Off to the Mont...

Am leaving early tomorrow afternoon for my first Montreal weekend. It's going to be good.

Not only am I seeing a friend who's visting from San Fran (hah! six months in, and you're now an honourary American), but am driving up with a friend and staying in a hostel in the middle of old Montreal.

And aside from incredibly crappy weather expected tomorrow (it's just started to rain), the weather for Staurday and Sunday is expected to be fantastic.

It has all the making of an excellent weekend.
Fingers crossed.

This moment of self-doubt is brought to you by...

... paranoia, neuroses and the hunch that I'm wasting my time with this...


One of the drawbacks for a full-time freelancer is the dead period. No calls. No work.

Sure, no deadlines are nice for a little bit, but then doubt creeps in. There's no work -- is it actually because there's nothing available, or is simply because I'm a useless writer and every one knows it? And if that's case, why hasn't anyone said anything? (Or worse, it's been implied and I just didn't get the hint...)

I mean, I was typing away at a Starbucks in the beaches yesterday when some random fellow plunked down at the table beside me and immediately began chatting. I was informed I looked like a writer, and he was convinced I would be very successful... without having read a single thing I'd written.

In essence, blowing smoke up my ass for no apparent reason. (There was no requesting of phone numbers or staring at my chest, or anything. I was wearing pretty frumpy comfy clothes.)

But it got me to wondering -- how many friends and colleagues have been blowing smoke up my ass, fearing to tell me the truth?

...That I am a bad writer.

Words to tremble by, and they would be devastating. But I'd pick up the pieces, wouldn't I? The dream shatters (too bad), I fall apart and then take a new direction in life.

And of course, part of me is terrified to really know. But all the same, I have to wonder how many people have read my stuff, said, "I really like it" or "this is great" and actually thought to themselves, "Fuck, she's wasting her time. This is mediocre crap at best."


I do dislike days like this.
Am heading to montreal tomorrow for the weekend. Maybe things will look up after a mini-break.
Christ, I hope so.

The last day of the long weekend...

Fresh-baked wild blueberry muffins. (Who knew I could bake?)
Breakfast At Tiffany's.
The house to myself, and nary a deadline in sight.

It's a good life if you've got it.

Mmmmm... Fictional men...

This is the latest meme going around, but I thought it great fun.

List your top 10 *fictional* men you'd do: ( I reserve the right to return and edit in case I've forgotten someone. This is is also in no particular order)


1) Martin Blank (Grosse Point Blank)
2) Han Solo (I suspect he's on everyone's list)
3) Tyler Durden -- both of him (Fight Club)
4) Joe Bradley (Roman Holiday, played by Gregory Peck)
5) Bernard Black (Black Books)
6) Mr Darcy (Pride And Prejudice)
7) Renton (Trainspotting -- the movie)
8) Geoffrey Chaucer (A Knight's Tale)
9) The Stranger (Dear Frankie)
10) Wolverine (X-Men - the movie)




This list proves:

1) I'm attracted to psychotics, assassins, substance abusers, scoundrels, gamblers and other morally ambiguous types
2) I tend to like boys with brown eyes and nice accent
3) I dig the wit (but will accept a good looking fella with sharp claws and neat hair in lieu of wit)

Oh yes...

... I forgot.

Finished kids' book number three yesterday, and have begun work on numbers four and five.

The firecrackers are already being set off throughout the city today (Monday, for non-Canuck readers, celebrates Victoria Day -- a national holiday where we celebrate our age-old ties to the British monarchy by getting stupidly drunk and setting off fireworks. Popularly known as the May Two-Four weekend... "Two-four" is also a Canadian colloquialism meaning "case of beer.")

Two women in my neighbourhood were injured today, according to the news. A tree fell on them.

And a friend is likely being shipped overseas for a number of months -- which could prove interesting as she will need someone to watch her child. It seems that since I am self-employed (read: Hannah obviously has nothing terribly important going on), my chum is hoping I will stay in North Bay for a large chunk of time (read: months) and spend some quality time with the lad (read: cook meals, clean and ship the little guy off to school and various extracurricular activities).

It's something I have to consider carefully (read: I won't be able to freelance much while I'm there, which could put a damn quick halt on my writing career).

Think I shall head out for a nice long watch at the beach.
Hopefully I won't be set upon by groups of firework-wielding thugs.

Aliens have invaded...

I bought a skirt today. I must be ill.

Ringing ears...

Came back to life this evening -- energy levels back up, and good humour returned.

But not sure if it was the alcohol (a tad much), the delicious Chinese food (at 3 am, there's always time for Rol San) or the late hour, but my ears are screaming for quiet and bed.

I shall willingly comply. Really, 4:30 a.m. is quite an unholy time to go to bed on a Thuursday eve. Or rather, Friday morning.

I'm so sleeping in.
Zzzzzzzz.

Huh.

Well, it appears that the hail was only intended for this part of Toronto. Everyone I talked to who was working downtown or on the western side of the city looked at me like I was crazy. Fortunately, I took photos -- otherwise I might have suspected I was crazy, too.

Who's on the ball?

God bless the Toronto Star who put up this story up... about five minutes into the hailstorm:

The Star online: Severe Weather Warning Issued.

In sad news, I don't any more flowers outside. Lots of leaves and wee little branches, though. *BLAMMO!* (And the thunder is still going strong...)

Taken less than 40 minutes ago...

Thank goodness the air conditioner was covered...

The Great Toronto Hailstorm/Thunderstorm

I don't imagine this is centred totally on Toronto, but it's a rare thing to see this city under siege from weather severe spring weather. So much rain, and vicious bouts of hail and massive thunder and lightning.

The hail has eased, but we're still under really heavy downpour, and sirens are wailing all through the city.

The first round of hail was about the size of peanut M&Ms... coating the ground, the roads and pummelling everything. The smaller ones came with the second wave.

I have photos, but wow -- that was weird.

It's still very dark here, and my windows are rattling from the last bout of thunder.

Strangely, my headache has eased somewhat.

Toxic dump

Last summer, the old house next to us was investigated by the city's health official. The found a massively horrifying situation where three men and a woman where living in the worst kind of squalor.

No refrigerator, no working toilet (just a wooden book with a hoe cut in the top, piles of garbage, refuse, newspapaer... and more than 30 cats -- all sick, with no obvious food source and no kitty litter, which meant the place was coated in cat piss and shit. The smell was unbeleivable, and the cats (so I was told) were likely to be all put down because they were simply too ill.

The fols that were home were all carted off to the hospital in terrible health.

A month or two ago, the city shut down the house completely -- nailing the doors shut and posting a notice on the door.

Yesterday, cleanup crews arrives. Two very large trucks, and about six or seven guys dressed in white plastic coveralls. The all had filter masks on their faces.

Everything went into the trucks, presumably for the dump, including a number of very uggy-looking '70s televisions and more newspaper than you can imagine.

And a pile of hockey sticks. About six.

Keep in mind, these dudes were old, and in very ill health.

Worse still was the the garbage guys decided to leave the sticks on the front yard should anyone be interested in taking them.

Someone picked them up, and it was all I could to not throw open our windows and shout, "Don't touch it - it's evil!" (A little Time Bandits reference for you '80s film fans -- incidentally, that part of the movie creeped me out for years, although keep in mind that I couldn't have been more than seven years old at the time).

The only way I would have accepted anything from that house is if it were $100 bills, and I could hold them at arm's length with tongs until they could be properly sterilized. And even then, I would immediately take them to the bank and get them off my person as soon as possible.

Ugh.

Those poor, sad, unhealthy old men.

Looking back...

Today was a somewhat odd day.

1) Discovered a friend is being shipped to Afghanistan in six months

2) Even when you're not feeling terribly social or extroverted, friends are always good company

3) Phil is lovely

4) The Pillow Fighting League (http://www.pillowfighter.ca/ -- but the site isn't quite up and running yet)is a grand thing indeed.

[LATER ADD-IN... This is a far better item to read on the PFL.

5) Any event where you can bellow, "Kick her in the cooch!" is also a fine thing

6) Realized my moods are very much dictated by the weather -- and I fear as the forecast is calling for about a week of crappy rain and cool temperatures

7) Nothing is more enticing at the end of a long day than the prospect of a hot shower and a full night of uninterrupted rest

8) There is never enough karma to go around for the people who need it.. or even who could use a little bit


God, I'm tired. I feel like I lived a lifetime over the last week...

Oh, yeesh...

Ignore the post below. Apparently Ro was just being horrible -- and teasing.

Although to be fair, when you're reading his comments there's not a lot of difference between Ro Teasing and Ro Being An Ass.


...Oh, how I hate transcribing interviews.

Why do I even bother?

Sometimes you can have a friend who you hardly ever argue with. You can debate, disagree and get all manner of argument-y, and they'll simply sit back and shrug at you.

But every once in a while, you come across someone who is defensive, aggressive and so damn sure they're right that they'll come out guns blazing, and fire off all manner of insults and generalizations. In short, they'll overreact.

Such is Ro, this fellow in Scotland who I correspond with. Intelligent, fierce, amusing and introspective, he can also be one helluva a dickhead. Yesterday, in response to someone who commented on his blog that Ro was overprivileged -- assuming that travelling to Europe, Africa and the US on a near non-stop basis for pleasure was an indulgence few could enjoy -- Ro fired off a great giant missive, verbally attmpting to impale said person.

While the fellow may be focused on material things, promotions and careers, RO -- in true form -- went off and attacked all people who don't travel more than once a year. He thanked them for living useless, boring lives... and giving him more space on the plane, since their fat asses weren't wedged in the seats.

Failing, of course, to sympathize that most people who workly every day do it simply to survive, forgetting that having the financial means to travel non-stop (economy fares or no) is a luxury most don't have.

Today.... it was my turn.

While posting a comment on Ro's blog (the girl he was dating bought him a birthday gift that was thoughtful and appropriate... which he didn't recognize at the time, and went off about "Oh my god, am I getting fat?")

I posted a teasing reply (OK, so I forgot the smiley face -- but you can't go back in and edit posts):

"Not even the overdoing it thing -- sounds like she simply wanted to get you something to help with training.

And really, you are obsessed about your weight when it comes to preparing yourself for these things.

Actually, you're obsessed with weight period."


Actually, it was only half-teasing. I know he's in training, but he really does tend to go off at length about the horrors of gaining half an ounce.

Here was his very sweet reply to me:

"Ok, tubby, try and get your head around these simple facts...

I weigh, racing weight, 58 kg. If I carry 4kg extra - easily put on in about a week at the rate I eat if I don’t exercise – my body weight kicks up by 7%.

YOU try running hard with an extra 7% bodyweight bouncing around your tummy. Believe me, it turns something that’s hard but do-able into something that feels akin to torture. Weight = pain, hence the ‘obsession’.

And that entirely ignores the fact that fat don’t look nice. Who the hell is turned on by fat? Ines works her ass off to stay skinny, and she’s every right to expect I do the same, as has anyone I’m with.

It’s a matter of trying to be the best you can be with what god gave you, both mentally and physically. You make an effort for those you love; this reflects in your attitude and your approach towards them as people, and they way we look and dress when we’re with them.

We try. Or, rather, we should."


Translation: "If you're skinny, you love the people you're with. If you're fat, your a lazzy, ugly piece of shit who cares nothing for people."

"Tubby?" He fucking called me tubby?

Them's fightin' words to someone who spends -- at the very least -- an hour a day exercising, be it cardio at the gym, weight training (circuit and free weights), lengthy brisk walks, biking, tennis, a bit of swimming, tai chi... not to mention daily sit-ups and pushups.

After 18 months of activity, I've lost a reasonable amount of weight. I have a fair amount of muscle... and yes, I'm still overweight. But fuck... I'm trying.

But goddamn... "Tubby?" Suddenly -- after starting to hate my body a little less -- I feel disgusting, flubby and gross. All that work and progress disappears. And I hate the fact that it's still such a sore spot.

Worse still is that Ro knows this.

There's nothing worse than people who call themselves your friends... but get angry and do the best they can to make you feel as bad about yourself as possible -- simply because they can.

That's about as unfriend-like as you can get. Not to mention patronizing, insensitive and just fucking rude.

What an utter asshole.

The Skeleton Key

A brief foray into my subconscious mind...

Had a dream the other night that I offered to help Johnny Depp (I must've seen him in a movie that day) write a screenplay he had thought up.

It was a horror movie called The Skeleton Key (no, haven't seen the movie with that same title). It was one of those grainy, monochromatic, washed-out treatments -- low lights, lots of greys. The idea was that it was about a frustrated 19th century composer. While during the day he was a happy family man, his nights were horrifying. He was forced -- through the orders of some horrid fellow -- to totter off to an empty, sealed up room every night while his family slept. Only here was he allowed to compose -- locked up. But as his work improved and he created more and more, he was forced to spend more time in this stale, dim room... dragging himself out every morning, exhausted and half mad.

Eventually he went completely off the deep end -- ironically, only when he was a drooling, gibbering suicide case did he realize that no one forced him into the room. He had fabricated a twisted mentor... and all of his agony and subsequent insanity was self-inflicted.

It was sort of a dream-within-a-dream, because then Johnny Depp told me that while the story was fine, it was too dark and he wanted a happy ending. Then he tried killing me with numerous sharp knives.

The end.

When I told Chris about the dream after I woke up, he simple shook his head and said, "You're crazy."

Time flies when you put things off...

Ah, procrastination.

My one true friend -- who paradoxically hates me.

Truth is, I'm still in heavy hidey-hole mode. And am tired (read: lethargic) as hell. What I need is to just get my work done and get on with my life. If I thought I could get away with not doing it at all, you can bet your ass I would. Very tempting indeed.

In happier news, I bought a pair of raisin-purple boy-cut panties the other day. When I wore them, I giggled to myself. Probably because I wore them with a paggy pair of denim cargos that kept sliding off my butt. Purple underpants are funny. And tres sexy.

I fear...

The trailer for Clerks II has just been posted online.

Dare I hope?
Dare I dream?
Dare I entertain the frailest, tiniest glimmer that Kevin Smith knows what he's doing?

Because really, this has disaster slapped all over it.

Clerks II trailer here.

Amount of self discipline? Zero.

I have a deadline on Wednesday.

I have transcribed my hour-plus interview? No.
Do I have a clear idea about what to write? No.

Have I even reviewed the games I was supposed to? Also no.

Procrastination is the devil.

Hogs aplenty...

Seems that the Hell's Angels had a convention just north of Toronto this weekend. Which would likely explain why their clubhouse on Eastern Ave (just a short ways from our place) was littered with bikes, bikers, cops and haggard-looking women in leather gear.

I have the weirdest neighbourhood ever. Within walking distance:

- Hell's Angels Clubhouse
- Gerard India Bazaar (Little India -- and too-too delicious food)
- The beach - as in Ashbridges Bay, sand, water and a huge park
- The Beach - as in yuppie kids-and-dogs, expensive little shops, Starbucks, etc
- 55 Division (police)
- Mini CrackTown - dug-addled weirdos everywhere
- Leslieville and its many antique shops
- The Duke Tavern -- John Wayne in a sunset-lit desert has been painted on the building
- Toronto Film District -- film studios aplenty
- Ashbridges Bay sewage treatment plant

I'm sure there's more.

But it's a damn sight better than the neighbourhood we lived in when I was in fourth year -- tucked in between low-income housing with high violence rates... and slaughterhouses.

You don't know gross until you walk to the streetcar and find the road littered with entrails, chicken feet, fatty deposits, a pig's ear and greasy pools of blood.

And finally...

...it rains.

Special note to tree pollen: Please fuck the hell off.

Sincerely,

me.

"Don't go quietly..."

In an unexpected turn of events, I heard from a friend who disappeared on me over the last year. I had written them an email recently -- a sort of last-ditch attempt to try to establish relations before throwing up my hands in exasperation and bailing for good.

It was, I thought, a futile effort.

So you can imagine my surprise when I received a very thorough and nice email -- full of excuses, of course, but they were unexpectedly honest.

I was immediately very receptive and delighted -- though somewhat annoyed at being forced to sit in the Friendship Pending waiting room while they figured out their life.

I'm not a terribly patient person, you see.

But having slept on it, doubts started creeping in. Why pursue a relationship with someone who so clearly doesn't have the time and/or inclination for friends? There's nothing I find so abhorrent as people who keep their friends waiting on leashes for that one day a year when they need to get out -- have a break from their humdrum life and reconnect with the world.

Then you hear nothing for months and months... or a year or two.

Most people say this, but I have massive trust issues. Seriously. Throw a little paranoia into the mix and a general sense that people don't ever like me as much as they may indicate... Well, you get the idea. My friends are a very careful and cautiously selected group of people.

And yes, I do feel the tiny urge to punish this one. To say, "You know what? Screw this. I'm not your little friend-on-a-shelf. Have nice fucking life. Enjoy your midlife crises when your marriage is shite, your kids are independent and you have nothing left."

But I am, in essence, a nice person. I just don't like the idea of having half-life friends.

So I dunno. Do I forgive them? Or do I forget them completely?

The Onion makes funny news briefs

I'm such a copyediting dork.

"Comic-Book Superrman Impervious To Copyediting

May 3, 2006 | Issue 42•18

NEWARK—Executives at DCC Comics have announced the debut of comic-book character Superrman, whose invulnerability to copyediting protects him from nefarious outside forces and intellectual-property lawsuits. "Thrill to the exploits of Superrman, the only child of a doomed plant! Gasp in awe at his Superr-Strength, X-Roy Vision, and his ability to leap mall buildings in a single bounce!" read a press release issued by DCC. "Superrman's only weakness? His vulnerability to Cryptonight… and his star-crossed love for sassy, sexy, trouble-prone reporter Louis Lane!" The editors of Superrman say the comic book will be released alongside those of other popular DCC characters such as Wander Woman, the Flush, and Batdan."

I need to stop procrastinating.

Just rain already, dammit!

Allergies getting much, much worse.

The nicest weather I've seen since the fall, and I've been forced to seal up the house. Technically, I should stay inside, but it's near impossible to keept out of the warmth, and that lovely small of green. It's killing me, though.

Things will get better if it rains, so I'm constantly checking the skies.

I will not have my summers dominated by nasty allergies.

Screw this shit. I'm leaving Canada as soon as I get the chance. There's no reason anyone -- after living through months and months of cold and snow (although this winter was comparitively mild) should have to finally be graced with nice weather and find themselves allergic to the outdoors.

What a monstrous load of crap.

This is what comes of giggling at everyone who had to work in offices yesterday.

It's hard not to gloat...

But on a lovely spring day when it's 23 degrees (73 for you Fahrenheit types), it's hard not to look smug.

Everyone has to rush to their offices, grumbling and snarling as they look at the lovely sunny day outside. I've been out for most of the day, and am now going to enjoy a bike ride down to the beach, where I will sit with a massive stack of paper and read trash.

Must remember suncreen. (I look in the mirror and am terrified by the lines and wrinkles that are forming -- and skin cancer makes everyone look 63% less sexy.)

People may look at me askance for my lack of cash... but no amount of money can buy you freedom, my friends. Or time. Or youth.

Carpe diem. Et libera te tutemet!

Technology makes life *so* much more interesting...

Take that, Stephen Harper.

Out brand-spanking new uber-conservative prime minister was targeted for an amusing prank. Apparently the LED signs for GO transit kept flashing, "Stephen Harper eats babies."

Awesome.

Story here.

A smug morning...

Oh, smug indeed.

I haven't read all my email, so me tiny glow could potentially disappear, but I just read an article someone sent this morning which made me cackle.

I don't think anyone who reads this will get the reference (perhaps one, who likely already knows about the story), so I will just say it is an example of karmic retribution...

Pot guys busted.

For a select few...

One of my favourites quotes from one of my favourite films... for a select few who will know who they are when they read this:

"...love don't make things nice - it ruins everything. It breaks your heart. It makes things a mess. We aren't here to make things perfect. The snowflakes are perfect. The stars are perfect. Not us. Not us! We are here to ruin ourselves and to break our hearts and love the wrong people and die. The storybooks are bullshit!"

Ah, le alcohol...

I think I'm almost drunk.

Half a bottle of wine and half a pitcher of beer... I'm turning into a lightweight. Just as well - means I'm not drinking so much these days.

There's something nice about hanging with old friends. That understanding, of knowing the past gaps and just filling up the present. Had dinner with my oldest friend in the world. We've known each other since we were 10 -- that's a long fucking time.

And bless us, we both had the sense to leave our hometown for greener pastures -- ironic, considering Toronto is about as non-green as you can get, but there you go.

There are things I want to write right now, but suspect I'll just regret them in the morning.

Sometimes it's better just to shut the hell up.

Who *is* this guy?

A week and a half ago, Chris cut his hair.

The ponytail that hung halfway down his back -- and has lived there for the last 15-odd years? Gone.

My boy now has short hair. And holy fuck, was it ever weird to look at him for a couple of days. It looks fantastic, much better and more suited to him.

But still... completely bizarre.

Crap.

Today is lovely out, and I have celebrated this by opening windows (and letting all that marvelous pollen in the house). But a wasp flew in.

I have finally freed the stupid thing, much to its annoyance. I had to clap a bowl over the screen and maneouver the bloody pest so it would fly about the hole.

I need to patch the screens in this palce. It's becoming ridiulous. And I must prepare for The Squirrel Invasion once again. Digging trenches, cleaning my rifles and prepping the cannons.

Or perhaps I will simply patch the screens with steel mesh this time. I don't want the little bugger thinking it can return for feasts on our counters.

***Ach-OOOOOOO***

Allergies truly are the suck.

Normally, my spring allergies are mild, but this year? Well, the trees have turned stupid and are doing their best to make me miserable. Nothing close to my glorious days of ragweed-ness, of course, but still enough to make me want to tear out my eyebrows.

Is suspect Birch is the culprit, although oak seems to be maliciously high right now as well.

Compound that with a weekend up north with numerous dogs, even more cats (one of them insists on sitting on me when she's shedding -- she must do it on purpose) and voila - messy.

On a happier note, Chris' brother took me on a rather fun little jaunt on his ATV through the backwoods (they all live in rural areas) -- mud, hills, small lakes (puddles gone out of control) and some impressive hills. I believe I might have requested him to not kill me -- but only once.

The rest of the ride was spent whooping, grinning and giggling.

My arms are sore from the effort of keeping myself from flying right off the back.(No, seriously -- my entire body flew off the seat on a regular basis) 'Twas great fun... Despite a nervous moment when the thing nearly tipped over.

I suspect I enjoy vehicles that do terrifying things.