Happy Tic Tac Toe Day

This picture is so wrong. However, as a lapsed Christian, I felt it important to share with everyone.

Uploading this picture to Flickr, I wanted to write the name of the hill upon which Jesus was crucified in the description. However, as I explained earlier, I'm a lapsed Christian, so I'm rusty on the Biblical geography. I asked Nik. His reply: "Blueberry Hill?"

Oh, the laughs we have.

George Dishwashington

Ok, two things:

1. I just turned on the tv, and got to hear Dr. Nick's infamous: "Inflammable means flammable? What a country!" phrase. Woot!

2. I need a pot to boil asian noodles to make veggies in a peanut sauce. And where are all the pots? IN THE DISHWASHER! I will have to suffer for another 45 minutes. NOOOOOOOOO!

homonyms

Do not confuse "poo time" with "poutine". Here endeth the lesson.

cherry tomatoes

So the guy who manages the fundraising department came by my desk this afternoon, filling in a "Spot the Hazard" form. All managers have to fill in this form at least once a month. I know this as I'm on the Health & Safety committee. I don't think he knows I co-chair the committee. "Do you have any work place hazards to report?" he joked with me, pretending to take the task seriously. He made a silly face. I concluded he doesn't know I am on the committee.

But I joked along. Afterall, I am responsible for his web project, and I'm woefully behind. I'm behind because the task is boring as all shite, so I keep pushing the folder into the back of my drawer. "Go away," I whisper to it, once in a while. I'm hoping that it will magically migrate onto the website on its own accord.

"How are my web site changes coming along?" he asked, more serious. Uh oh. Is he reading my mind? It was time to slather the toast with a lot of bull-shit butter.

"Uh, Sharon's been swamping me with a lot of urgent projects, so I'm a bit behind. You've requested a lot of updates. While I've got the other managers' changes online, your file has turned out to be thicker and harder...." I trailed off. Did I really just use "harder" and "thicker" as adjectives to a MANAGER? I tried again. "Your list of updates is impressively long," I said stupidly. Long? Impressively long? Long, thick, and hard. Oh my goodness. Those are three adjectives that I should only use with my partner.

I turned red. Cherry tomato red. Sunset red. Beet red. Fire engine red. He laughed. "Well, if you need any help, be sure to call Candice," he ordered, before walking away. I hid my face in my hands. Oh. My. Goodness. What part of my brain enjoys torturing me this way?

I really need to bone up on my adjectives.





(Did I really just type "bone"?)

badger badger badger badger

SNAKE! IT'S A SNAKE!

I had a portobello mushroom for supper, served as a burger. Yum. Can't go wrong with a portobello. (With lots of onion. And provolone cheese. Mmmmm...)

Walking home from work last week, I smelled fire. I looked around -- it didn't smell like someone's wood fireplace smoke. There on a wooden deck on Rochester Street was a larger ashtray, stuffed full with cigarette butts, on fire. I've seen this happen at work in the outdoor ashtrays. Just enough combustible material and heat to generate a fire.

What to do? The ashtray was on an unfinished wooden deck. Do I ring the doorbell? Walk away?

I went over to the deck and dumped out the ashtray onto the snow-covered front lawn. I kicked some snow onto the butts and stomped on the pile. I then put the ashtray back in place, before continuing on my way.

I had to laugh afterwards. Obviously some neat-nick lived there who smoked outside but used an ashtray. And here I dumped out the butts on their front yard, making an ugly, ashy, hard-to-clean-up mess. They were probably pissed afterwards, thinking someone vandalized their yard and ashtray. Little did they know I was trying to protect their home from fire.

Sing a Song for Spring

I've made it through another winter. It's time to thaw out. I've been waiting for this since late November, when I began to freeze. Running outside with only slipping into sandals, no hats and mits, wearing silly little skirts to feel the wind between my legs.

After waking up at 8am, showering, and walking the dogs, I went back to bed. I crashed until about 4pm. I awoke with a horrible headache. Everything felt hot. I lay on the bed with the windows open, listening to the children playing outside. A wasted Sunday. The sunshine was warm through the windows.

I'm pretty sure I heard a house finch singing in the neighbourhood the other day. There will be more birds coming soon. I look forward to their songs.

par-tay

i am drunk and ther are 4 other people in my apartment who are drunk. wee1!@

dolor

Reading a list of medical terms, I was faced with a strange word. "Dolor." In the middle of a description of broken bones near the elbow, what kind of meds to prescribe, and the prognosis.

Dolor.

I went to www.google.ca and entered: "define: dolor". There was one result from some university website. "(poetry) painful grief"

Poetry? Painful grief? How can one describe a kitten's broken leg as painful grief? Anthropomorphizing? Overly sympathetic? Tender hearted? Or the soul of a poet?

dancing dogs

I stole this photo off the internet. It makes me laugh.

Nik came home from Elisse's tonight, smelling of smoke. "It just wasn't fun without you," he said, wrapping his arms around me. I felt the same way.

Goodbye.

"Oh no, Craig Hall is dead. Long live Craig. He died an ugly death in Hull somewhere...."

Death gives me a chance to reconsider the relationship I've had with someone. I've tried to think about Craig during these past twenty-four hours. But there isn't much to remember. He didn't have sweaty hands when we danced at the Voytinsky's wedding. He snuck off to the bathroom after meals to take insulin. He had dandruff and greasy hair. He turned bright red if anyone said anything related to sex. There was a tenderness under his self-imposed repulsive neurosises. I think he wore velcro sneakers. I said "Japanimation" in his presence, just to make him cringe. That whole scene in the Voytinsky's living/dining room was a strange one. Friday night after Friday night. Vegetarian wheat-free milk-free meals. After which I'd sneak to McDonald's for a cheeseburger.

Nik, as usual, says it better than I do. Visit Nik's blog and search for 'Craig Hall'.

At times I can look death in the eyes and feel completely comfortable with it. Working at the animal shelter I've seen a lot of death. I've seen it, smelled it, held it, heard its moans and sighs and cries, and sung a little farewell lullaby to it. Surrender into the nothingness from which I came.

Then there are the times when it scares the bejeezus out of me. Maggots consuming my various collections of atoms and setting them free, back into the universe. "This was fun," say the multitude of molecules. "But I'm a little tired of this scene. Chances are, I won't bump into y'all ever again. Goodbye, goodbye."

Les annuelles en pots et au jardin

There is a pot of boiling water on the stove top: it is rolling hard, splashing over occasionally. The stove top is hissing. Is it anger? Or a waste of energy?

Moxie wanted to play badminton the other night. Silly dog, badminton is a summer game.

curling

My current little head movie is that I take up curling. It's fun, and I get to meet people. I'm surprisingly good. I hook up with some very talented women, and we win at the Scott Tournament of Hearts. We go on to win the World Championship. Next thing I know, I'm competing in the Olympics. I win a gold medal for Canada, becoming an international heroine. It's one of my more realistic ones. In what other sport could I make it to the Olympics?

I play this movie on sunny walks to work. It makes me smile, despite the slush and puddles.

house of british commons

Coire is making me watch the British House of Commons debate that is occuring at 1:30am UK time. Coire is excited about these kinds of politics. He's an interesting guy, and I'm tagging along, about two thousand, eight hundred, forty kms away from him, to see if I can find it interesting too. In a weird way it is a bit captivating, but I can't get all gung-ho about it because it doesn't affect me. "Sunset clause, hear hear!" Unless I visit England and they think I'm a terrorist because I ask for pickled turnips on my shawarma.

jos. louis

I had something to say, but the wine has made me forget. If only it would let me forget more.

frozen fruit

Baby, it's cold outside.

At Nik's urging, I've created this blog. I got the idea from Periwinkle Parasol, after she shared the URL to her blog. I'm ashamed to 'fess I'm nothing but a mere copycat. I discussed this with Nik this past weekend, while we were waiting for a bus. "I'm not original," I moped, back to the wind. "I'm a mishmash of different people and traditions and things. They all speak through me." "That's what makes you original," he said, trying to dam the surge of depression I felt over the weekend. "You're an original blend of that mishmash."

Sometimes I would like to hold a sparkling gem of originality in my hand, to privately gloat over. ("My precious....")