn't have to manage people but San Diego is known for our year round awesomeness in the climate department and (let's not kid) the weather hasn't been all that great this summer so it's probably received at least one written warning. From someone other than me, that is - I've just yelled alot.

And no I didn't start *off* yelling - that's no way to motivate employees or the weather - I started off being supportive of whatever it is that they've got going on in their lives. Then I was disappointed, then stern, then disapproving. Then I yelled.

And so what if this happened all within one conversation? I'm mercurial. You know that.

Sheesh.

Oh hello, moving day

Seriously, you guys

Assuming that the movers actually show up as scheduled, it's moving day. Yes I said movers. I'm all grown up and shit now, remember? Please see previous post if you've already forgotten. Grown UP. My apartment is currently a sea of boxes and I'm having minor panic attacks every time I walk through the main room but I'm sure it'll only get worse better, right?

Please keep in mind that I'm once again moving into a *smaller* apartment so will somehow have to cram all this crap, two cats and an architect into a mini-space. Not particularly looking forward to it - trust me. Also not looking forward to the fact that I'm going to be cooking on an electric stove again.

Am looking forward to the new neighbourhood and the balcony and living with the architect again, though. It's not all bad. I just have to get through the next few days.

Or so I keep telling myself....

Acting like a grown-up

Last week the architect and I had one of the best conversations we've had in a long time. Possibly ever. We were pretty honest with each other about where we stood in the relationship and where we wanted to go. Result - I've given up on apartment hunting and will be moving into The Cottage with him. We've been mentally spending the money we're going to save (rent is $500 less a month!) on this not-quite-as-cute apartment and have high hopes that the increased fun money and the trips and outings and adventures it will bring can fix what was broken.

It's been a shitty, shitty 2010, guys, but I've always counted my years from September to September, so here's hoping that this one will be better. Fingers crossed.

In the meantime, we're going tonight to see a friend from my childhood play with Dan Mangan at the Belly Up tonight, so I'll leave you with Robots. We need love too, you know.

I rule. It's true.

So my Saturday evening is consisting of getting mostly dressed up to go out with a friend then realizing that he didn't want to go out until like 10pm and then I had a minor panic attack b/c I couldn't figure out wtf I would do with myself for three hours beforehand and I was worried that I'd drink myself stupid like I did the *last* time I went out to a club and so I cancelled.

Now I'm drinking myself stupid but I'm wrapped up in my fuzzy seahorse blanket in my jim-jams so that's ok. If I end up passing out on the floor at least I don't have to worry about waking up to realize that I've made an ass of myself in front of local radio celebrities. Not that I've ever done that.

More than twice.

In other news I've realized that, even though this separation / end of marriage thing is all my fault I seem to be taking it way harder (or at least not getting over it as easily) than the architect. Ironic, I know, and much as I enjoy the opportunity to use that word correctly, yeah not so much this time. Though good for him, I guess - he's getting out and doing things and having fun which is where all of the problems began (you know, 'cause he just wanted to hang out at home and never wanted to go out with me so I felt old and stifled and like my parents and now he goes out all the time while I sit at home wearing too much eye makeup and my pjs. Fuck you irony I see you there.)

skyscraper. I love you.

scattered pictures of the smiles

Sometimes I think back to how things were just over a year ago. Sure I was fat & getting fatter. I drank two bottles of wine a day. I made almost no money. We argued about that fact. But holy fuck compared to how I feel right now, I'd give anything in the world to magically teleport myself to those moments where I felt like I was at home, not this dislocated sense of being the world's most collossal fuck up.

Though shit let's not kid - I always was the ugly stepsister, doomed to a life alone with my cats, being discovered by my neighbours when my decomposing carcass begins to smell like week old shellfish left on the counter.*

I hate playing the what if game, but sometimes I just can't help myself. What if we'd stayed in Vancouver. What if we'd found a cheaper apartment. What if I'd never taken this job. What if we had paid attention to the stupid little signs that things weren't right. What if I wasn't such an emotional fucking cripple and had been able to express myself 4 months, six months sooner. What if What if What if.

What if and a six pack might catch you a buzz. Probably not, though - it'll just get you fat.



*FYI - that's also pretty much what the Salton Sea smells like.

It smells kinda funky

Yes these are dead fish.

Anyway, the downside to disappearing to the desert for a 3-day minibreak is that on the day you have to come home you find that you really really REALLY don't want to come home and so you decide to take a 100 mile detour to the Salton Sea because once you saw it on Bourdain and it seemed all romantic and cool-like but it's really just smelly and full of dead fish. Also you develop a massive stomach ache that feels like someone has grasped your esophagus in their fists and is SQUEEZING your carne asada quesadilla back up towards freedom, which isn't good because it's kinda chewed up now and couldn't make it on its own in the real world. Fortunately I don't have any photographs of the carne.

praise jeebus for sangria

The good think about taking yourself on a 3-day minibreak to the desert is how fucking HOT the desert is, so really all you can do is lounge poolside drinking sangria from a (BPA free, thank you very much) plastic bottle that you smuggled in under the watchful eye of the rentacops. Every once in a while you peel your sweaty self up off the lounger and kind of melt your way towards the pool where you splash around listlessly (way to hot for any kind of list) (though I was probably listing after a bottle or two of sangria). Lather. Rinse. Repeat. When even this becomes too much effort you wander upstairs for a shower and a nap. Clearly I should have spent more time in the desert when I was unemployed, because that is the life I was born to live. Of course I couldn't afford to do it then (and can't really now, because I have 8 days to vacate my apartment and still nowhere to relocate myself or the cats). But that's a story for another day.

this just in

So somehow when I was sunning my whalebelly on Sunday I managed to sunburn my ass. Not my whole ass, of course, just the sections surrounding my bikini. While I do have a small ass for someone of my advanced years, I'm not quite brave enough to bare it to the world in Balboa Park.

Now, though, I kinda look like the cross section of a radish. It's not a good look. Just sayin'.

Of course the chances of anyone actually seeing it to appreciate the essential radish-ness of said posterior are slim to none, unless I accidentally (heh) forget to lock the door to the ladies room at work tomorrow. Nothing like that frisson of workplace exhibitionism to really add spice to the job.

In seperate yet not unrelated news, I'm headed up to the desert for a minibreak this weekend. Sadly I shan't be accompanied by Hugh Grant, his voluptuous head of hair or his sporty convertable. Just some girls from work. I'm ok with that though. Who wouldn't be? I mean, of course it would be better if Hugh was coming too,(or, better yet, Dave Grohl) but I'm sure I can get into enough trouble sans Dave. Or Hugh. Or heck, even Jenson Ackles. Who, by the way, was apparently galivanting around Vancouver shirtless last week. This is the shit that happens when I leave town. Assholes.

Let's not kid - all three would be best because, heck, a girl's got needs and variety is the spice of life and all that crap. And I just decided that J.Ackles would not be allowed to wear a shirt the enitre time. In fact, he may never be allowed to wear a shirt again.

You are welcome.

around the internets

Ok so I'm home sick in bed and I finished my novel at the beach yesterday and am way to depressed to read David Foster Wallace (currently my brain is functioning at a level incapable of anything more complex than eating chocolate ice cream out of the container with my fingers) I've been surfing the innerwebs looking for something to amuse myself.

I found this blog that I'm loving (people are so much better than I am) which led me to this post. I know that I don't really have many readers left (the whole once a year posting thing is a bit much to force on even the most loyal web-friends) but in case you are out there, check it out. Oh. Not if you are a boy. You will run screaming into the night before the end. Trust.


**edit**
Also this one - very boy-friendly, though if you are sensitive about your (or your children's) half assed hallowe'en costumes you should give it a miss. And take the pickle out of your bum.

Gut check time (result - soft and squishy and unhappy)

As I lounged at the park yesterday I had to stop and contemplate wtf has happened to my life. A year ago I was broke but really pretty fucking happy. The architect and I had a great relationship, I was bored as hell sitting at home all the time but I felt like I had a home, at least.

Now, though, the architect and I are separated and don't know if we can work things out. I have a job that I mostly really enjoy but pays a pittance so I'm faced with finding a new apartment (can't afford the rent at Chateau Wyatt Earp on my own)so will still be broke, but am not happy and don't feel like I have a home.

How the fuck did I end up here? I'm 38 years old. I miss my family, especially my kid. Why can't I be happy? What is fucking wrong with me?

Home sick today because I woke up with a stress headache at 4am. Took some painkillers but they hurt my stomach so here I am.

proper workplace bathroom etiquette

Riddle me this, loyal readers.

Yes all two of you.

I understand that there are times when you have to "use the bathroom" when you are at work. You know, "USE the bathroom". While (imho) such activities are best confined to your own personal bathroom, in the comfort of your own personal home, I allow for emergencies. Shit, so they say, happens.

However, and this is a big one, what kind of person leaves the bowl anything less then pristine? There's a container of soap right there. There's a toilet brush RIGHT THERE. Who are you? Where were you raised? Did your mother teach you nothing?

Swear to god I've cleaned more toilets since starting this job than I did in the entire year previous. *shudders*. I have no desire to bask in your atomized e.coli, believe it or not, and I'd really prefer it if you would take care of your own business, after you take care of business.

Thanks very much.

stinkin' facebook

Seriously.

Not that I'm an addict or anything, or that I rely on Facebook to schedule my private life and keep in touch with pretty much everyone I've ever met (or not met, what with some blog-friends being up in there as well) but the past couple of weeks my account had been "unavailable due to site maintenance" or other issue and it's driving me off the frickin' edge of the world I swear to dog.

And this blog post has been brought to you by Social Media, in its bid to take over the world.

Other than that... went for drinks last night at a local beer / pizza joint and had a grand time. I think it's fair to say that most of our money worries have been more or less resolved. While I loved being able to sit about the house in my jim-jams most days, life sans paycheque was getting a bit stressful. I mean, the only thing the architect and I ever argue about (aside from my occasional drunk belligerency) is money so it was a bit rough at the end, there.

Now we're talking about buying a house and going out with friends for dinner and I've started to re-build my boot collection so it really feels as though all is good in the world.

Especially the boot part.

Having just finished Julie & Julia, I decided to make Oeufs en Cocotte for breakfast. I'm not actually using Julia's recipe 'cause it's not the first one that turned up in the search on the google-machine but I still feel as though it counts. They smell good (and fat-drenched but that's beside the point) so that's something.

------------

Hi, Vince - nice to know I still have a reader out there, somewhere. I had the good fortune to meet up with him for lunch when he was passing through SD. Oh and I went back to that Thai place when our office took our department out for lunch and the wait was equally long, despite the restaurant's echoing chambers. So there's that.

...

Oh.

Hi, blog.

Long time no visit. I'd like to say that I'm taking this opportunity to get back on the wagon, and make all kinds of grand pronouncements about devotion to daily writing and crap like that, but let's be honest with each other, shall we? I'm busy. Things will probably never be the same between us - I don't have a crazy lifestyle worth writing about; you don't care to hear about my boring every day lifestyle.

But you are my blog, goshfukkit and if I feel like boring your pants off, well then heck I will.

So there.

yeah so

Two months down the road and not much has changed. I'm a year older and a year dumber and same old.

Distressing news for those of you who have been following the life of the kiddo. After breaking up with his high school sweetheart he took up with a party girl and lost himself head over heels. Sadly, though, he fell back into his party ways and has been delving a bit too deeply.

Now she's dumped him and he's bereft and I'm hearing it all second hand, of course, because I'm thousands of miles away and I don't know what to do. I feel like crying and puking my guts out and tearing out my hair but of course none of those things are helpful.

Any words of advice or whatever would be appreciated.

Pdjjaaag

Fireworks and charred meat

Another semi-eventful US birthday celebration spent here in the bear republic. We didn't actually do too much - pulled our bbq out onto the sidewalk/lawn in front of our apartment and chilled with drinks and some neighbours - but it was a good time. We all talked about doing it more often. I have to admit it reminded me of being back home on the front balcony with the sister and the architect, except all that could be heard from three sides was the distant boom boom thrump of fireworks.

The fourth side was, of course, my fancy new MGMT Pandora station. Have I mentioned how much I love Pandora? And Jian Ghomeshi, despite some apparent internet backlash against him. Granted this backlash is half a decade old. Is he a douchebag? Or was all that controversy mitigated by Billybobgate? And he was in Moxy Fruvous? Who knew? Does this change how I feel?

Well not really, since the basis of my deep emotional thrust towards Toronto is based entirely on three words: "Well hi there". I don't actually need to listen to the rest of the program, as long as I have heard that. Sad but true.

Summertime CBC

Happy day after Canada Day! Though technically it's not a holiday, here, I am unemployed so was free to sleep off my hangover, eat PB & Banana sammiches in my chonies, and get crumbs in the bed before heading down to San Diego's only real option as a Canadian bar - an Irish pub owned by someone from Vancouver.

We drank Labatt's Blue and Moosehead (neither of which I'd ever drink in Canada, btw), I handed out dollar store Canada pencils, and had a jolly good time.

Things I've (re-)learned about myself whilst listening to the Ceeb this AM:

1) So they were playing a documentary about living on Fair Isle off the coast of Scotland and I was reminded of how I have a strong desire to live in the middle of nowhere in a small place. I mean, I'm a city girl but at the same time I've got just enough granola in my sushi to make me yearn for a simpler life. Of course I have a total black thumb and am seriously addicted to dinners out and easily accessible cheap red wine so I've no idea how that would work.

2) I have a crush on Jian Ghomeshi(sp) that is based entirely on how he says "well hi there" at the beginning of Q every day. Yes I'm a loser.

Tenuous grasp fingertips of mortality

I had a phone message this morning from a former neighbour. I guess one of the other fellows who lived there passed away yesterday, after spending 8 days in a coma. I don't know any details, just that his husband is trying to sort out all the details and deal with everything and that a fantastic human being isn't here anymore.

I have to admit that I feel a bit guilty. This man was a caring human being who did his best to make us feel welcome when we lived in that little complex and I feel like we didn't do enough to show our appreciation or friendship. You always think that you should call or visit, and then you get caught up in what you are doing and it slips your mind. No big deal, you think, I'll pop in the next time I'm in the area.

Actually I thought that exact thing on Thursday, when I was at the salon down the street. I should pop over and see if anyone is around... say hi... but I didn't. Of course, by that point it was too late, and Chris was already in a coma that he wasn't going to wake up from. I didn't know that, though, and maybe his husband would be there and need a hug or just a quiet ear.

It is almost a miracle that they managed to get married during the short time it was legal here in California, since he spent his last 8 days in ICU. His husband had to show the hospital their marriage certificate just to get into see him.

That's two people I've met in SD who have passed away this summer. Is it the age? Now that I'm in my mid 30s my friends and acquaintances are going to start dropping like flies? Ick.

Just beat it.

Am I the only one who's already tired of hearing about Michael Jackson's untimely death? I can't possibly be. It's all over twitter, the facebook, the rest of the innerwebs, and even my beloved CBC. Sighs.

So I've decided on a name for my little business. For the sake of world's colliding privacy, I shan't post it here, but if you send me a little email I'll send you a link to the in progress website. It is not, by any means, anywhere near completion so be merciful, please.

So we were supposed to go to a little cocktail hour last night for the architect's work, but by the time he got home he was totally tired and not into it. There I was all little black dress & camel leather shoes, pretty hair & perfume, not a dinner preparation in sight and he wants to veg on the couch.Fortunately I've become a recent convert to a big salad with a poached or soft boiled egg on top, so we had that for dinner along with some bruschetta, and it all turned out awesome. Since I've been unemployed I've been making increasingly elaborate meals during the week - it's not like I've got much else to do, after all - and I kind of forgot how sometimes a light, simple meal can be super satisfying.

Not that I'm turning this into a food blog, or anything, just sayin'.

Stretch out your legs and dance with me

After an extremely low key yet somehow rather rewarding weekend I find myself unwilling to make the transition to my day to day weekly routine.

And when I say routine I mean walking to the library and/or grocery store, cleaning, and lounging on the patio vs lounging in my bed.

The idea of actually getting a job is something distant. It's not that I don't *want* to work - I do, and not making my own money is kind of awful - it's that I don't know how I would transition from being on my own slow southern time to being back in the workaday rush rush rush. Plus when would I cook? We'd be eating dinner every night at midnight if I were stuck in the commute home. These are the things I obsess about when I wake up at three am and can't get back to sleep, which has happened the last three nights in a row. Le sigh.

Discombobulated

So I got a facebook message last night from TNB (blast from the past), asking if I would write him a character reference letter.

Since it's not for a job, I assume that it is in reference to some kind of custody thing. I'm happy to do it of course, but I find it a bit ... weird isn't the right word. Interesting works, but in the old Chinese curse sense of the word. May you live in interesting times, indeed.

I need a name for my little business venture. I have some ideas for business cards (similar to the new blog header up top, there), stationery, advertising etc, but need a name before I can go much farther than that. Any suggestions would be welcome in the comments. My first instinct is to avoid the raspberry motif, but then it is something I am fond of, so who knows.

What a way to make a living

It occurs to me that it's time to consolidate the random things I've been doing and considering 'side projects' into one cohesive entity and call it a business. Really, if I were to market myself and the odds n sods of things I do (marketing, client database management, email blasts) I could probably bring in a small but regular income.

I have, of course, various self esteem issues that make me think this won't work but I'm not having any real luck with the job acquisition, I do want something that lets me make my own hours, and the economy sucks enough that where folks don't want to hire full time people they do look for temps. So why can't I be that person?

Sure it wouldn't get me out of the house, much, but if I keep my social life strong and schedule enough meetings so that I can wear fun shoes (I miss my fun shoes) I should be happy. Plus I could still do my crazy walks a couple of times a week. I do enjoy those.

It's not the best time to be starting a business, of course, but it's not the best time to be doing anything, really, and I don't need to start making a tonne of money right away so I have that security. It's either this or apply at Target or Albertsons and I'm not sure I'm ready to destroy my soul that completely.

Yet, anyway.

cupcake siren song

So the lovely lady who made our wedding cake had a birthday party last night, and celebrated by filling an entire dining room table with desserts to share with her friends. Oh and she made carnitas for tacos as well, and her mom brought homemade salsa (yes, they are Mexican). I did a lap of the dessert table, ate some tacos, then did two more laps of the dessert table. Washed the works down with several glasses of extremely tasty Malbec and rolled my way home.

And I wonder why I can't lose weight? Heh.

In my defense, I came home with a takeaway full of cupcakes & cake & other treats and have managed to resist them thus far this AM. Oh except for one chocolate covered strawberry, which sucked me in as I dug in the fridge for my leftover barley brunch. See I was *trying* to be good...

*sigh*

Didn't get the job. They went with a temp.
Fuck.

Progress

So I had a job interview yesterday... it's basically an office manager position with a smattering of proofreading, marketing support, and administration. Basically a mixed bag of stuff that would be different every day and right up my alley.

I can imagine I'd be extremely exhausted for the first weekmonth, after being unemployed for a year and a half, but hell. I'd also be veritably loaded. The thought of being able to go shopping on payday and pick myself up a little something cute, the way I used to with Ms U every other Friday, makes me grin rather excessively.

I wore my fancy new interview suit - it had to impress, right? I felt a bit unsure of the whole experience when I came out but my secret inside source said they really liked me, so here's hoping they don't have many other people to compare me too. I was nervous.

What, me, nervous? Never!

I also seriously overspent in VanCity - I treated the kiddo to brunch & drinks, then bought him a bunch of groceries and some treats. Add this to the general expenses that come with a bit of a vacation and you come up with a broke sundae. At least if I'm working full time I won't feel so guilty about spending all of our money and putting us in a tight spot until payday. Sigh.

OK got to get moving - got my walk this AM and I need to not be still in my jammies when she shows up....

These boots were made for

Ug so my friend and I do this walk. It's almost 6miles long and involves a frickin serious hill. Because of the brother visiting, then being sick as a dog, we haven't gone in a month.

A month is a long time to talk off from walking 6miles of hills. Today, I kind of felt like I was going to yak most of the way home. Lord.

I've added a couple of links to the blogroll on the side. One is my little brother who's recently started to write again, much to my joy and delight.

The second is one that I found via someone else's link list and is quite heartbreaking and well written. It has the level of personal introspection and revelation that I think I *used* to manage but haven't lately. Check it out.

Tonight we go to see The Constantines! I'm very excited even though I seriously overspent in Vancity so have no cash left for drinks or tshirts or anything of that ilk. If I get some good photos I'll be sure to post.

Dude.

So I'm going to Vancouver tonight and I wish there was some way I could drop 10 el-bees off my gut/face/tits between now and then. Since I've moved here I've gained easily that much and I want it gone.

Sadly, though, I lack the drive to actually get out and run my ass around the town, so it's probably not going anywhere.

The problem with facebook and its ilk is that a)you get weird feelings when you see what your ex-boy/girlfriends are doing and b)you can see how hot and skinny you USED to be.

Let's address those issues, shall we?

a) The exboyfriends. I think that people get into trouble because the grass is always greener. You have some poor shlub/shlubbette who can see that Mr/Ms ex is looking good and happy and they forget that they're flatulent, boorish bedhogs. We have weird access into the lives of people who should be left behind. They aren't the ones who got away, they are the ones you left in your wake for a reason. BTW - I'm not addressing myself here, in case some of you are concerned. I mean, I do have odd twinges when I see one or two of the exes looking good, but I think that's pretty normal. I'm thinking of a friend who re-connected with someone recently and ended up rushing into the emotional side of stuff, without much provocation. Her girly brain took over, she read things into their communication, and she basically lived out a relationship in her brain, without him having a clue. Bummer.

b) Fuck I used to be hot and skinny. Now I'm fat & heiferlike. Dude, seriously. It really is depressing the heck out of me. So what do I do? Why, soothe myself with wine and chocolate, of course. Fuck. FUCK. I would like to get a gastric band, or take some diet pills or something. I can't get my ass up to exercise - I hate that shit I really do - and starving myself is even harder. I actually miss my allergies - at least when I was puking everything up I was skinny. Sigh.

Oh yeah I know it's been a month. Sorry. I have problem B with the blog, too - it's like I go back and remember how hot and witty I used to be and now I find myself lacking. I'm having fucked up self esteem issues with both my meat world and wide world personas. Nice, huh?

#canucks, #swineflu

Ooooo look at me mixing medias. You know - what with the twitter format of my post title. Yeah.

It's really no wonder that I have trouble keeping up with the bloggity. I mean, even with being unemployed I feel media saturated half the time - there's the twitter and the facebook and the gchat and the scratching. Oh ok maybe not the scratching, but my google reader sure as heck takes up a lot of my time.

So I'm still unemployed. Well, I mean I've been doing freelance graphic design stuff, yeah, but that's it. It's not really enough to pay the bills, that's for sure. I do wish I could find enough editting/graphic design work to fund myself because I really dig making my own schedule, but I don't think that's practical.

I've got my name in with a recruiter and they've got a contract for me, but the company requires the world's most frustrating background check *ever*. Well I guess it wouldn't be frustrating if I weren't stuck between Canada & the US but getting info between the two countries is not easy. Oh and they keep sending me new forms to fill out. Stupid.

It makes me totally nervous, though - like what if my crappy credit causes me to get rejected for a job? How weaksauce / ironic would that be? I mean, duh I've got crappy credit - I've been unemployed for a year and a half. Hire me and let's get to work on that, hm?

Anyhoo.... As a complete aside, every time I hear the news refer to Janet Napolitano (US Secretary of Homeland Security) I think they are talking about Johnette Napolitano, former vocalist for Concrete Blonde. It's messing with my head, yo.

stupid uterus

OK so am I the only person who spends two days each month longing for menopause? *SERIOUSLY*.

I've been a bad blogger again. I find it really hard to get into the groove of writing every day... It's funny but somewhere in my head I began to doubt myself. I went from chronicling every pimple and orgasm to thinking "aw no one wants to hear about that garbage". How am I so much less narcissistic than I used to be? Is it because I'm fat and happy, instead of thin and miserable?

Oh speaking of not being thin anymore, I am beginning to realize that the fat probably also has something to do with the fact that I don't yak up 4/7 meals anymore. I mean, I still throw up far more than the average Joe, but the involuntary bulimia really is no more. Yay for being able to eat eggs again! Boo for needing a new bikini because the knockers refuse to be contained!

exorcise me

So it's Good Friday which is a much bigger deal in Canada than it is in the US. I have no idea why - Puritan heritage? Stubborn refusal to embrace the three (or four) day weekend?

Either way.

Someone on the CBC is talking about exorcisms and the modern Catholic Church. I guess in Italy there are 300-400 alone. In 2005, 500K people came to see an exorcism. I wonder if these people really need exorcisms, or if they just need a hug? I dunno. I'm not sure I believe in the fact that people can be possessed by evil spirits. I mean, I *do* believe that it can happy, but 500K in one year?

I'd like to exorcise myself from the ghosts of my past. It's funny how sometimes they start rattling around in my head like ebenezer's spirits, brandishing their chains and moaning about wrongs inflicted and received. Last night was one of those nights - an inbox full of memories, not all of them good.

(The CBC has switched from exorcism to organic farming. Are they trying to say something about something being full of shit? No comment from this peanut)

Parklife

So I'm sitting in a cafe in my *old* hood waiting to go to work at the salon. I had previously scheduled a hot n heavy breadbaking lesson but got called in around 10pm last night. Sadly, my finances are not as of yet such that I can decline $70 in favour of wine and baking.

*sigh*

At any rate, I'm here in the cafe. The guy behind the counter is cute in a slight, might be gay, is definitely married way, so I have at least a bit of eye candy whilst I wait.

I could probably wander over there now, but would have to make conversation with the nail tech who, though nice, isn't really the most interesting person on the planet.

Downside to being a receptionist in a hair/nail salon: listening to the stylists tell the same story to each of their clients with very little variation in tone or verbage. Plus side is, of course, that they're all super cool folks and I get to chat with people all day. The cats, though lovely, are nocturnal and tend to nap all day. Not the best company.

This work thing should, though, really start later in the day while still ending early enough for me to enjoy my glass of wine in the late afternoon sun. The architect and I had our first patio/wine/book evening of the spring the other night and it was extremely pleasant. Now we just need a table big enough for dominoes or cards and another one or two people comfortable enough to pop by and enjoy it with us.

Smells like California

So way back in the day I used to have a little jasmine plant in my bedroom, sitting on the ledge by my bed. Now I live in a place where I have a huge hedge worth blooming about 6 feet from my back door. The smell's almost overwhelming, but in a good way.

It seems like everything is so much more alive here: the smells the sounds the light the people the sky. Everything is so much more vivid. I didn't think a smell could be vivid, but I guess it can.

It reminds me a bit of being in Spain: stepping off the plane and being accosted by sweet-scented humidity, so different from anything that I'd ever experienced. I feel that all the time now. California smells good. Quite the change for a girl who grew up surrounded by clouds of polluted air, redolent with sulphur.

Anyone ever make slippers from their cat?

I'm seriously tempted at the moment. The stupid cats decided that this weekend would be a great time to break out their new scheduling - that is, the hours between 2-5AM are devoted to tearing around the apartment like thundering battlecats. 5-6 is for sitting at the back door whining to be let outside (even though they are indoor cats and have limited outdoor time, always on a leash). Oh and somewhere between 12-2 one of the two of them drops a stink in the catbox that is seriously bad enough to wake me up and melt the paint off the walls.

God.

Fucking Mondays. How can I hate Mondays so much even though I'm unemployed? Is it just years of indoctrination? Popular culture has clockwork oranged me into hating Mondays with an supersaturation of Office Space / Bangles / Boomtown Rats references?

Best quote ever (just heard on the CBC during an interview with the Ting Tings): 'fertile ground for whimsy'. Whimsy is word that is not used nearly enough. They kind of remind me of Elastica, a bit, though that might be my 90s scenesterism talking.

Speaking of hipsters, how can you define a social class as hip when they've looked exactly the same since about 1979? And why am I devoting so much though to this issue? It's not as though it's an original thought or anything. I'm sure that people all over the world are currently smoking gauloise cigarettes, drinking black coffee and debating that very fact. (though the actual year - 1979 - at which the 'hipster' look coalesced and froze could be a point of heated debate)

Have I mentioned that I'm on day two of uterine cramps? Like how is it that I'm almost and yet still get pimples and cramps. What kind of fucked up existence is this? All I can say is that I'm fucking proof positive that we are not living in the matrix because some mother fucking female alien would have programmed that shit out.

annum

So it has, believe it or not, been a year since the architect and I got hitched.

I'm pretty pleased with that situation.

I mean, they say the first year is the hardest. I dunno if I believe that, but I do know that we made it through ok and that I'm just as certain I'd marry him today as I did 364 days ago. (technically our anniversary is tomorrow but we got married on the Saturday and this time last year I was getting my nails did so.....)

When I look back through this blog I read about how I was so convinced I'd never be getting married - always be on my own (probably still in my parents' basement), always be sad. Just goes to show, I suppose, that there is someone out there for everyone.

Here's to many more
xo

Friday Night Lights

I'm 3/quarters of the way through a bottle of red; the cats are passed out in their favourite spots beside me; the fireplace is pumping; the husband is asleep in the bedroom with a migraine.

I'm trying to write a story about a fish in a bowl. It was commissioned by TNB for reasons beyond my comprehension. I've got a picture in my head of green light reflected on water, ripples above, sounds muffled by glass. It's harder to translate into a narrative, though.

Harder still to understand what he's asking for, but if he asks for a story I'll take him at face value. To look deeper into the motivations of men is to fly to close to the sun and risk the melt and the fall.

Kind of Blue

It's the 50th anniversary of the recording of Miles Davis' Kind of Blue today, so I'm playing it this afternoon, I think, while I'm doing my photoshop futzing about.

I know about this anniversary because I've finally got my CBC RadioONE working through my innerweb. I've really missed CBC. I may have mentioned it before this, but NPR just isn't the same. I was really worried about the programming changes a couple of years ago and will never forgive them for taking Northern Lights off the air (that program soothed me to sleep over the course of so many bad nights I can't even count them), but the Q is seriously entertaining. Today they interviewed Andy Samberg's comedy troupe and talked about the Canada Reads program. Oh and played a killer listener call response to yesterday's feature on the movie Rip, which is a discussion of dj music, copyright law, sampling and creativity.

Ooo I have a job interview tomorrow. It's for a position that I'm not particularly qualified for, and for which I am pretty sure that they're going to hire a grad student who is currently doing the job, but it's an interview nonetheless. I'm extremely nervous, am too fat for my work clothes, and wish I could have a cocktail before heading in to soothe my brain.

angst on the planks

So it was a pretty bad weekend for the depression, and I'm trying to think of how to prevent it from becoming a pretty bad week. A job offer would surely help, but I'd settle from a massive influx of cash from a long lost uncle or forgotten lottery ticket. I think that a shopping spree and perhaps a quick adventure would do wonders towards cheering me up.

In other worlds I think that everyone should develop a system of hand signals for communication in busy places. Like, beyond the panicked "get me out of this conversation / place in general" esp that couples have. To me, having a set of unique gestures brings a certain panache to every day coversation, don't you agree? If you could find someone to document you using them in black and white photos, perhaps while wearing cool vintage clothing, all the better.

die in your dreams, falling on your knife

Last night I did the thing I do where I wake up and have to pee so do and then get a drink and then can't fall back to sleep. I lay awake for god knows how long, trapped in a reverie of bad memory.

It never ceases to amaze me how the razor sharp edge of bad experience is always so close to the surface of your consciousness when you lie awake in the night.

In any case, when I did fall back to sleep I couldn't shake the dis-ease and so my dreams were turbulent. I awoke feeling shredded, lost, alone, on the verge of ... something I can't seem to articulate.

The architect has to work for a while today and I don't really want to be here by myself. He procrastinated his departure (as usual) even though I kept asking him to get it over with so that he could come back and we could do something.

Anything to shake me out of this headspace, or else I'm afraid I'll be in bed all day, all week, all year.

Flashback

So check this:

TNB turned up on facebook yesterday. He added The Sister as a friend and she promptly msg'd me asking wtf happened and when he had a kid.

My heart about went through the floor b/c when I went and looked at the photos the child looks exactly like him and, for a moment, I think I know how guys feel when their females (or worse, recently ex females) miss their period.

I mean, it's clearly not MINE but my lizard brain refused to recognize that for about 40seconds.

This morning I got up and he'd added me as a friend and I looked at the picture again and it still made me feel a bit sick to my stomach.

Ick. Kids.

It's interesting

So when I was back up in Vancouver I decided to do a little experimenting with my life. I'm not sure if it's because being away from the architect automatically spurs me to indulge in actions that are spurious, at best, or if being on 'holiday' (though with the amount of running around I do while up there I never come home feeling like I've been relaxing) 'causes me to step outside of my comfort zone or what.

Anyway, as previously documented in these pages, I ate an egg. And praise be to Filthy for being the one friend who, when asked "Want to try an experiment?" responded with a hearty "yes", not a request for more details and then a 3hr long lecture on taking care of myself.

The other thing I did while I was there was to take myself off my meds.

I've been taking antidepressants for 3(?) years, now, and had just kind of thought they were going to be part of my life forever. Then, when I was doing my physical for immigration, the doctor (who was asian trained, so probably more conducive to thinking outside the constrains of Western Medicine (though that could be a raging stereotype)) asked why no one had ever suggested I come off them.

It started me thinking. Why *hadn't* anyone? Maybe it was time? I waited until I was out from under the watchful eye of the husband-person to do it and began tapering myself off - I mean, I'm really bad about remembering to take them, so I was pretty much at an every-other-day dose, so I moved it to three days, then four, then just stopped.

Instead, I'm taking a B-Complex and 5-HTP. And you know, I feel fine. More importantly, I *feel*. I didn't realize just how completely even keeled I've been - I've been missing the flashes of emotion I used to get: very happy or very sad. And I'm kind of enjoying having them back. I don't know if they are normal and, of course, I did this without consulting a doctor, but you know, for as long as things seem to be going ok then I'm going to stick with it.

It's a sad state of affairs

When I find myself driven to write not because I have something to say, but because every time I open my blog I am startled by my own breastesses.

So upon receipt of the green card (which would be better, of course, if it were available in pink), the architect and I met up with a couple of friends for happy hour celebrating. I actually do have a favourite spot for HH and, though it's not the cheapest spot in town, it's owned by a friend and the food is fan fricken tastic. Plus it's stylish and fun and the vibe is so welcoming. I love that.

Anyhoo, I drank too much and passed out cold before 9.30. Yay me! Saturday was the architect's birthday celebration - basically a repeat of friday except I didn't get drunk and pass out, I just fell asleep on the couch after we'd been out for drinks with a bunch of folks. We really have met a fun group of people down here. I do wish, though, I had some tight female friends. I miss hanging with the girls and going shopping. (vannasty, filthy, I'm sending "come hither" looks in your direction).

Blah.

My tits

Are now legal citizens of the USA. Can I getta a-men?!

So... new images

I'm possibly the luckiest girl in the world, in that I got pretty flowers and bee glasses and dinner at a french bistro and an afternoon adult-themed interlude in the shower. Of course I'm not *that* lucky because the sweet innie car is acting up, so we couldn't go watch hockey in anaheim today.

sigh.

Holy crap when I changed my shirt today, I took my bra off and there was a black cat hair stuck to my nipple and I had a minor heart attack. I saw my sexlife flash before my eyes and imagined weekly waxing sessions at the hair salon. Quelle mortification. Luckily, though, one of the cats was just wearing my bra when we were out last night. Does anyone else's pets romp through their undergarments when they aren't paying attention?

Yeah, didn't think so.

happy vd(ay)

So what with being at home all day I've had some time to get a little crafty. I like playing around with photoshop (I'm self-taught so not that remarkably skilled, as of yet), and I like words, so I muss about and combine them now and again. Take this little image, for example. I came up with it, borrowed a few lines from my main man bill shakespeare, and had them printed onto a transparency (you know, for overhead projectors). Then I folded the transparency over a piece of silvery vellum, stuck a square of pomegranate cardstock to the center of the vellum, wrote some smushy love crap on the cardstock and hey presto, a valentine for the architect.

Look at me go.

Vistors, busy, visitors

So a year ago today, the architect asked me to marry him. It's kind of shocking how fast the days have gone by, really. Two years ago we lived in our killer house in vancity and I had the flu. Three years ago I was trying to remember that it's best to stay sober before attempting to decorate cakes, in preparation for the sister's bday dinner. I was also still blogging <1 a day and publishing photos of my tah-tahs, but 3 years ago I was skinny so www/e.

I'd made some good inroads last week as far as healthy diet and exercise were concerned. Of course we promptly flew to Orlando and dove into a veritable orgy of business meals and cocktails, and now my folks are here so my routines are off. I really *REALLY* want to lose some weight in the next couple of months, though, so I've got to put my nose to the treadmill, as it were.

good morning

Apparently the architect's coffee is taking effect. Just heard from behind the bathroom door: "Oh my. I do say. That's quite delightful."

Heh.

cadbury mini eggs

Were back in the store in Canada. I haven't seen any here, yet, but considering the fact that american chocolate sucks just so much more than Canadian, I'm not on a huge quest.

I also ate a real egg when I was in Canada, and then had another one yesterday. Yay eggs for breakfast again! I've genuinely really truly missed eating eggs.

I apologize for the fractured and uninspiring nature of this blog post. Yesterday I was thinking I should really start daily writing because I usually have random thoughts etc. Today I can't recall one of those thoughts to save my life. I did just bust out my hand held massager, though. Good times.

Oh and I get to cross Florida off the list of states I've never visited as of next Thursday! Yay travelling!!!

I'm back

in Vancouver for a flying trip through the city. I currently have a belly full of way too much sushi purchased for me by the kiddo. This is mostly a good thing, except for the vague need to expel said sushi through the most convenient orifice.

I'm still vaguely butthurt by folks who never visit me, so I'm not going out of my way to spend a huge amount of time with them. I've told people my plans and given them the opportunity to tag along if that is their wont but my focus is on hanging with the kiddo and the fam.

It's incredible how fast a week goes, though. Here it is Thursday and I'll be home with the architect on Sunday gearing up for our February trip to Florida. I feel pretty relaxed because I haven't made myself rush about to see everyone, but am dead broke because I forget how expensive shit is in Canada. Oh well....

Remember

back when Joaquin Phoenix was hot?

Not so much anymore:

Announcement

I have burned the CRAP out of the top of my mouth on cheese pizza once again.

Cheese pizza and curry chips (not together. gross.) are my personal diet kryptonite. Well, those plus wine. And beer. That's it though - usually I'm pretty good with the food intake. If I could just get rid of those four things from my diet I'd be svelte and hot once more.

Anyhoo, so my friend treated me to lunch today because she has a crush on the pizza boy from the shop near my house. We had a couple of heady moments this afternoon when we thought he was the pizza owner, not just re-heater, but alas he spends most of his free time playing video games, getting tattooed, and waiting for Comic-Con. I've been kind of flirty/chatty with him since we moved over this way so we have a bit of a repartee, and today he gave us a sweet deal on our lunch and two free extra slices. He's pretty fricking hot, it's true, and my friend and I had a chuckle pondering the elaborate scheme he would undertake to woo me away from the architect ('cause you know, that could happen). The best we came up with involved a unicorn, a pink vespa, a sexy grotto constructed from pizza boxes, and a parade. Ah good times.

I may slip into a cheese covered pizza coma, though, so please send help if you don't hear from me any time soon.

Random thoughts RE: foodie culture

So I'll admit to a certain amount of interest in things "foodie" that has mostly to do with how much I like to cook, a bit to do with my obsession pop culture, and a solid chunk to do with my love for Bourdain. Like I have the links at the side which I follow, I watch a couple of shows (not the reality ones, though I've got a small fondness for GRamsay's british version of Kitchen Nightmares), I subscribe to some magazines, and I keep up with the trends.

I've found, though, the to-do over who will be the next white house chef a little puzzling. Certain folks (i.e. the head of the CIA (culinary institute, not intelligence agency)) have said that it should be a rotating position of America's star chefs, much like Kennedy used to rotate artists and performers through. This seems like a bit of a conceit to me, in that the position is, more than anything, that of a household chef - chiefly responsible for running a kitchen for a family. It's not something that seems suited to the ego which probably goes along with a chef who has also been thrust into the spotlight by the food network or the NYT. I mean, I love chefs - I've dated two, over the years, and not-dated any number more - but they *do* have an ego. It's part of the job, I think, and necessary. Could Batali tone down his 'tude and make grilled cheese with Kraft singles for the kids? I dunno.

Oh and let's not pretend like Kraft singles don't make the best grilled cheese, ok?

I other news, I finally watched the Bourdain christmas special in which he cooks dinner for QOTSA. Josh Homme and Bourdain on the same screen? Ugly christmas sweaters aside, pretty fucking hot. I barely needed the subliminal Cialis advertising that kept flashing on the screen for the last two sections.

Pondering

I'm glad that scrabulous is back in its new incarnation. Funny name aside, it kicks serious posterior over that EA official abomination with the corporate-sanctioned name.

I went to a bar to watch my first playoff football game today. All told, it's not nearly as interesting as hockey. I mean, it could be just that I don't get what's going on, but I've got to say that I don't get the interest. The bar sure gets loud, though - reminds me of Stanley Cup nights. Le sigh.

So I'm going home for a week next Sunday. Indulging in a little social network stalking, I've noticed that people are planning vacations to warm places etc. I always find myself a little put out when this comes up, since the same people are always making excuses for expenses and circumstances when we invite them to come visit us. I guess we aren't as exciting as tropical destinations but heck it sure makes me less than eager to go out of my way when I'm rationing out my seven night stay, know what I mean?

Is that petty? Probably, but hell when I've got seven days and 15 people to see, I'm happy to have delimiters for my schedules.

Home for a Rest

So check this: last night I dreamed that I was Anthony Bourdain's sous chef at Les Halles. You know, the restaurant where he's not even chef anymore. It was one of those dreams where I would partially wake up and then fall back into without missing a beat. Usually I only do that with crappy scary dreams, but last night it was like living a dream come true. Oh except for the part where it was just a friendly professional relationship not the hot dirty sexing relationship.

I guess I have become boring when my favourite dreams are now of me cooking, not me f-ing the brains out of my second line boytoys. Le sigh.

I imagine this all has to do with the fact that tonight is the season premier of No Reservations and that I've been waiting with bated breath. Or it could just be because I really like cooking. Who can tell?

In other food related news, I've eaten beef twice this holiday season and it didn't kill me. In fact, it didn't even make me feel too terribly. I like that, because, I have to admit, lately I've been all about the meat (dirty!). I've always felt so aggrieved when going to a restaurant and only being able to eat three things on the menu: salad, turkey burger, or salmon. Adding bacon earlier this year may not have been the best thing for my health, but g-darnit it's good for my tastebuds. If I can throw a steak on there now and again I may be in heaven.

OMG bacon wrapped steak!

happy nye

So we're off to see MSTRKRFT tonight for new year with a few friends.

This brings me to contemplate two things:
1) MSTRKRFT was the first "date" the architect and I had, really - we went for brunch and to the beach beforehand, but the night we went to see the two killer djs from mont-royal was the first time I introduced him to my friends and him me to his.
2) This evening we looked at each other and voiced, aloud, the fact that we've both been thinking that we are getting too old for this sheet - the staying out all night doing drugs etc etc. I mean, we'll probably always do it but chances are this is the last time for a long time. If it weren't for the fact that it's MSTRKRFT we'd probably be doing dinner with friends tonight instead of clubbing, for sure.

We're in such a better place from last year - literally and figuratively. We've got friends here (hell last night we had a bookswap and ended up with 30 people in our apartment. Apparently we're getting a reputation for throwing great parties); we've got a great apartment; we're better off financially; my work visa should be here any day and then we'll be golden... oh and then there's that whole married thing. When I think back to where I was 5 years ago, I never would have pictured myself here. I guess that's what's cool about life - you take the path that sparkles to you and who knows where it will lead?

Anyway, I just wanted to say Happy New Year to you all - the long time readers and the folks who have just ended up here by accident. I wouldn't have made it through some of the shit I've seen without you guys here listening to me blather on, and I appreciate it more than you will ever know.

xoxo
rasperrysundae

Study: Teenage 'virginity pledges' are ineffective

Subtitle: Youths who promise abstinence are also less likely to use protection

What, teenagers lie? And then make stupid choices? No! Can I get a Bristol Palin up in here? Speaking of, shouldn't she have popped out another red neck republican by now?

Ug I'm bored and I have a headache. You know when you are *SO* bored that you are beyond actually doing anything? Like when you used to follow your mom around whinging, and she'd suggest about a billion things for you to do (six hundred million of which involved some kind of chores or another) and NOTHING sounded good because you just couldn't shake the lethargy? Yeah that's how I feel.


In other news, I almost cut the top of my thumb off with my new knives the other night.
Good times. I'm just not used to moving so fast - the old fugly ikea knives I had kind of limited you b/c you could only chop so quickly. Not my pretty new globals, though - they went ripping through that concombre like nobodies' bidness. Oh and also my thumb, and thumbnail. Yay me!

All I want for

So for Christmas I received a starter set of Globals and a soon-to-be-brother-in-law (I think that goes down on record as the longest hyphenated word I've ever typed.) Both of these things are awesome.

It wasn't bad, you know - I mean, I missed my fam and my friends, but we had some really good friends over for xmas eve-eve, we had a great meal with the architect's fam on the Eve, and spent the day opening presents, chatting with my family via skype, and then drinking at a friend's place. Last night we headed home to chill and decompress and realized that we'd actually had a really nice holiday. I had only two moments of emotude: one when the kiddo opened his christmas eve gift over the phone with me and told me he missed me, and the next was a post-supernatural text from the sister saying that it wasn't the same without me. Damn those winchester boys.

happy christmas to all

OK so here we go - I'm off to the architect's family christmas eve dinner. I just talked to the kiddo for a minute on the phone as he opened his christmas eve prezzie (always a tree ornament; this year's zombie themed). I bawled my eyes out for a solid ten minutes upon hanging up the phone and may descend into blubbering idiocy momentarily. I really think the only way to get above the black cloud surrounding my head is to alight the alcohol fueled stairway to oblivion. Wish me luck, folks.


I hope you all have a wonderful holiday, and that all your hopes and dreams come true.

Merry merry
xo
raspberry sundae

I have

A belly full of harp beer and chips smothered in curry with mushrooms and faux meat.

This is a good thing.

That is all.

If Thursdays were like underpants

So now that we're officially not going home for the holidays, I'm trying to figure out what a SoCal Christmas looks like.

Metaphorically, dumbass - I know that the streets will be mostly empty except for legions of Family Trucksters loaded up with kids and gifts and reindeer sweater clad parents and that it will probably be warm and sunny (though you'd never know it considering the rain of the last few days) and that there will be lights and trees and the smell of turkey will resonate from beneath kitchen doors.

Metaphorically. Who will we see? Will we have fun? Will it be kinda sad and lonely?

I've started making some plans - we're having dinner xmas eve with the architect's aunt & uncle (will they let me bring tourtiere? I must!) and we have a pajama brunch planned for the day of. We've also started trying to figure out how to video conference present opening with the family back home.

The alternative plan is for me to drink till I pass out and spend the entire season in an alcoholic stupor. I have to tell you - right now I'm seriously leaning toward that option. Oh and I'm starting tonight. I am going to champagne happy hour with some folks.

I'm only happy when it rains

It's fricking pouring here today - like Vancouver style rain. While this is good - what with the drought and all - it also sucks because I've been spending the late morning / early afternoon coming to terms with the fact that I'm probably not going to get to go home for Christmas.

I mean, we have been entertaining the thought of renting a cabin on the US side of the border but fuck honestly it's beyond our means at this juncture. So, basically, I'm depressed as fuck today and trying to sort out what Christmas without the kiddo and my family will look like. The rain, while apropos, is not helping with the mood.

I know, I know - people are away from their families all the time for Christmas and it's all part of being a grown up blah blah blah. I'm just not looking forward to it, is all.

Apparently

I lost a follower. I had two, before, and now only one. Pity. I wonder who my follower is? Is it a weird creepy stalker kind of follower? Or an interesting fun friend type follower? Inquiring minds et al.


NK I really try not to think too deeply about my current situation in SD. I mean, for the most part it's pretty awesome: the architect is great, our apartment is cool, we've met some nice people. On the flip side, I have no job and no car, so my day-to-day activities are restricted to things I can do for under $10 and happen to also be in walking distance. I have a lot of fun acquaintances, but I wouldn't say that I've made any great close friends. Generally I don't speak to anyone all day long - I email back and forth with the sister and the architect, but that's about it. In fact, when people phone, I almost let it go to voicemail b/c I can't think of anything to say. I miss my friends and my family. I don't know if I'm going to get to go home for Christmas. These things weigh on me, even though I try and ponder life only one moment at a time.

Plus I gotta say - 23degrees with less than two weeks to Christmas is kind of weird for a girl who grew up jumping into snowbanks as tall as her house.

Ultimately, this was a good idea. I mean, the company I worked for is closing that office, so I'd have been out of work in short period of time anyway. The architect's job is so much more satisfying to him, and he has way better opportunities down here than he would have in vancity (recession notwithstanding). I'm just really worried that I'm becoming boring - that I'm losing who I am. At the same time, though, I'm not sure how to stop it.

If it's crowded all the better because we know we're going to be up late

Right now I'm pretty sure I would murder my cat (the backup cat, not the primary cat) for a mcdonalds breakfast - scrambled eggs, hashbrown, and those english muffins that manage to somehow be raw and burned all at the same time at the same time. Clearly it needs to be eaten thusly: hashbrown cut in half; half of the eggs placed on top of 1 side of english muffin; hashbrown half placed on top; liberal application of salt and pepper; bite/chew/swallow/nomnomnom.

Sadly, the only McDonalds in the area is a long walk away. Also, I'd have to go to the hospital because of the eggs and I'm pretty sure that if I'm going to eat eggs and spend a day and 2 grand in the hospital, those eggs should not be from mcdonalds.

So I'll suck it up and maybe microwave myself a yam & eat it with butter and salt and pepper. This way, at least, I can pretend that it's sort of good for me - all those antioxidants and whatnot.

I can guarantee you, though, that it won't be as good as mcdonalds' breakfasty goodness. Le sigh.

I've been a

lazy shit. I know it, you know it, let's move on.

Well, honestly, last week was a bit of a write off as far as down time went. I ended up running from one end of god's green earth (or at least San Diego) to the other for tests etc to do with the immigration stuff. As a result, I do know that I am actually *not* your huckleberry, despite years of insisting that I have consumption. Frankly I'm sort of disappointed - I always thought it was a noble sounding disease, with more than a little bit of romance to it.

Of course, your lungs also liquefy inside your body, causing you to cough them up bit by bit, but whatevs.

I had the worst sleep last night. I don't know if I'm getting sick or what, but I was FREEZING when I came to bed. I was super stealthily trying to warm my feet up on the architect without waking him up. Fortunately he was pretty much out cold and so I could nestle my piggies up between his thighs like a wiener in a bun and he didn't even move. Plus I kept waking up totally obsessing about random facts and details that weren't even that stressful, I just couldn't shut my brain off. Now I have a major ache in my right eye and just want to lie here in bed all day.

Unfortunately, I need to clean the oven, then walk over and pay rent, and also go to the library - I know, big day for me.

We went out this weekend and bought a fake tree and a bunch of decorations. I didn't want to spend too much since I have so much back in Vancouver, but I really wanted to get a few things. Last year was so hectic what with moving into that apartment on Dec 15 then going up to Canada a week later we didn't bother at all. This year, though, I'm insisting. We also got a cute little electric fireplace heater thing. The lights you can see behind it are the byproduct of the fake flame - they're way more evident in the photo than they are in real life, but they fascinate the cats to no end. Dude I've wanted one of these for*ever* so yay for accommodating husband-type persons.