Screws fall out all the time, the worlds' an imperfect place..

Old lady confession of the day:

I still have a very real and deep crush on John Bender.

That is all for now.

Quantum Leap of Faith

Happy Easter, my little cream eggs!

I trust you all enjoyed the holiday? I certainly did, if by 'enjoy', you mean 'eat'. Between heaping servings of this to consuming a terrifying amount of chocolate -- I made good use of my 4 days off. I coloured eggs, skipped through wild flowers and drank lots of nice wine. You know, the whole good food/good company thing. Sadly, all the chocolate and wine did a number on my tongue and the poor little lamb is a bit sore. I think I kind of know how Jesus felt. I mean, just a little.

Guess what?
Someone doesn't want to go to work tomorrow.
Guess who?
Me, mofos! I'm talking about my sorry self ( as is the way in these parts)

Sometimes I'm not super thrilled about my current reality and this is why I am going to embrace quantum physics. You see, I've boiled it all down to a handy self-serving id for myself. Basically, since any day now I am going to be able to draw apart particles and travel here, there and everywhere all at the same time and possibly visit my own lifeline both past and future -- I figure I can do whatever the fuck I want. I can skip all this nastiness of early rising and paying bills, because money is just a bunch of particles anyhow. And time? What is time anyway? Time is nothing more than a slave master that we created to keep our asses feeling lemming safe.

I hate it. Time passes either too quickly or sludges about. It's all about waiting or rushing or lamenting. It puts people into a panic. I'd like to stop having to clock in now, please. So you see, I'm going to figure this stuff out and attempt to cheat that gluttonous asshole, Father Time.

Pass me the clicker, dear. Lets skip over this bullshit and find something good -- like the year 1991 or 2023. 2007/08 looks like a good time to take a pee break.

And on the third day...

... pants were no longer an option.

This Easter candy bullshit is really fucking me up. I'm going to Mexico in 2 months and I'll probably have to wear a bathing suit. Actually, as the 'resort' I'm staying at has a bar that you swim up to, I'll definitely be suiting up. The other options are donning the fat girl outfit of shorts and a t-shirt or going nekkid. Not appealing. But, as it stands, I will have to be blind drunk before I put myself through the humiliation of crawling spandex. This may just be the third option I'll rely most heavily upon. "Heavily" being the operative word.

Willpower has turned it's chiseled face from me in disgust. I started the morning off with a couple of chocolate chip cookies, followed by a crepe chased down with innumerable fist-fulls of chocolate mini-eggs. For dinner I had blood sausage and mashed potatoes. So, I spent the day eating like hippy kid who's just discovered sugar and I took my dinner like a burly field hand. I obviously have a problem and should be put down. But, I'd like someone to take out the Easter Bunny first. Fuck him and his delicious chocolate eggs. Seriously.

Obviously I'm going to have to exercise.

I feel nauseous.

Why do all the bad things in the world happen to me?

Pull my heah...

This just in: I am in love with the woman who wrote this. I wish I had written this...this...manifesto. Yes, manifesto. I would have thrown in the odd "cum on my tits", but all in all -- these are wise, wise words.

Shame she had to go and add a disclaimer.

(thanks J)

Cole's Notes

Aiight, so last week I traveled to the UK to visit my dearest friend, Nina; her husband, George and her ridiculously charming four-year-old son, Gus. Nina and I tromped around London. We were kicked out of a Top Shop by a wall-eyed Russian security guard. We (I) bored a communal table at a fancy dim sum joint with too-loud, Sex-in-the-City-esque tales of woe. We took in the Vanity Fair exhibit at the National Portrait Gallery and dined at the Tate Modern. We ate fish and chips and drank wine (Nina had only a little as she is in the process of gestating a gargantuan fetus).

George and I drank silly cocktails at a Cuban bar, scarfed back kebabs at a Turkish joint (duh) and took in an Arsenal game. George taught me the offsides rules and how to take back my life with Outlook. Plus, he hooked me up with a kick-ass phone. Sadly, he was also abused by the owner of the best Thai restaurant in Kingston and took it Korean style just to get his hands on probably the most delicious green curry I've ever tasted.

Gus and I baked cookies, played weird games and split bunk beds. He also reminded me that no matter how heartbroken I was feeling, all I really needed to do is learn my shapes and all will be well. And finally -- Nina, Crabdab (the fetus), Gus and I walked the 10 minutes from their flat to Hampton Court Palace to take a boo at King Henry VIII's crib and poor Gus got a miserable sliver.

I briefly considered getting a new tattoo in Jolly Old, but then I remembered that I hate paying for tattoos as much guys hate paying for head. I know, I know - I'm a cheap asshole who doesn't support the arts. But you just ask yourself how much you're paying to read this drivel. Darlings, this is my art. So, perhaps you can see where I'm coming from.

I realize this is a glancing retelling, but count your blessings it wasn't retold in one run-on sentence. There's a story to every thing we did, but I'm just not in the mood for yarn spinning. But I feel guilty if I don't commit shit to 'paper'.

Oh, Christ! I forgot to tell you all about the brutal asthma attack I suffered on the flight down! Man, I REALLY don't feel like storytelling tonight. Let's just say that there was an oxygen tank and sedatives involved. I will tell you that the British Airways crew who were working that flight are truly fan-fucking-tastic people. In fact, I would like to marry or at least have back-archingly good sex with every single one of them. Truly. They were so compassionate at a time that I needed it most. I couldn't breathe, I was an emotional wreck and I was more than half hoping the plane would crash. They provided salvation in the form of hot tea, a powerful sedative and a cozy spot where the crew slept. God bless you, BA. God bless.

It's laundry night and I'm wearing my traditional laundry uniform of a pink gingham skirt and black tank top. Don't ask me why. This just happens to be the outfit I put on for warshing clothes. I've got to put in a couple more loads. Perverts.

Forgive grammatical errors, typos, etc. Or don't. That's just how I roll.

i just flew in from london and boy are my arms tired.

Arsenal vs Milan (kick ass photography by me!)


More about putting the jolly back in jolly old to cum...

Sweetheart Day

This morning I woke up beside the man I love. He told me that there just might be a surprise for me downstairs. Down in the kitchen there was a heart-shaped box of chocolate on the table and beside it I found a scrap of paper instructing me to look here and then there and finally in his coat pocket where I found a shiny new Tiffany charm!

Oh wait... that was my sister.

I woke up beside a box of Kleenex with a miserable cold, swollen eyes and a bleeding bottom lip. On my kitchen table I found a bunch of rotting bananas and after some frantic searching I found bus fare in my own coat pocket.

it's just a commercial holiday...it's just a commercial holiday...it's just a commercial holiday...

Give my love to Rose...

Behold the Nordic Ware Sweetheart Rose Muffin pan! Retailing at $35 in the US&A, yours truly picked up this cast iron beauty for $2 at a local thrift shop.

No, you don't understand! I've been lusting after this pan for ages but I just couldn't bring myself to fork over the nearly $40 to scratch this particular itch. I was so very excited when I saw it sitting under a table at the back of the store. There is not a single mark, scratch or baked on bit on it. Just in time for good old St.Valentine's Day-- I can bake me up a couple dozen dear sweet, rose-shaped confections. You can't possibly know how much happiness and satisfaction this baking pan will bring me.

Can't you even pretend to be happy for me? Have pity. All signs point to a distressing/depressing/lonely Valentine's Day for me this year. Let me eat cake.

What goes up...

Well, I ate and did my laundry and even did pilates. Now I feel like shit. I also just read my previous post and I'd like to know who I was trying to kid. Sure, it was a sunshiney day and yes, I did enjoy buying the dresses and yes, my trip to Capers was successful. My cab driver was nice and he did accuse me of being spiritual and friendly -- but still, I spent the day alone. And I don't like spending Sundays alone. Mountain views and caffeine highs aside, I feel like I was trying to create a great day. Don't get me wrong, I know that's 90% of the battle. But, now that I'm no longer on a manic xanthine alkaloid compound-induced high -- this Sunday has definitely lost its charm for me.

There are a couple of lessons to be learned here: Never face the weekend without stimulants and never commit your thoughts to writing while under the influence of a stimulant. Oh, and try to limit the time of sobriety between when the stimulant wears off and when you pass out.

Every day is like Sunday...

Dear whomever it may concern,

Today was kind of a wonderful day. I woke up at noon sporting a mild but not unpleasant hang over. Feeling like a fun-loving teenager, I threw on whatever was on the floor, washed off last night's party make-up and headed out the door into the lovely sunshiney day.

I bought one of those super buzzy (and truly unhealthy) energy drinks and hit the busy sidewalks. I live in a great neighbourhood and I don't explore it often enough. Perhaps the best thing about my hood, is the incredible mountain view -- that and the excellent shopping. I treated myself to 2 new dresses that -- I don't mind saying-- look rather fantastic on me. They were on sale and nothing turns my crank more than a new dress. So imagine how chipper I was with two in the bag!

Not wanting to lose my buzzzzzz, I made a pitstop for a latte and some people watching. Unfortunately the people were dead boring today so I decided to trek on over to Capers and do me some grocery shopping. It wasn't until half-way through the vegetable aisle that I remembered that I hadn't eaten yet today. I didn't feel hungry, but my hands were starting to shake and I started to feel a little freaky deaky from the coffee and can o'speed zipping through my system.

I momentarily considered sitting down for a nice sensible bowl of soup and perhaps a glass of water. But then I remembered the fun loving teen feeling and decided to be totally bad ass and NOT have a healthy snack. Crazy, I know. Besides, the empty stomach/speed combo was making me feel rather slender and rather high. I finished up my shopping in record time -- picking up all manner of tasty treats.

Congratulating myself for remembering to bring my own bags, I called a cab which arrived in less than 5 minutes. Good Lord, everything was just coming up me! My cabbie was super nice and we chatted easily on the ride home. He asked me if I was originally from Vancouver and when I said no he told me he could tell because of my friendliness. Nice, right? As we pulled up to my house he asked me what I do for a living. I told him that I'm a writer and he nodded knowingly. He told me that he could tell that I was an artist and that I exude spirituality. I didn't have the heart to tell him that it was more likely caffeine-induced adrenaline that I was exuding rather than spirituality.

So, now I'm home and I just relayed my day which I fear may be awful boring for you all. I still haven't eaten and I'm half expecting to see my spirit animal at any moment. So what seems fascinating to me may not really translate so well. But then again, this my corner of the internet and I do as I please.

I think I'll go try on my new frocks, put a roast in the oven and clean my house. Beep, beep n' beep, beep --yeah!

Pills, chills and big dangerous shoplifters

Okay, so I just got back from the doctor and what an eventful visit it was! First, I got a pretty heavy scolding for allowing my asthma to go so long unchecked. APPARENTLY, I should only be using my inhaler once a week rather than twice a day plus a double-shot nightcap. After listening to my lungs there was talk of hospitalization, unless I swore to go back on a steroid ASAP. So, I walked out of there with three different prescriptions and a massive guilt trip. I had no idea it was that big of a deal.

Anyhoo, the really exciting shit went down once I hit the pharmacy. Some gargantuan fellow got caught shoplifting and he went NUTS when he got caught. He was thrashing around and all these guys were jumping on him. The shop owner locked the doors and asked me to watch the front. And like a moron I nodded and stood at the front counter. The poor young pharmacist was getting chucked around pretty good and some guy kept on shouting, "I'm a professional boxer! Let me get him!" Note that the professional boxer was almost as wide as he was tall and not with muscle.

The shoplifter was making his way toward the front like a crazed animal with the shop owner, the pharmacist and the boxer hanging off of him like clothes pins. I was all paid up for my prescriptions, but I really needed a bus pass. The shoplifter parade was getting closer and I was starting to feel kinda sick. I decided that one more day of scrounging for change wouldn't kill me, but the gong show coming up the tampon aisle just might. I casually walked out.

I was down 2 blocks before I finally heard police sirens. I kind of wish I'd stuck around. Maybe I could have been a hero. Or maybe I could have lifted a bus pass or at least some gum for my troubles.

It's been an exciting day and my blood is pumping an interesting mix of medications to my brave heart. I narrowly avoided hospitalization, my lungs are operating at half-capacity and I was one of the good guys in an attempted robbery. You know, the more I think of it... I am kind of a hero. You're welcome, world.

Je suis malade

Great. I MIGHT be sick! I can't tell if I'm being tormented by allergies, a head cold or a nasty cocktail of the two. All I know is that my head hurts and I'm feeling more asthmatic than ever. I need to lie on a cool sterile pillow and have my hair stroked...forever. Man, that would be good.

But the good Lord has bigger plans for me. Instead I have hours and hours of CMS clean-up to do and a doctor's appointment in a couple of hours. I will beg the good doctor for a little something, something to take the edge off ... of everything. Perhaps a teeny-weeny Ativan or two. Pfft...she won't give me anything. She's one of those fancy-pants doctors that prescribes a healthy lifestyle and rest. Archaic, I know. But I do need to refill my inhaler prescription and I do enjoy stealing rubber gloves and lube from the examining room. You gotta make your own fun in life.

Seriously, my kingdom for some fingers through my hair.