I rec'd the funnest parcel from NYC today. Earrings, panties, baubles and much more. Supa high fives to my dawg, T. The highlight of an otherwise miserable day, I'm afraid. Let's all distract ourselves from all the unhappiness in life and read my horoscope. Fun, yes?

March 28-April 3: The past couple Saturnine years have made you more aware of defense mechanisms – yours as well as others. Being defensive is justified when you’re under attack, but can be destructive when you’re not. You know yourself a lot better, thanks to Saturn’s visit. One thing is irrefutable: you do not want to be lonely. Saturn has also taught you that lonely people frequently have overactive defense mechanisms. This week’s touchstones: Amethyst, Rose Quartz, Sodalite.

Well, if i didn't just have a delightful Easter. There was an egg hunt, a huge family dinner and 72 hours of obscene chocolate into mouth action. The thought/smell/sight of chocolate makes me feel sweaty and ill. Here' s hoping this continues indefinitely. I was beginning to think maybe ole cottontail had forgotten all about me, but then late last night I was surprised with ceviche and decaf. Fantastic!

Today I'm off to the dentist. It's freezing outside, but I'm too full of choclate to put on pants. Life is very hard.

She ain't pretty, she just looks that way...

I woke up this morning and nearly wept when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I wasn't prepared, you see. But my eyes were drawn by movement and before I could stop myself I was looking right at my reflection. The light was bad, my posture terrible, yesterday's mascara had crept down to my cheekbones and somehow, overnight my hair had divided into a severe and unbecoming centre part. It was so horrible and cruel and uncalled for. And to make matters worse I had to go meet a nice fellow for lunch - in 30 minutes.

No time to shower - I washed my face, flat-ironed my bangs and hastily applied make up. I took a risk and threw together an outfit I had tried on and discarded a few times earlier in the week. A white pencil skirt, black t-shirt, a black leather hoodie and black slouchy boots. Once I was dressed, I stood back to inspect my wardrobing in the mirror and immediately wanted to change, but as usual I was already running late. So, off I went feeling like a sack of shit - a graphically suited up sack of shit, if you will.

Well let me tell you, during my 25 minute walk to the restaurant I was checked out more times than I 'd been since my early twenties when I dressed like a total whore. Some strange guy instructed me to smile (I hate it when people do that) and informed me life can't be that bad for someone as cute as me. What a strange and keenly observant man!

So, this was good. I desperately needed to feel a bit better about my appearance before my lunch date. But, then again my admirer was wearing a hockey jersey and moccasins. I wasn't convinced. Then some brutha gave me a "What's up girl?" from his car window. A nice car too. Something was going on. Either I had gotten my period in my white skirt and men were trying to warn me using some weird sympathetic code or I was looking rather smoking.

My lunch date complimented me twice which was most appreciated and a quick trip to the bathroom eliminated the menstrual theory. I no longer felt monstrously hideous. In fact, I was starting to believe my own press. I couldn't be sure, but it would appear that I did indeed look pretty fucking good.

After lunch I went to check out the shops and things only got better, my friends. Some very young fellow told me I was sexy, a drunk and disorderly street fellow said "Hello, gorgeous" , a bike courier smiled at me and some greaseball sitting outside the Blenz told me he liked my boots. And really, who am I to go against popular opinion? I simply had to trust the very good taste of the men-folk on the street.

I will wear the same outfit tomorrow and hell, maybe the day after that, too. In fact, I'm wearing it now as I sit on my couch - alone on a Friday night. It's for the best, really. I wouldn't want to sully my winning outfit with smoke, spilled drinks and...joy. No way.

Time for sleep. Tomorrow it's out to the valley for a good old-fashioned family Easter. Fear not, fellow attractive readers, my mother will be certain to take care of this recent bout of conceit. She's very good, I assure you.

It's a super gorgeous day. Sunny and warm. Patio time, I reckon. I wore heels today and my dogs are barking. That's what you get for being a girl. Which reminds me! The other night on Letterman, Gwen Stefani performed and made her way to the interview chair. She is one fit lady, right? Well, what to my wandering eyes should appear, but a wee fistful of cellulite on the waif's upper thighs. This made me happy and not for vicious female reasons. It actually made me like her much more. Especially when she saw herself in the monitor and quickly adjusted the way she was sitting muttering a self-conscious comment about wearing such short shorts.

Now, there is a lesson here. If a woman who admittedly works out like a maniac still has a little bit of cottage cheese, the rest of us shouldn't feel so very terrible. I have always liked Stefani, for the record, but now I think she's the bee's knees.

Speaking of dimpled skin, I best drag my ass outside for a little exercise. Thankfully, I brought low-heeled boots for the trek home. I am finally figuring the urban living shit out.

And so it's Monday.

Sunday afternoon I went to a baby shower. There was lots of food and happy people and I had quite a nice time. So, so, so much baby talk. Nothing like discussing pregnancy, labour and childrearing to make one contemplate that infernal biological clock (if such a thing exists). Sure puts the pressure on and forces you to consider the path you've chosen, fo' sho'.

Not to mention the woman who hosted the shower lives in such a great place. Her and her beau recently bought a loft-style condo in False Creek and it's just so very nice. Makes me feel like I need to get on with it and find a nice place to live and make a life etc, etc, etc. Not in a bad way, really. More in a hopeful, excited way. There are nice places to live in Vancouver and some people manage to make a life together and are happy together. Good to know.

I NEVER GET EMAIL ANYMORE.

There, I said it. Once upon a time, my mailboxes were barely manageable and nowadays I actually welcome spam. Yes, yes I do want to learn how to make her gag on my 14 " cock. Thank you for asking.

Now, of course some might say I have quite a nerve to complain when I have a list of a few important people whom I haven't emailed myself (Nadina, I have an email or 2 for you on the way). But this isn't about me being fair and just. Besides, if life were like that we wouldn't need Visa. No, this is about me checking my three, - no, four - email accounts a few minutes ago and finding nothing more than a few virtual tumbleweeds. It's just so sad. I blame technology. truth be told. It's a much nicer thought then accepting my current state of friendlessness.

On the bright side, no one calls me on the telephone either. At least I don't have to play the friend or foe game with unidentified callers (friend= known - foe=unknown/bill collector). Also, the chocolate chip oatmeal cookie I bought at Capers was delicious.

Good news. I seem to have frightened/poisoned the fuck out of the silverfish infestation seething around my balcony door.

Bad news. I seem to have chased/encouraged the fuck out of the remaining silverfish into infesting my kitchen.

I decided to make waffles for dinner tonight. And lo and behold, the 2 cups of Bisquik I dumped into my measuring cup turned out to consist of a good 1/4 cup of squirming, hideous, grey bugs. I cannot possibly relay to you my horror. I have very real issues with the concept of co-existing with bugs. I accept some of them - like ladybugs, spiders, moths and even wasps, horseflies and mosquitos. But I draw the line at silverfish.

I had a moderately serious melt down, threw out everything in my cupboards and eventually ordered in a pizza.

I cannot live like this. I have to move. I have to.

Vancouver's flowering and I'm going to seed. Bloomin' good times!

I have a good haircut. I paid my rent. These red grapes are delicious. I am a good person.

Well, I have to tell you I'm not feeling all that chatty. So, let's get to it. Saturday's speaking engagement went well. I wore a very short skirt. People asked questions. No one seemed overtly bored and I was given a bottle of wine and a flattering t-shirt for my troubles.

Between the talking and the free chilli dinner, me and my companions wandered around New Westminster. It was strange/sad/pleasant to be stomping around my old ... stomping grounds (I lived there for just over a year).

The rest of the weekend was a toss up between lovely good times and fretting over the pox upon me and my ilk. The nature was beautiful. Who knew?

Sorry, I've lost my concentration. Good night.

The terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day

Um, wow. What a fucking day. You know what? You wouldn't even believe it. So, I won't pollute your fine world wide web experience with my malarkey. But believe me you, I am actually shocked by the shittiness of the past 12 hours. And I'm accustomed to shit, you know?

Tomorrow I speak at a C.U.P conference. You wish me luck and physical and emotional beauty please. Funny.

Yesterday was a day of ups and downs. I walked to work in a fit of unexpected sunshine. It was lovely. Had a tasty coffee and a nice morning at work. Then an unpleasant email came to me. Lucky! Just a few nasty lines of text along with everything that festers between them can send me crashing. Up again, I ate Chicken McNuggets on the way to catch a movie. Fun.

Now, here we are today. Started off great. I was able to sit in the control room and watch the script I wrote being taped. That was edutainment at it's best. But, then this afternoon I rec'd bad news. Nothing really bad in the grand scale of things. No one died. No family member was hurt or upset. Much worse. "Leah" from Holt Renfrew called to ditch me. Horrible. You see, on Monday I rec'd a call from Leah, out of the blue. She wanted to give me $150 to shop for an hour in exchange for an additional thirty minutes of my time that I would devote to a couple of researchers. I was very, very happy about this. For you must understand, these things just don't happen to me. In fact, I stated that outright to a certain someone who believes strongly that my words predetermined the outcome of this little giveth-taketh-away adventure.

Rotten, I tell you, just rotten. That'll learn me not to look forward to things. And I ask you all to join me in boycotting Leah and her Holt Renfrew. It will be a struggle for many of you. But do try to keep your many thousands of dollars tied up in something else and out of the clutches of such a cruel retailer.

Sunday night. Well, Monday morning now. I spent much of the evening doing laundry (again). Emptying pockets and marveling at the bits of information hidden in those seamed gashes in the fabric. Little pebbles and a bright purple bead from a bubblegum pink pea coat. Dried noodles, a smiley face sticker and two American pennies pulled from a hopelessly stained pair of jeans. Funny and a bit sad to look at these treasures piled up on the washing machine. I will put them into a Ziplock bag and keep them.

Happy Birthday, Mr. Clam!

Well, alright. It may be too early in the day, but so far so good. I woke with only a wee twinge in the old back. I can walk easily, as though I've been doing it for years. It's just past nine and I already have two loads of laundry in. Breakfast has been served and the dishes washed. Today is cleaning day and it is also the day I poison the beastly silverfish cringing in the corners of my barely 500 sq foot apt. Twill, be a slaughter.

So, here's to happier days.

Ok, day four. I am on the mend, but my mood is still wretched. I had a very busy day. I had to write two newletters and re-write a script on top of my regular scheduled tasks. It only just ended a few minutes ago with an after dark shoot. Thankfully the director/camera man, "co-host" and sound designer came to me, so all I had to do was step outside my apartment and join them in my back alley. They wanted a gritty look and as luck would have it, my neighbourhood has enough of it in the dark. And now, I just want to tuck in and sleep off this past week. I feel very thin. And by that, I certainly don't mean trim. Quite the opposite, I assure you. More like I have no buffers in place right now. Here's hoping all this will pass, as I am quickly losing my sense of humour. So much so that a co-worker actually pleaded with me to leave work early as I wasn't my usual sparking, charming, hilarious self.

Well, I am going to go ahead and assume tomorrow will be better. Why not, right?

Fed up. I have pretty much hit my limit, thanks. I was a scratchy, smudgy black thing against today's sunshine. I hate pretty much everything right now. Mostly, I hate my back for betraying me and forcing me to lie here and think about all the other things I hate. A byproduct of an unhealthy mind? Oh, probably. Fucking body/mind crap.

I have many things to be grateful for.

yes, yes.

Oh, right...yourself?

So, I made it through the second day of killer back pain. I spent the day at work cozied up to a cushion and a hot water bottle. It was a stressful day as I had to write my first script. I think I may have done a crap job. It is much more difficult than I imagined. Ah, life is hard and all that.

Did I mention that I got a new pair of boots? Well, I should have. And I should also tell you that they are hot little numbers. I can't keep out of them, you see. Slouchy and a I think interesting and black with a wee heel - most excellent. They're a bit trampy- especially with a skirt and maybe not appropriate for all occasions. I actually wore them to a lecture I was giving at my old college a few days ago. But, fuck it - if you can't look a little trashy what's the point in being alumnae?

I am nicely stoned on Robaxacet and some PMS meds I found in my purse. I am thricely blessed as I also found a pack of gum at the bottom of my purse. The tattoos on my shoulder are raised - weird. I better consult Dr. Google. Perhaps an adverse reaction to all the pain relievers? Ooh, I will search later - you'll have to excuse me, Wife Swap is on.

Lots has happened. Nothing thrilling or anything. I saw a few films/movies/flicks, explored a whole new world, went to a couple of parties, took in a show -- oh, and yes, I've thrown my back out. I can hardly walk. Did I mention I am also suffering from vicious PMS? No? Well, whatever. If you really cared, you would have known.