^Only half accurate. Sally Bowles put it in such perfect words, I couldn't bring myself to ruin the quote by removing the seduction part.
So I've been to 3 parties in 2 days: a birthday bar jam, a tea-party-themed bridal shower and a goodbye party thinly disguised as a staff bowling night. Probably best that we didn't actually wind up going bowling, as I was still dressed to the bridal shower nines, in silver jeweled wedges, a watercolour dress and faux pearls of Wilma Flintstone proportions. I had gym socks in my glitter clutch though, ready to bust a bowling move in some rented shoes. Instead I got to eat a chorizo burrito and go for ice cream after, so I am a happy camper.
Two more parties on this week's agenda, and one of them is my art opening! To change quote-gears and move over to Austin Powers, "It's my happening, baby, and it's freaking me out!" I've been fretting, typing up stuff, painting and yes, darlings, I have indeed been shellacking (a non-toxic product, lord knows I get loopy when using products with fumes. The time I introduced myself as Janet Rino to a ceiling support column in the Art Room AND the time I announced that I was a goldfish who was feeling "grey" were both occurences involving artsy toxins such as hi-gloss spray varnish and rubber cement).
My eyes do feel googly at the moment, but i suspect that's more from tiredness and heat than any fumes.
Going to the fake beach with my friend tomorrow after tackling a mountain of tasks at kinkos in the morning!
*Sequin*
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
go hang a salami im a lasagna hog
I haven't posted almost all month, which is rediculous!
Whenever I buy salami, I make the false promise to myself that I am not going to eat the whole package at one time. I just ate half the package, and am about to go to sleep. My mom has always told me not to eat cheese or sausage-like meats before bed, because you will have strange dreams. I always have strange dreams, so I figure, why not eat what I want? Also, I had a Perrier and a very onion-heavy salad, but I don't know if that makes a difference. Clearly from this information, you can tell I am quite accustomed to being the only person sleeping in my bed.
This brings me to a bit of a sore point, wherein I feel it only honest to include in this, my online life-account, that I am on the verge of quitting the online dating fiasco. Perhaps as someone who works very very full time, I was under the impression that online match-seeking was giving me an opportunity to meet people when I don't have the time or money to go out all the time, and I tend to get a little freaked out when event venues are really crowded. But all that online dating has done for me thus far has been stress me out and cause me to mentally peck at myself when trying to decode interactions with the live versions of my "matches", so look out 'cause I'm throwing a towel.
We don't have AC at my house, so we are all pretty much sweaty beasts. My cat, who usually only deigns to sleep on cushioned surfaces, has taken to chilling out on the floor. I plan on getting a fan this week.
I'm hanging my art show on MONDAY! aaaaah, I feel kind of unprepared, but in reality I am not. I keep starting new paintings, which might be counterproductive to the idea of finishing the other pieces that I have going, but it just pours out of me. Sunday I plan to be completely MIA, deep in art mode and definitely covered in paint.
Stressed and sweaty, I feel very unimpressed by this post, however, Frauline C says she misses reading my blog on her overnight shifts, and I wanted to at least get my salami obsession into cyberspace to amuse her.
Whenever I buy salami, I make the false promise to myself that I am not going to eat the whole package at one time. I just ate half the package, and am about to go to sleep. My mom has always told me not to eat cheese or sausage-like meats before bed, because you will have strange dreams. I always have strange dreams, so I figure, why not eat what I want? Also, I had a Perrier and a very onion-heavy salad, but I don't know if that makes a difference. Clearly from this information, you can tell I am quite accustomed to being the only person sleeping in my bed.
This brings me to a bit of a sore point, wherein I feel it only honest to include in this, my online life-account, that I am on the verge of quitting the online dating fiasco. Perhaps as someone who works very very full time, I was under the impression that online match-seeking was giving me an opportunity to meet people when I don't have the time or money to go out all the time, and I tend to get a little freaked out when event venues are really crowded. But all that online dating has done for me thus far has been stress me out and cause me to mentally peck at myself when trying to decode interactions with the live versions of my "matches", so look out 'cause I'm throwing a towel.
We don't have AC at my house, so we are all pretty much sweaty beasts. My cat, who usually only deigns to sleep on cushioned surfaces, has taken to chilling out on the floor. I plan on getting a fan this week.
I'm hanging my art show on MONDAY! aaaaah, I feel kind of unprepared, but in reality I am not. I keep starting new paintings, which might be counterproductive to the idea of finishing the other pieces that I have going, but it just pours out of me. Sunday I plan to be completely MIA, deep in art mode and definitely covered in paint.
Stressed and sweaty, I feel very unimpressed by this post, however, Frauline C says she misses reading my blog on her overnight shifts, and I wanted to at least get my salami obsession into cyberspace to amuse her.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Yahoo Just Doesn't Get Me & the Best Shower of Life
Since my e-mail is on Yahoo, I see the yahoo homepage often.
Today's "news" involved Chelsea Clinton and her wedding wish for her dad (I didn't realize brides gave wishes to their dads on their weddings, nor did I click the link to read what her wish was) and some kind of story-link to the blog My Messy Bedroom talking about the hairstyle men love best (I clicked it, but did so with morbid sarcasm)...
What?
Science was dragged unwillingly in to the equation, and I felt very miffed that it was asserted that it was pretty much a fact that "most men" like long hair on women. That is such a vast and sweeping statement! Most men? Which men? Where? That's like saying "most North Americans like bacon". Yes, it's true, bacon is beloved by many, and has even become something of a pop-cultural icon, which is interesting for a meat, but what about vegetarians? what about meat-eating people who don't eat pork for religious reasons? what about people who have high cholesterol and an anti-bacon prescription (although I am sure that some people who are told not to eat bacon like it anyway... maybe this fits into the metaphor as a reference to queer women who are prescribed by Dr.Society not to like women with long hair but some of us do)? What about people who just don't eat bacon because they think bacon is salty, crunchy and weird? What about gay men, what about men who crushed out on Meg Ryan and Agyness Deyn? The author mentions that some women can rock short hairstyles and "still be sexy" (which of course is the damn truth), and closes with an anecdote about gender binary reinforcement in her childhood in the form of some woman thinking she was a boy once when she was 10, she just can't do short hair ever again. I feel like the end statement was sort of like "Yeah, I guess all those people who don't eat bacon exist, but science pretty much shows us that almost everybody likes and eats bacon here in North America. Y'all should eat some bacon."
And that, my friends, is flawed.
In other news, hot water is back and better than ever at my place. This meant the best damn shower I have ever had, and if any of my roommates had been home and within earshot they would have surely assumed I had an econo-sized jug of Herbal Essences in there with me, if you know what I mean.
Earlier this week, things had taken a turn for the awful and horrific in my world, and now they are starting to look back up again. I am hoping that this upward trend is going to continue, as we are not in the clear yet!
Time to go paint some things.
-Sequin
Today's "news" involved Chelsea Clinton and her wedding wish for her dad (I didn't realize brides gave wishes to their dads on their weddings, nor did I click the link to read what her wish was) and some kind of story-link to the blog My Messy Bedroom talking about the hairstyle men love best (I clicked it, but did so with morbid sarcasm)...
What?
Science was dragged unwillingly in to the equation, and I felt very miffed that it was asserted that it was pretty much a fact that "most men" like long hair on women. That is such a vast and sweeping statement! Most men? Which men? Where? That's like saying "most North Americans like bacon". Yes, it's true, bacon is beloved by many, and has even become something of a pop-cultural icon, which is interesting for a meat, but what about vegetarians? what about meat-eating people who don't eat pork for religious reasons? what about people who have high cholesterol and an anti-bacon prescription (although I am sure that some people who are told not to eat bacon like it anyway... maybe this fits into the metaphor as a reference to queer women who are prescribed by Dr.Society not to like women with long hair but some of us do)? What about people who just don't eat bacon because they think bacon is salty, crunchy and weird? What about gay men, what about men who crushed out on Meg Ryan and Agyness Deyn? The author mentions that some women can rock short hairstyles and "still be sexy" (which of course is the damn truth), and closes with an anecdote about gender binary reinforcement in her childhood in the form of some woman thinking she was a boy once when she was 10, she just can't do short hair ever again. I feel like the end statement was sort of like "Yeah, I guess all those people who don't eat bacon exist, but science pretty much shows us that almost everybody likes and eats bacon here in North America. Y'all should eat some bacon."
And that, my friends, is flawed.
In other news, hot water is back and better than ever at my place. This meant the best damn shower I have ever had, and if any of my roommates had been home and within earshot they would have surely assumed I had an econo-sized jug of Herbal Essences in there with me, if you know what I mean.
Earlier this week, things had taken a turn for the awful and horrific in my world, and now they are starting to look back up again. I am hoping that this upward trend is going to continue, as we are not in the clear yet!
Time to go paint some things.
-Sequin
Sunday, April 25, 2010
PS
Ooooh and also I am finally reading "Londonstani" by Guatam Malkani, and having an awesome riveting glimpse into Rudeboy life while at the same time menstruating heavily. Sweet.
Love that musky art scent
Argh, I just spilled my grubby brushwater all over my bedroom floor.
Shows I'm painting with reckless abandon, but it smells musty and now I have to wash extra towels in the laundry tomorrow. (How often do I thank heavens I don't have carpeting in here?)
But, I'm painting, I'm painting!! I feel really alive! Even when I just talk about painting I feel great. I can rarely ever work on just one painting at a time, I am all about the layering of imagery and intent and complex visual thicknesssss. One I have going right now is a mash of a LOT of detail and abstraction and layers, and then there is a 2 canvas figure painting that actually looks really stunning while being pretty calm but with clashy colours. I'm working with erotic undertones in my painting for this show, and it sure shows how much of a loaded, many-layered and multi-faceted that theme can be for many of us and definately is for me!
Looking at themes in my art, going to counselling apointment today and hanging out with my mumsie this evening really feels like a lot of honesty and deep inquiry. Today for me centred in part around looking at my body image from different angles I have been too afraid to go at it from for a long time. It also centred of course on listening to my mom's experience of going to one of her best friends' funeral last week and how that was for her and all the details of being there, going to the same funeral place that my Nana and Papa's ashes are and really visiting her Dead Folks. It also involved hearing so many beautiful stories of what people remember and how people hold it together. Wow.
My mom is super cool and we ate and had a great time. Talked about our current needlecraft projects, (she knits and i crochet), the kinds of cookies we are going to perfect when we have a baking night in honour of her late friend's life (Aunty was a totally cookie master! Even belonged to a cookie swap club), mom's accidental foray into using that intense Got 2b Glued hair product to "give her bangs a little definition"...I was like "oh, gosh they wronged you,mom, they have a special shampoo just for removing that stuff, it's like spike central! razor sharp bangs!" How could the person assisting her at Cosmetic World allow that kind of purchase to happen in good conscience? I used to use it when my hair was about an inch long when I was 16 because it is a great product to make it spikey and faux-ravery but got too pissed with it practically shellacking pieces of loose hair to my hands. Next time they ought to hook a lady up with some POMADE is all I'm saying.
Going to round up my laundry to get an early start on it tomorrow and then scoop kitty litter. What an exciting life!
~Sequin
Shows I'm painting with reckless abandon, but it smells musty and now I have to wash extra towels in the laundry tomorrow. (How often do I thank heavens I don't have carpeting in here?)
But, I'm painting, I'm painting!! I feel really alive! Even when I just talk about painting I feel great. I can rarely ever work on just one painting at a time, I am all about the layering of imagery and intent and complex visual thicknesssss. One I have going right now is a mash of a LOT of detail and abstraction and layers, and then there is a 2 canvas figure painting that actually looks really stunning while being pretty calm but with clashy colours. I'm working with erotic undertones in my painting for this show, and it sure shows how much of a loaded, many-layered and multi-faceted that theme can be for many of us and definately is for me!
Looking at themes in my art, going to counselling apointment today and hanging out with my mumsie this evening really feels like a lot of honesty and deep inquiry. Today for me centred in part around looking at my body image from different angles I have been too afraid to go at it from for a long time. It also centred of course on listening to my mom's experience of going to one of her best friends' funeral last week and how that was for her and all the details of being there, going to the same funeral place that my Nana and Papa's ashes are and really visiting her Dead Folks. It also involved hearing so many beautiful stories of what people remember and how people hold it together. Wow.
My mom is super cool and we ate and had a great time. Talked about our current needlecraft projects, (she knits and i crochet), the kinds of cookies we are going to perfect when we have a baking night in honour of her late friend's life (Aunty was a totally cookie master! Even belonged to a cookie swap club), mom's accidental foray into using that intense Got 2b Glued hair product to "give her bangs a little definition"...I was like "oh, gosh they wronged you,mom, they have a special shampoo just for removing that stuff, it's like spike central! razor sharp bangs!" How could the person assisting her at Cosmetic World allow that kind of purchase to happen in good conscience? I used to use it when my hair was about an inch long when I was 16 because it is a great product to make it spikey and faux-ravery but got too pissed with it practically shellacking pieces of loose hair to my hands. Next time they ought to hook a lady up with some POMADE is all I'm saying.
Going to round up my laundry to get an early start on it tomorrow and then scoop kitty litter. What an exciting life!
~Sequin
Friday, April 23, 2010
C, as in 'cat'!, R, as in ...'raisin'...W as in 'wind'?...
Alright, Blog Fans!
As promised, I am blogging this evening, and what news, what news!!
As a fully grown adult I am employing the "Holy impromptu hostess, Batman!" powers of Dial-a-Bottle for the first time ever. Trying to spell the name of my street for the dispatcher guy made me realize that I would be absolutely useless as a HAMM radio operator or in any kind of emergency spelling situation. Alpha, Charlie, Bravo, I'm good. After that, I start doing free-association and end up with words like "wind" and "fraction" and slap myself in the forehead. They will definitely be checking our ID when they arrive.
In other news, I had a little art supply mini-shopping spree today, as I have suddenly confirmed that I will be having an art show in June! More details to follow, but all I can say at the moment is that my mind is overflowing with images and joy and ideas and inspiration! I got a sampler pack of a bunch of different kinds of acrylic mediums and I am really excited to try them all out, especially the "pouring medium", which I have no idea how to use but think will be totally useful for painting lava lamps or melting things, should the need arise! Also, clear gesso? Who has ever heard of such a revolutionary idea? I'm trying not to pee myself with excitement (so far my efforts are going well). I can't wait for bright colours to blossom onto canvases, including but not limited to FLUORESCENT YELLOW, Pthalo blue, magenta and purpley grey! eeeee!
I really hate what microwaves do to bread. You have to eat your heated bread (in the form of pizza, leftover sandwiches, defrosted bagels) real fast, when it is still molten, and if you don't it gets chewy and just awful! I already don't trust microwaves, but my distaste is magnified during these meal-reheats.
My new eyeliner makes me internally sing Le Tigre:
"I'll make some coffee/ put on some eyeliner/ I think I'll find that/ Things are fine (and they're gonna get MUCH/ FINER!)/ Do you wanna stay in bed all day?/[yeah!]/ Do you remember feelin' any other way? [NO!]//
peace out for now!
Sequin
As promised, I am blogging this evening, and what news, what news!!
As a fully grown adult I am employing the "Holy impromptu hostess, Batman!" powers of Dial-a-Bottle for the first time ever. Trying to spell the name of my street for the dispatcher guy made me realize that I would be absolutely useless as a HAMM radio operator or in any kind of emergency spelling situation. Alpha, Charlie, Bravo, I'm good. After that, I start doing free-association and end up with words like "wind" and "fraction" and slap myself in the forehead. They will definitely be checking our ID when they arrive.
In other news, I had a little art supply mini-shopping spree today, as I have suddenly confirmed that I will be having an art show in June! More details to follow, but all I can say at the moment is that my mind is overflowing with images and joy and ideas and inspiration! I got a sampler pack of a bunch of different kinds of acrylic mediums and I am really excited to try them all out, especially the "pouring medium", which I have no idea how to use but think will be totally useful for painting lava lamps or melting things, should the need arise! Also, clear gesso? Who has ever heard of such a revolutionary idea? I'm trying not to pee myself with excitement (so far my efforts are going well). I can't wait for bright colours to blossom onto canvases, including but not limited to FLUORESCENT YELLOW, Pthalo blue, magenta and purpley grey! eeeee!
I really hate what microwaves do to bread. You have to eat your heated bread (in the form of pizza, leftover sandwiches, defrosted bagels) real fast, when it is still molten, and if you don't it gets chewy and just awful! I already don't trust microwaves, but my distaste is magnified during these meal-reheats.
My new eyeliner makes me internally sing Le Tigre:
"I'll make some coffee/ put on some eyeliner/ I think I'll find that/ Things are fine (and they're gonna get MUCH/ FINER!)/ Do you wanna stay in bed all day?/[yeah!]/ Do you remember feelin' any other way? [NO!]//
peace out for now!
Sequin
Monday, April 12, 2010
It ain't over till it's over...and then it is and I wish it weren't
Sigh.
I just finally got to the end of Valmiki's Daughter, by Shani Mootoo, who I adore.
I am sad.
Blame it on forgetting to take my mood meds for 2 days, or blame it on me being an overly-invested reader with high demands for an ending that makes me feel better about the world, but I'm freakin' sad. Yelling "WHY? Why Snoofy, WHYYY?" from my room is not helping the logical conclusion of the book to stop stinging my soul.
After work yesterday I was a bit of an open wound, and I thought I could maybe retreat into the book and hope Viveka (one of the main characters) could be an extension of me in the fictional world and maybe something great would happen to her.
Spoiler alert:
not so much.
I just finally got to the end of Valmiki's Daughter, by Shani Mootoo, who I adore.
I am sad.
Blame it on forgetting to take my mood meds for 2 days, or blame it on me being an overly-invested reader with high demands for an ending that makes me feel better about the world, but I'm freakin' sad. Yelling "WHY? Why Snoofy, WHYYY?" from my room is not helping the logical conclusion of the book to stop stinging my soul.
After work yesterday I was a bit of an open wound, and I thought I could maybe retreat into the book and hope Viveka (one of the main characters) could be an extension of me in the fictional world and maybe something great would happen to her.
Spoiler alert:
not so much.
Friday, April 9, 2010
New blog thing: Bathroom Connoisseur
I'm a detail-noticer. I'm pretty observant regarding new arrangements of objects in a familiar place, gorgeous and/or striking eyebrows on strangers, and the details of public washrooms, to name a few.
When I go to a new place, such as a shop, restaurant, coffee place or bar, I always notice the restrooms. Are they noteworthy? Accessible? Clean? Are they gendered? What's the decor like? How do I dry my hands? Is the light switch hard to find?
So, why not fill others in on my observations? Here I am with "Bathroom Connoisseur", an unsolicited new addition to this blog.
Today, I went to the new Smoke's Poutinerie in my work neighbourhood, and after drawing the top half of Kermit the Frog on their chalk board and eating some fairly delicious poutine, I decided to check out their washroom.
It's downstairs, as so many restrooms are, and thus not accessible to anyone for whom stairs are a barrier. A lack of banister also made me feel like I could plummet to the bottom easily, but I braced myself using the walls. Considering the logo for Smoke's is a stencil/silkscreen-esque graphic of some fella's face that is plastered everywhere (including on t-shirts of the folks who work there), I was pleasantly surprised to discover that said fella's face was not in the bathroom, watching me pee. In fact, the downstairs portion is all white, blank and kind of mini.
There are two onesie bathrooms which are "not" gendered...Both rooms' signs have the dress woman and pants man symbols on them and say "Washroom" on them, denoting that either is fine. (I give mega-happy points to signs that just say "washroom" or some kind of variation therein without any kinds of images of binary gendered people and their clothing, so I'll give this one out of two thumbs up).
There were no mirrors in the room, which is neither here nor there, given that it is not the kind of eatery where many things could be stuck in your teeth.
The lights go on automatically, which is nice, since that's one less switch to touch and a lot less energy being wasted when nobody is in the room.
Foam soap dispenser, paper towel and an inward opening door are the last things I recall, and then I left and went to the art store and bought some glue and gesso.
I hope to bring you slightly more interesting bathroom news soon. Perhaps it's time for me to go to Marchet (now known as Richtree?) in the financial district again because their bathrooms have always inspired awe in me (mostly the decor...more on that later).
Off to go paint!
-Sequin
When I go to a new place, such as a shop, restaurant, coffee place or bar, I always notice the restrooms. Are they noteworthy? Accessible? Clean? Are they gendered? What's the decor like? How do I dry my hands? Is the light switch hard to find?
So, why not fill others in on my observations? Here I am with "Bathroom Connoisseur", an unsolicited new addition to this blog.
Today, I went to the new Smoke's Poutinerie in my work neighbourhood, and after drawing the top half of Kermit the Frog on their chalk board and eating some fairly delicious poutine, I decided to check out their washroom.
It's downstairs, as so many restrooms are, and thus not accessible to anyone for whom stairs are a barrier. A lack of banister also made me feel like I could plummet to the bottom easily, but I braced myself using the walls. Considering the logo for Smoke's is a stencil/silkscreen-esque graphic of some fella's face that is plastered everywhere (including on t-shirts of the folks who work there), I was pleasantly surprised to discover that said fella's face was not in the bathroom, watching me pee. In fact, the downstairs portion is all white, blank and kind of mini.
There are two onesie bathrooms which are "not" gendered...Both rooms' signs have the dress woman and pants man symbols on them and say "Washroom" on them, denoting that either is fine. (I give mega-happy points to signs that just say "washroom" or some kind of variation therein without any kinds of images of binary gendered people and their clothing, so I'll give this one out of two thumbs up).
There were no mirrors in the room, which is neither here nor there, given that it is not the kind of eatery where many things could be stuck in your teeth.
The lights go on automatically, which is nice, since that's one less switch to touch and a lot less energy being wasted when nobody is in the room.
Foam soap dispenser, paper towel and an inward opening door are the last things I recall, and then I left and went to the art store and bought some glue and gesso.
I hope to bring you slightly more interesting bathroom news soon. Perhaps it's time for me to go to Marchet (now known as Richtree?) in the financial district again because their bathrooms have always inspired awe in me (mostly the decor...more on that later).
Off to go paint!
-Sequin
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
some bedtime poems, specifically: weak haiku
1. (En-route to brush my teeth)
fuzzy-eyed wee hours
Cat sighing at her dry food
seafoam crochet blob
2. (What I am pondering)
wrapping mind around
semiotics of clothing:
express myself nude?
3. (What I am wearing)
glorious stubble
mustard yellow capri pants
Stevie Wonder's face
fuzzy-eyed wee hours
Cat sighing at her dry food
seafoam crochet blob
2. (What I am pondering)
wrapping mind around
semiotics of clothing:
express myself nude?
3. (What I am wearing)
glorious stubble
mustard yellow capri pants
Stevie Wonder's face
Monday, April 5, 2010
a WINDOW DAY poem
Sun is shinin'
took my pills
time to decorate some 'sills!
No more winter snowfolk faces
buds and blossoms in their places
sunshine, sparkles, vibes and toys
to celebrate spring's sexy joys
need some fabric, tulle and foil
maybe even potting soil?
A joyous task I'll ne'er renounce!
Time to get crackin', Sequin OUT, let's BOUNCE!
took my pills
time to decorate some 'sills!
No more winter snowfolk faces
buds and blossoms in their places
sunshine, sparkles, vibes and toys
to celebrate spring's sexy joys
need some fabric, tulle and foil
maybe even potting soil?
A joyous task I'll ne'er renounce!
Time to get crackin', Sequin OUT, let's BOUNCE!
Friday, April 2, 2010
Your urns smell like LewisCraft
Hey, what's up, internet? You scramble my brain but you're still alright.
I feel like I haven't been blogging fearlessly enough. My so-called blogger "dashboard" (woah!) says I have 12 posts on here, but several of those are abandoned drafts! I need to stop abandoning drafts for fear that they are boring or pointless. Many of my favourite bloggers sure don't let that stop them, and I don't mean that in the backhanded-compliment way it sounds! Some things are awesome because they are exciting, but not every single moment can be covered in neon rays of flashing wondrousness - some things are awesome because they are just real life and folks can relate to that.
Without further ado: My Day, Exuding REALNESS.
I tried to wake up at a decent hour this morning, because as I mentioned I am trying to get onto a sleep schedule that relates more directly to being alive when the sun is out. My BFF, who has been (and from here on out shall continue to be) referred to here as "Snoof", has been helping me out in this department, as I like her more than my alarm clock and therefore feel more excited to wake up and hang out with her than with a clock. Finally got up at 9:30 with minimal shouting from Snoof in the living room ("[Sequin Brown]! I'm alone in the living room with our coffees!!") and after a terrifyingly unhealthy breakfast of sour cream n onion chip remnants and Starbux Via instant coffee, I decided to listen to some Riot Grrrl music and work on a couple of paintings I've been meaning to tweak.
After that good time, plus a shower, Snoof took us out for ice cream to reward herself, and by lucky extension me, for having made several pages of notes for one of her many papers due in the next few days. After this joy, I got on the subway to go see my counselor, which is one hell of a transit ride out to the lovely 'burbs, had a decent session and hauled my arse back to the mainland to have a secular Good Friday dinner with my Mom.
We laughed, we caught up on life, mocked all the new developments in makeup application we noticed in Fashion magazine (honestly, roll-on foundation, spherical mascara wands and...vibrating mineral powder???) and drank zinfandel! Mom made some fabulous lasagna and brownies, 'cause we like things non-traditional that way. We surfed the net together, looking at really old photos of her parents and cousins that my uncle scanned and e-mailed her. I also introduced her to regretsy.com, which I figured she might get a kick out of if only for the entries where etsy sellers' spelling and grammar mistakes are picked on - she's a stickler for that sort of thing, and she likes crafts, to boot. "Fugly" seemed to be my mom's unofficial Favourite Slang Word to Use With Caution in 2006 or thereabouts, so I needed to hook her up with some fugly craft commentary.
This led us to gripe harmlessly about the new urns that "decorate" the front entrance of her (formerly "our") apartment building...they're big, they're gaudy and they're full of a combo of dried and fake plant matter that smells like spray glue and florist's foam. False pears and red spray painted pussy willows jut out at all angles and threaten to poke out visitors' eyes. Before I left, we spent a lot of time looking for the area on my totally unflattering but sensational sweater that I could have sworn had a polka-dotting error. Maybe I was hallucinating last time I wore it, but I really thought one of the shoulders had been knit with a few toonie-sized dots missing. I love my mom.
In closing, I noticed that being constantly connected through social technology like Facebook and text messaging makes me way more anxious and skews my already flawed sense of time. I find myself mentally rehashing sent e-mails and wondering where I went wrong if I don't receive relatively immediate responses. Because of this, I sometimes feel like a paper-bag puppet with extra-large googlie eyes: crinkly, ridiculous and wiggly.
I feel like I haven't been blogging fearlessly enough. My so-called blogger "dashboard" (woah!) says I have 12 posts on here, but several of those are abandoned drafts! I need to stop abandoning drafts for fear that they are boring or pointless. Many of my favourite bloggers sure don't let that stop them, and I don't mean that in the backhanded-compliment way it sounds! Some things are awesome because they are exciting, but not every single moment can be covered in neon rays of flashing wondrousness - some things are awesome because they are just real life and folks can relate to that.
Without further ado: My Day, Exuding REALNESS.
I tried to wake up at a decent hour this morning, because as I mentioned I am trying to get onto a sleep schedule that relates more directly to being alive when the sun is out. My BFF, who has been (and from here on out shall continue to be) referred to here as "Snoof", has been helping me out in this department, as I like her more than my alarm clock and therefore feel more excited to wake up and hang out with her than with a clock. Finally got up at 9:30 with minimal shouting from Snoof in the living room ("[Sequin Brown]! I'm alone in the living room with our coffees!!") and after a terrifyingly unhealthy breakfast of sour cream n onion chip remnants and Starbux Via instant coffee, I decided to listen to some Riot Grrrl music and work on a couple of paintings I've been meaning to tweak.
After that good time, plus a shower, Snoof took us out for ice cream to reward herself, and by lucky extension me, for having made several pages of notes for one of her many papers due in the next few days. After this joy, I got on the subway to go see my counselor, which is one hell of a transit ride out to the lovely 'burbs, had a decent session and hauled my arse back to the mainland to have a secular Good Friday dinner with my Mom.
We laughed, we caught up on life, mocked all the new developments in makeup application we noticed in Fashion magazine (honestly, roll-on foundation, spherical mascara wands and...vibrating mineral powder???) and drank zinfandel! Mom made some fabulous lasagna and brownies, 'cause we like things non-traditional that way. We surfed the net together, looking at really old photos of her parents and cousins that my uncle scanned and e-mailed her. I also introduced her to regretsy.com, which I figured she might get a kick out of if only for the entries where etsy sellers' spelling and grammar mistakes are picked on - she's a stickler for that sort of thing, and she likes crafts, to boot. "Fugly" seemed to be my mom's unofficial Favourite Slang Word to Use With Caution in 2006 or thereabouts, so I needed to hook her up with some fugly craft commentary.
This led us to gripe harmlessly about the new urns that "decorate" the front entrance of her (formerly "our") apartment building...they're big, they're gaudy and they're full of a combo of dried and fake plant matter that smells like spray glue and florist's foam. False pears and red spray painted pussy willows jut out at all angles and threaten to poke out visitors' eyes. Before I left, we spent a lot of time looking for the area on my totally unflattering but sensational sweater that I could have sworn had a polka-dotting error. Maybe I was hallucinating last time I wore it, but I really thought one of the shoulders had been knit with a few toonie-sized dots missing. I love my mom.
In closing, I noticed that being constantly connected through social technology like Facebook and text messaging makes me way more anxious and skews my already flawed sense of time. I find myself mentally rehashing sent e-mails and wondering where I went wrong if I don't receive relatively immediate responses. Because of this, I sometimes feel like a paper-bag puppet with extra-large googlie eyes: crinkly, ridiculous and wiggly.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
My internal weather, and sparkstensions!
I'm trying to get my body's internal clock to function in a more predictable fashion. This involves a gaggle of alarm clocks, agendas and calendars, which I try to make palatable by making damn sure there are kittens and stickers all over them. (Buying books from the Scholastic book order forms was not in the budget when I was in elementary school, so I skipped the Lisa Frank fantasy-fluorescent-ponies-and-pink-leopard-print-notebooks phase...*menacing*: it has finally come to take its course!)
As my luck would have it, the first alarm clock that I got at Honest Ed's was a $16 piece of junk that I tried to reason/wrestle with for 15 minutes before giving up and deciding that it would have been less frustrating if the fake clock face sticker over top of the actual clock face had not been "remove[d] before use". At least there would have been actual numbers, not just flickery streaks suggesting numbers that did not fit together in a way that represented actual times. However, as I am becoming more and more wise to the ways of Honest Ed's, I had bought a second alarm clock at the same time, this one being only $0.99 and having no accompanying instructions, and cryptic buttons on the top reading "Here" and "There". I though it was a puzzle alarm clock, but wouldn't you know it, the thing woke me up pleasantly and on time this morning. It looks like binoculars, and the here and there buttons can digitally "shut" one "eye" or the other with black pixels for no apparent reason, but I don't have to totally get it to be very pleased with it, so finally, one point for Team Sequin Brown.
After Honest Ed's yesterday, I spent several hours cleaning my oven and making cupcakes for our annual sale/customer party/time of awesomeness just days before we take inventory. Then I worked for 6 hours at the store, surrounded by giggles of glee over free cupcakes, the DJ spinning, the customers milling and clustering hungrily at the super-duper reduced items table. It felt awesome to be able to take the time to really help and explain things to folks with questions, amid the mayhem and joy of a jam-packed store. The curly and talented Amanda Marshall puts it well when she sings "Everything is clear when you're inside the tornado/ everything is stable in the eye of the storm/". In all, a fabulous experience, especially since I was so intensely hopped up on sugar and caffeine.
Today started out well, because when I was on the streetcar - running ahead of schedule, might I add - I happened to run into a lovely friend of a friend whose name I unfortunately ALWAYS get wrong by accident, and today I really focussed and got it RIGHT. I psyched myself out for a couple seconds, you know, like, oh gosh, she's so sweet, and indeed memorable, I'm a horrible beast, her name is NOT LISA! Lisa it is NOT! Neurons, reform! no! it's..."Hello, LINDA!" Yessssss! Rock. On. I think the curse has been broken, and I will never blatantly call her Lisa again. Not that Lisa isn't a great name, but it just ain't hers.
Work was great, did a massive post-sale restock, during which I kind of felt like a basement troll because our fluorescent light tubes were acting up and it was dark and cold down there and my nose was running and I always do the hunch-n-flinch dance when I am in the basement because I fear hitting my head on the pipes. Tropical Storm UTERUS blew in from the South shortly after restocking, but since I have been so conscious of times and dates recently, I was aware of what was to come. Apocolyptic PMS emotions also tend to alert me, as well as Violet-Beauregard-style bloating and disproportionately angsty reactions to my inability to find any one magazine at Shoppers Drugmart or Book City that speaks to me wholistically. I bought myself chocolate ginger nuggets and took some ibuprofen, and plan to get into my bed with a book by 11:30pm.
Note to self: begin writing next hit single, "Menstrual Lady Slumber Party for One".
In closing, I witnessed a most delightful and beguiling hair phenomenon upon the head of a very nice customer today, which was that her hair shimmered at me. Throughout her shining black tresses were what appeared to be a faint scattering of single metallic hairs, in purple and even verigated red, orange and gold! I tried to concentrate on the topic at hand, but my hindbrain was trying to comprehend the pretty pretty hairs. Suddenly my whirring mind skipped a beat and there it was, the obvious answer:
WOW. Maybe she's just MAGIC.
I felt reverent, and this luckily gave me a millisecond to get back on track and help the lady out. Once all questions had been answered I complemented her hair and she told me that the glitteries were teeny semi-permanent extensions she had had done when she was in Bankok a few weeks ago. Just when I thought technology was out to ruin us all, a heartwarming discovery is made in the field of beauty salon research that does not involve lasers, depillation or pinching!
I also believe in magic, just to be clear on that.
As my luck would have it, the first alarm clock that I got at Honest Ed's was a $16 piece of junk that I tried to reason/wrestle with for 15 minutes before giving up and deciding that it would have been less frustrating if the fake clock face sticker over top of the actual clock face had not been "remove[d] before use". At least there would have been actual numbers, not just flickery streaks suggesting numbers that did not fit together in a way that represented actual times. However, as I am becoming more and more wise to the ways of Honest Ed's, I had bought a second alarm clock at the same time, this one being only $0.99 and having no accompanying instructions, and cryptic buttons on the top reading "Here" and "There". I though it was a puzzle alarm clock, but wouldn't you know it, the thing woke me up pleasantly and on time this morning. It looks like binoculars, and the here and there buttons can digitally "shut" one "eye" or the other with black pixels for no apparent reason, but I don't have to totally get it to be very pleased with it, so finally, one point for Team Sequin Brown.
After Honest Ed's yesterday, I spent several hours cleaning my oven and making cupcakes for our annual sale/customer party/time of awesomeness just days before we take inventory. Then I worked for 6 hours at the store, surrounded by giggles of glee over free cupcakes, the DJ spinning, the customers milling and clustering hungrily at the super-duper reduced items table. It felt awesome to be able to take the time to really help and explain things to folks with questions, amid the mayhem and joy of a jam-packed store. The curly and talented Amanda Marshall puts it well when she sings "Everything is clear when you're inside the tornado/ everything is stable in the eye of the storm/". In all, a fabulous experience, especially since I was so intensely hopped up on sugar and caffeine.
Today started out well, because when I was on the streetcar - running ahead of schedule, might I add - I happened to run into a lovely friend of a friend whose name I unfortunately ALWAYS get wrong by accident, and today I really focussed and got it RIGHT. I psyched myself out for a couple seconds, you know, like, oh gosh, she's so sweet, and indeed memorable, I'm a horrible beast, her name is NOT LISA! Lisa it is NOT! Neurons, reform! no! it's..."Hello, LINDA!" Yessssss! Rock. On. I think the curse has been broken, and I will never blatantly call her Lisa again. Not that Lisa isn't a great name, but it just ain't hers.
Work was great, did a massive post-sale restock, during which I kind of felt like a basement troll because our fluorescent light tubes were acting up and it was dark and cold down there and my nose was running and I always do the hunch-n-flinch dance when I am in the basement because I fear hitting my head on the pipes. Tropical Storm UTERUS blew in from the South shortly after restocking, but since I have been so conscious of times and dates recently, I was aware of what was to come. Apocolyptic PMS emotions also tend to alert me, as well as Violet-Beauregard-style bloating and disproportionately angsty reactions to my inability to find any one magazine at Shoppers Drugmart or Book City that speaks to me wholistically. I bought myself chocolate ginger nuggets and took some ibuprofen, and plan to get into my bed with a book by 11:30pm.
Note to self: begin writing next hit single, "Menstrual Lady Slumber Party for One".
In closing, I witnessed a most delightful and beguiling hair phenomenon upon the head of a very nice customer today, which was that her hair shimmered at me. Throughout her shining black tresses were what appeared to be a faint scattering of single metallic hairs, in purple and even verigated red, orange and gold! I tried to concentrate on the topic at hand, but my hindbrain was trying to comprehend the pretty pretty hairs. Suddenly my whirring mind skipped a beat and there it was, the obvious answer:
WOW. Maybe she's just MAGIC.
I felt reverent, and this luckily gave me a millisecond to get back on track and help the lady out. Once all questions had been answered I complemented her hair and she told me that the glitteries were teeny semi-permanent extensions she had had done when she was in Bankok a few weeks ago. Just when I thought technology was out to ruin us all, a heartwarming discovery is made in the field of beauty salon research that does not involve lasers, depillation or pinching!
I also believe in magic, just to be clear on that.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Throwing around some ideas for a Fat amusement park
If I was going to make a fat amusement park, as per my internal brainstorm this morning in the shower, it would include all of the following amazing features:
-A really elaborate water park with bigger tubes that you can actually drape yourself into instead of just lying on it with one bum cheek kind of in the hole
-Vast bouncy castles
-Rubberized walkways, so walking all over the place is friendlier to the feet and knees, as well as really snazzy scooter things for folks with limited mobility
-Dressup photo studios where the costumes actually fit and you have the option of posing in front of a green screen
-Obviously seatbelts/safety latch things on rides that fit larger bodies and don't make it impossible to breathe/scream with glee on rides
-None of that "I'll guess your weight and you can win a prize" crap. Also, no petting zoos or aquariums, because I run the park and I think those are not cool.
-Tickets won in games can be redeemed at the park's fabulous boutique: clothes, fat positive books, music, snacks, etc.
-Fantastic restaurants AS WELL AS traditional amusement park fare AS WELL AS areas to picnic (although angry geese congregating is innevitable)
-Fat walk of fame
-Mist areas for cooling off when it's a scorcher out
-Amorphous benches (?)
-Sensational dance parties
-Theme days
I'm slowing down here with ideas, mostly because I am getting really tired. To be honest, I am not a huge fan of roller coasters, nor do I have money to build an amusement park, but what I do have is a wild imagination and a blog!
-A really elaborate water park with bigger tubes that you can actually drape yourself into instead of just lying on it with one bum cheek kind of in the hole
-Vast bouncy castles
-Rubberized walkways, so walking all over the place is friendlier to the feet and knees, as well as really snazzy scooter things for folks with limited mobility
-Dressup photo studios where the costumes actually fit and you have the option of posing in front of a green screen
-Obviously seatbelts/safety latch things on rides that fit larger bodies and don't make it impossible to breathe/scream with glee on rides
-None of that "I'll guess your weight and you can win a prize" crap. Also, no petting zoos or aquariums, because I run the park and I think those are not cool.
-Tickets won in games can be redeemed at the park's fabulous boutique: clothes, fat positive books, music, snacks, etc.
-Fantastic restaurants AS WELL AS traditional amusement park fare AS WELL AS areas to picnic (although angry geese congregating is innevitable)
-Fat walk of fame
-Mist areas for cooling off when it's a scorcher out
-Amorphous benches (?)
-Sensational dance parties
-Theme days
I'm slowing down here with ideas, mostly because I am getting really tired. To be honest, I am not a huge fan of roller coasters, nor do I have money to build an amusement park, but what I do have is a wild imagination and a blog!
Monday, March 22, 2010
Keep On Livin'
And I lived to tell the tale!
Here I am, alive and okay and plowing through some very fluffy Black Forest Cake which I have dubbed "breakfast".
I have decided that today will be a faux birthday, due to the nature of my activities: Wake up at quarter to one in the afternoon. Play with cat until she attempts to claw out my eyes with love. Eat too much cake in attempt to obliterate it "because there is no room for it in the frige". Take a moment to fart with glee. Go buy fancy cat food and potentially one of those SIGG bottles that everyone has (I'm tired of using a waxed paper cup or mug that can spill while working) with newly acquired Guilt Money. Go to friend's house for pre-planned debrief snuggles.
See? It's just like a birthday except it doesn't have to remind me that I am about due for a yearly physical, and I am not covered in ribbons and bows.
So yesterday was intensive.
I was filled with glee when my Best Friend of LIFE returned home from her East Coast March Break Extravaganza and we shared some knock-off-brand maccaroni & cheez and esophagus-melting coffee. Of course this meant that I left the house late to go see my therapist, who I have not seen since I broke my foot a year ago. So of course I was late, and she had already started a session with another client, so I waited for an hour, which I deserved because I am always late. I got to hang out with my therapist's lovely elderly mom and extremely friendly lap dog (She runs her practice from her home in far North Scarborough, hence the difficulties of me trying to maneuver my broken self on the TTC over there while I was wearing the "Shortie Walker" cast). We had a decent session, and she quesioned my motives for going to see my dad, to which I had no definitive response. While I thought about it blankly, she went to grab a frozen roast beef from the other room to thaw for her dinner. I am mildly worried about her response to my "new" job (last time I had a session with her, I worked at Sbux)... being that our focus in our sessions is on sexual abuse, she referred to me working at a sex shop as "the OTHER issue", and I kind of took offence because I am really proud of the transformative and educational work that I do, but we know each other well enough that I think we can have some good talks about it. A lot can change in a year. A lot can change in five years, too.
While my therapist thought it was not - to put it mildly - the best idea to go to dinner at my dad's, I freaking did it anyway, because I felt it rude to cancel 2 hours before I had said I would be there. I got dropped off at Fairview Mall, where went in to Sephora and put on some makeup, and then took the bus straight to my dad's. Although he didn't make food and had eaten dinner plus a few beers at his neighbours' place before I came, he had the kindness to pick me up a delicious beef roti and an ENTIRE black forest cake (not my fave, but it's cake), which I ate while he watched. My step-mother is still on Weight Watchers (I have at least a few entries worth of rants on the rediculous idea of "food points" that will come in the near future) and my dad is Diabetic now, so the remainder of the cake came home with me in the end, but I digress. The first 20 minutes were tense and eye-contactless, as it was just me and my dad, him chain smoking and avoiding eye contact while he listed his three or four feelings on "the subject", and me summarizing why I didn't really know why I was there, and that I was happy they were getting married but that I did not feel that it was appropriate for me to attend the event. When my step-mom arrived, the conversation got flowing, mostly catching up on the births, deaths and home rennos of the past 5 years, and the disproportionately important bonding fact that I now drink coffee. I felt lured in to the world of little neices I have never met, missing my step-sisters and hearing all about everyone's lives. I looked at pictures of their trip to Sri Lanka and saw so many beautiful smiling relatives I have never met. I stood strong on my NO vote to the wedding, though.
As often as possible, I took the oportunity to underline my Flamboyant QUEERNESS, which I hoped would open some doors to conversing about that. Not so much. They attempted to give me a stereo system, and invite me to an Easter shindig of some kind. My dad claimed that he is going blind (which he is not) and made a bullseye estimation of the cost of my glasses, and in the end, nervously handed me a hundred dollars and told me to "get some cat food and some new shoes". I thanked them. We left it at the statement that it was nice and that they would love me to come visit more, and that I "might do that". Hugs at the elevator, a long transit ride home. Crocheting to ease my fidgets, and also to someday beget a bangin' mermaid sweater.
Not sure how I feel about it all. Still had nightmares all night, but of a slightly different variety.
Time for scheduled friend snuggles, over and OUT <3
Here I am, alive and okay and plowing through some very fluffy Black Forest Cake which I have dubbed "breakfast".
I have decided that today will be a faux birthday, due to the nature of my activities: Wake up at quarter to one in the afternoon. Play with cat until she attempts to claw out my eyes with love. Eat too much cake in attempt to obliterate it "because there is no room for it in the frige". Take a moment to fart with glee. Go buy fancy cat food and potentially one of those SIGG bottles that everyone has (I'm tired of using a waxed paper cup or mug that can spill while working) with newly acquired Guilt Money. Go to friend's house for pre-planned debrief snuggles.
See? It's just like a birthday except it doesn't have to remind me that I am about due for a yearly physical, and I am not covered in ribbons and bows.
So yesterday was intensive.
I was filled with glee when my Best Friend of LIFE returned home from her East Coast March Break Extravaganza and we shared some knock-off-brand maccaroni & cheez and esophagus-melting coffee. Of course this meant that I left the house late to go see my therapist, who I have not seen since I broke my foot a year ago. So of course I was late, and she had already started a session with another client, so I waited for an hour, which I deserved because I am always late. I got to hang out with my therapist's lovely elderly mom and extremely friendly lap dog (She runs her practice from her home in far North Scarborough, hence the difficulties of me trying to maneuver my broken self on the TTC over there while I was wearing the "Shortie Walker" cast). We had a decent session, and she quesioned my motives for going to see my dad, to which I had no definitive response. While I thought about it blankly, she went to grab a frozen roast beef from the other room to thaw for her dinner. I am mildly worried about her response to my "new" job (last time I had a session with her, I worked at Sbux)... being that our focus in our sessions is on sexual abuse, she referred to me working at a sex shop as "the OTHER issue", and I kind of took offence because I am really proud of the transformative and educational work that I do, but we know each other well enough that I think we can have some good talks about it. A lot can change in a year. A lot can change in five years, too.
While my therapist thought it was not - to put it mildly - the best idea to go to dinner at my dad's, I freaking did it anyway, because I felt it rude to cancel 2 hours before I had said I would be there. I got dropped off at Fairview Mall, where went in to Sephora and put on some makeup, and then took the bus straight to my dad's. Although he didn't make food and had eaten dinner plus a few beers at his neighbours' place before I came, he had the kindness to pick me up a delicious beef roti and an ENTIRE black forest cake (not my fave, but it's cake), which I ate while he watched. My step-mother is still on Weight Watchers (I have at least a few entries worth of rants on the rediculous idea of "food points" that will come in the near future) and my dad is Diabetic now, so the remainder of the cake came home with me in the end, but I digress. The first 20 minutes were tense and eye-contactless, as it was just me and my dad, him chain smoking and avoiding eye contact while he listed his three or four feelings on "the subject", and me summarizing why I didn't really know why I was there, and that I was happy they were getting married but that I did not feel that it was appropriate for me to attend the event. When my step-mom arrived, the conversation got flowing, mostly catching up on the births, deaths and home rennos of the past 5 years, and the disproportionately important bonding fact that I now drink coffee. I felt lured in to the world of little neices I have never met, missing my step-sisters and hearing all about everyone's lives. I looked at pictures of their trip to Sri Lanka and saw so many beautiful smiling relatives I have never met. I stood strong on my NO vote to the wedding, though.
As often as possible, I took the oportunity to underline my Flamboyant QUEERNESS, which I hoped would open some doors to conversing about that. Not so much. They attempted to give me a stereo system, and invite me to an Easter shindig of some kind. My dad claimed that he is going blind (which he is not) and made a bullseye estimation of the cost of my glasses, and in the end, nervously handed me a hundred dollars and told me to "get some cat food and some new shoes". I thanked them. We left it at the statement that it was nice and that they would love me to come visit more, and that I "might do that". Hugs at the elevator, a long transit ride home. Crocheting to ease my fidgets, and also to someday beget a bangin' mermaid sweater.
Not sure how I feel about it all. Still had nightmares all night, but of a slightly different variety.
Time for scheduled friend snuggles, over and OUT <3
Saturday, March 20, 2010
The ol' door-bell-dog-droppings-on-fire maneuver
That is how the end of my day went:
Like a flaming poo bag.
We've all seen this prank played out in popular media - one vengeful and/or bored character rings their target's doorbell and leaves their stoop-n-scoop surprise on fire on the other character's porch. This person comes to the door, usually in a robe for some reason, and finds flames waiting for them, and they do the natural thing, which is to try to stomp out the flames with their favourite indoor slippers, thus entangling themselves in a whirlwind of smoke and poo.
Of course, that is not literally what happened, but it sure felt like it. Closing up shop with with a fabulous coworker of mine took an hour and a half tonight, which is triple the amount of time it usually takes, due to an unfortunate compunding of errors into what is known as an "untangleable clusterfuck". Even though our sleuthery was admirable and we did figure out the root of our problem with the help of my dear old friend, Mathematics, we were thwarted in the end by Technology (not such a dear friend to either of us, it seems).
Literally TWO SECONDS after that whole fiasco had been dealt with to the best of our collective abilities and we had hugged out our fears about getting fired, my phone rang, the screen displaying a number I was unfamiliar with. Being a FOOL, I picked up the phone, and apparently my face conveyed "instant miserableness". On the other end of the line was the voice of a man who has historically been the source of a great deal of emotional pain and abuse trauma in my life, and who of course is conveniently a very close blood relation. We haven't seen hide nor hair of one another in five years, which was suiting me fine, aside from the occasional pangs of guilt so ingrained in many an abuse survivor. Now he's getting married, and wants me to be part of the wedding party. This sounds like a great set up for a dramatic movie plot, but alas, it is my actual life. Someone must have told him that we can't go zero-to-sixty like that (or rather Denying my Experience to Wedding Party) because he presented the very not-like-him idea of getting together to talk things out before such a huge event. And because I have a VERY difficult time saying "no" to the few people who scare me, the long and the short of it is that I will be eating dinner and "talking about things" with my father and step-mother tomorrow evening. After hanging up, I called back, and while I was unable to stand up for myself in any real way like saying "no" or "I don't mean to hurt your feelings, but this terrifying idea is for me extremely unhealthy, convoluted, oversimplified and massively FUCKED UP," I did manage to let them know that I am no longer a vegetarian, in hopes of at least getting some amazing spicy chicken or beef curry out of the deal.
Blargh.
Thank goodness my day starts out with going back into counselling, followed by an unrelated event potentially involving mimosas.
Like a flaming poo bag.
We've all seen this prank played out in popular media - one vengeful and/or bored character rings their target's doorbell and leaves their stoop-n-scoop surprise on fire on the other character's porch. This person comes to the door, usually in a robe for some reason, and finds flames waiting for them, and they do the natural thing, which is to try to stomp out the flames with their favourite indoor slippers, thus entangling themselves in a whirlwind of smoke and poo.
Of course, that is not literally what happened, but it sure felt like it. Closing up shop with with a fabulous coworker of mine took an hour and a half tonight, which is triple the amount of time it usually takes, due to an unfortunate compunding of errors into what is known as an "untangleable clusterfuck". Even though our sleuthery was admirable and we did figure out the root of our problem with the help of my dear old friend, Mathematics, we were thwarted in the end by Technology (not such a dear friend to either of us, it seems).
Literally TWO SECONDS after that whole fiasco had been dealt with to the best of our collective abilities and we had hugged out our fears about getting fired, my phone rang, the screen displaying a number I was unfamiliar with. Being a FOOL, I picked up the phone, and apparently my face conveyed "instant miserableness". On the other end of the line was the voice of a man who has historically been the source of a great deal of emotional pain and abuse trauma in my life, and who of course is conveniently a very close blood relation. We haven't seen hide nor hair of one another in five years, which was suiting me fine, aside from the occasional pangs of guilt so ingrained in many an abuse survivor. Now he's getting married, and wants me to be part of the wedding party. This sounds like a great set up for a dramatic movie plot, but alas, it is my actual life. Someone must have told him that we can't go zero-to-sixty like that (or rather Denying my Experience to Wedding Party) because he presented the very not-like-him idea of getting together to talk things out before such a huge event. And because I have a VERY difficult time saying "no" to the few people who scare me, the long and the short of it is that I will be eating dinner and "talking about things" with my father and step-mother tomorrow evening. After hanging up, I called back, and while I was unable to stand up for myself in any real way like saying "no" or "I don't mean to hurt your feelings, but this terrifying idea is for me extremely unhealthy, convoluted, oversimplified and massively FUCKED UP," I did manage to let them know that I am no longer a vegetarian, in hopes of at least getting some amazing spicy chicken or beef curry out of the deal.
Blargh.
Thank goodness my day starts out with going back into counselling, followed by an unrelated event potentially involving mimosas.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Just a Hint
As someone who dislikes the concept of conformity, I believe that there are exceptions to most societal "rules" in life. That said, there is one excellent guideline that I think people need to hear loud and clear, one that will save everyone a lot of needless annoyance and or embarassment, and perhaps even avoid dismemberment in certain very frought instances:
Don't ask strangers if they are pregnant.
Just don't do it, okay? Here are some further details on the topic of asking strangers if they are pregnant, in case the reasons not to do so are not immediately clear to you.
-->If someone is pregnant and they want you to know, or feel that you need to know, they will probably tell you.
-->If someone is pregnant and they don't feel that you need to know, they have no obligation to tell you.
-->If someone is not pregnant, but you think they are, they will very likely not appreciate you asking them if they are pregnant, even if you are congratulating them.
-->The ebb and flow of one's reproductive organs is rarely a good stranger conversation starter. You wouldn't ask someone in the elevator their scrotal temperature or the viscosity of their private mucous, so don't inquire about any buns in the oven.
-->Empire waistlines tend to make a lot of people look pregnant. Do not use fashion as an indicator. Also do not use a healthy glow (excersizing, a really excellent roll in the hay, getting an awesome mark on a mid term and/or wearing blush or bronzer will do that too), unique food cravings (pickles and peanut butter are fantastic, don't knock it till you've tried it) or Fat Pride as excuses to intrude onto someone's privacy.
-->If you are asking me if I am pregnant because you tried to hit on me and did not succeed, and after you acertained that I am not married, vehemently do not have a boyfriend and need supportive shoes assumed that I am playing hard to get because I am pregnant (?), you are not catching my effing chubby lesbo drift, and no, I'm not pregnant. Effer.
A wonderful woman named Bridget, who I used to work with when I painted murals, says "Nope, I'm not pregnant. I'm just fat: I LIKE PIE." And to that I say "here, here!"
Holler if you love and respect people's bodies of all curvacious forms, pregnant or not, and think that round is beautiful.
Don't ask strangers if they are pregnant.
Just don't do it, okay? Here are some further details on the topic of asking strangers if they are pregnant, in case the reasons not to do so are not immediately clear to you.
-->If someone is pregnant and they want you to know, or feel that you need to know, they will probably tell you.
-->If someone is pregnant and they don't feel that you need to know, they have no obligation to tell you.
-->If someone is not pregnant, but you think they are, they will very likely not appreciate you asking them if they are pregnant, even if you are congratulating them.
-->The ebb and flow of one's reproductive organs is rarely a good stranger conversation starter. You wouldn't ask someone in the elevator their scrotal temperature or the viscosity of their private mucous, so don't inquire about any buns in the oven.
-->Empire waistlines tend to make a lot of people look pregnant. Do not use fashion as an indicator. Also do not use a healthy glow (excersizing, a really excellent roll in the hay, getting an awesome mark on a mid term and/or wearing blush or bronzer will do that too), unique food cravings (pickles and peanut butter are fantastic, don't knock it till you've tried it) or Fat Pride as excuses to intrude onto someone's privacy.
-->If you are asking me if I am pregnant because you tried to hit on me and did not succeed, and after you acertained that I am not married, vehemently do not have a boyfriend and need supportive shoes assumed that I am playing hard to get because I am pregnant (?), you are not catching my effing chubby lesbo drift, and no, I'm not pregnant. Effer.
A wonderful woman named Bridget, who I used to work with when I painted murals, says "Nope, I'm not pregnant. I'm just fat: I LIKE PIE." And to that I say "here, here!"
Holler if you love and respect people's bodies of all curvacious forms, pregnant or not, and think that round is beautiful.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
3.14
Happy Pi day, folks!
Today being the 14th day of the 3rd month, I made sure pay as many kinds of punny homage to Pi as possible. This involved sharing a whole pizza pie with my co-worker, eating delightful home-made apple pie at my best buddy's parents house, and of course then feeling rather round and circularly full, which could involve pi if you wanted to go about figuring out my radius, bellybutton to hip. I offered mathimatical gifts of thanks in the form of 2 crocheted hyperbolic planes I cranked out, a canary yellow one and a pepto pink one, to Mister Math&Pie himself.
I also made sure to call a pretty math teacher I've gone on several dates with to wish her many happy returns of the Pi Day. She told me she had crocheted me a tiny, sparkly hyperbolic plane! I feel like that might be a sign that she likes me, but my signal-reading abilities have atrophied slightly in the dating department, so I'm not really sure. You know that tragic sound that happens when you take a funky jumpsuit out of storage that was your mom's in the mid 80's and she's all: 'Oh, that? I haven't seen that in ages. Gosh my waist was tiny. You like it? I don't think it would fit y-" and then you pounce on the elastic part like HA! it's gonna stretch and I am going to be so styletastic.... and then you stretch the elastic part and the elastic has rotted and that's when the sound happens (sometimes accompanied by the old rubber disintegrating smell)? That is the sound my dating prowess would make right now. And I don't care how Debbie Downer that may have come out, I think it's a pretty elaborately fabulous analogy with a light at the end of the tunnel: Now that the tiny mom-waist has had its last moments in the sun, a new and roomier jumpsuit of possiblilities has opened. (I really fed that poor, innocent analogy to the wolves there.)
In other, several-years-belated news: The first episode of Alias, starring Jennifer Garner, was really intense! I just watched it on DVD (Trend Watch: everybody I know is watching TV on DVD now! This rocks for me because our TV can't communicate with the outside world at all, but plays DVDs and VHS successfully most of the time!). I used to watch Alias all the time with my mother, and through the genius that is not entirely unlike the Circle Of Life, my best chum's boyfriend's mom gave her the first season to watch and now I am reliving every wig-clad butt-kicking moment anew (*Elton John sings softly in the background, a cartoon baby lion cub is held aloft in a ray of sun for all the kingdom to behold*)
I have a day off tomorrow, and I am going to go buy some new shoes, as all of mine have rapidly growing holes in them. I am also going to do laundry and make a lasagna to take to work for lunches next week and potentially look for a dress pattern for my honorary teenage daughter's prom dress....holy crap, I'm a grown-up. I didn't see it coming.
Today being the 14th day of the 3rd month, I made sure pay as many kinds of punny homage to Pi as possible. This involved sharing a whole pizza pie with my co-worker, eating delightful home-made apple pie at my best buddy's parents house, and of course then feeling rather round and circularly full, which could involve pi if you wanted to go about figuring out my radius, bellybutton to hip. I offered mathimatical gifts of thanks in the form of 2 crocheted hyperbolic planes I cranked out, a canary yellow one and a pepto pink one, to Mister Math&Pie himself.
I also made sure to call a pretty math teacher I've gone on several dates with to wish her many happy returns of the Pi Day. She told me she had crocheted me a tiny, sparkly hyperbolic plane! I feel like that might be a sign that she likes me, but my signal-reading abilities have atrophied slightly in the dating department, so I'm not really sure. You know that tragic sound that happens when you take a funky jumpsuit out of storage that was your mom's in the mid 80's and she's all: 'Oh, that? I haven't seen that in ages. Gosh my waist was tiny. You like it? I don't think it would fit y-" and then you pounce on the elastic part like HA! it's gonna stretch and I am going to be so styletastic.... and then you stretch the elastic part and the elastic has rotted and that's when the sound happens (sometimes accompanied by the old rubber disintegrating smell)? That is the sound my dating prowess would make right now. And I don't care how Debbie Downer that may have come out, I think it's a pretty elaborately fabulous analogy with a light at the end of the tunnel: Now that the tiny mom-waist has had its last moments in the sun, a new and roomier jumpsuit of possiblilities has opened. (I really fed that poor, innocent analogy to the wolves there.)
In other, several-years-belated news: The first episode of Alias, starring Jennifer Garner, was really intense! I just watched it on DVD (Trend Watch: everybody I know is watching TV on DVD now! This rocks for me because our TV can't communicate with the outside world at all, but plays DVDs and VHS successfully most of the time!). I used to watch Alias all the time with my mother, and through the genius that is not entirely unlike the Circle Of Life, my best chum's boyfriend's mom gave her the first season to watch and now I am reliving every wig-clad butt-kicking moment anew (*Elton John sings softly in the background, a cartoon baby lion cub is held aloft in a ray of sun for all the kingdom to behold*)
I have a day off tomorrow, and I am going to go buy some new shoes, as all of mine have rapidly growing holes in them. I am also going to do laundry and make a lasagna to take to work for lunches next week and potentially look for a dress pattern for my honorary teenage daughter's prom dress....holy crap, I'm a grown-up. I didn't see it coming.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Appearances can be deceiving
It all started with Capicola.
Wandering around the 24-hour overpriced grocery store like a lost child with holes in her rainboots, I discovered that Capicola was on sale. HOT Capicola. It hooked me with the little hot pepper "spicy" symbol, and its physical proximity to the sliced Salami, which is my guilty pleasure, but alas, not a sale item this time 'round. After a long day of work with squishy feet inside my favourite crappy-but-cute boots and my mental snapshot of my scribbled budget in my head, I decided to take the plunge and root for Team Capicola - it sounded familiar and I was feeling just frustrated enough with grocery shopping to decide for no good reason not to worry that it might be ham. I detest ham, and pretty much any pork product that registers as pork-ish to my taste buds or stomach. Foreshadowing is not really needed at this point (especially if you are someone who knows that Capicola is pretty much fancy, circular ham) but I will add at this moment that as I left the supermarket and spied a cab in the parking lot with its "available" light on, I was more than a little effing miffed after trying to leave the shopping cart in a spot where it would not roll into traffic with my hands full only to discover that there was nobody in the driver's seat and I had to hobble out to the street in the rain with all my bags flopping everywhere. Empty cars masquerading as ready cabs! Pork lulling me into a false sense of security with a pretty name! I didn't even think to read the label on the back, and only noticed its porcine origin when I was halfway through making my lunches for the next few days.
In other, more wonderful appearances-can-be-deceiving news, I must say that I was more than pleasantly surprised with EVERYTHING about my porno pick du jour, *Suburban Dykes*. Working in a fabulous sex shop has so many, many benefits, including the fact that watching lots of porn is truly part of my commitment to up-to-date product knowledge as it leads to being able to help customers find what they want. This "homework" has lead me to watch a huge range of Adult films, if you will, which I hadn't been nearly as open to in years past. Blah blah blah, I am too stoked about *Suburban Dykes* to delay any further! I was not aware when I borrowed this movie that it was actually made in 1990. Sometimes it is hard to tell with porn packaging, to be honest MANY movies look like they are from 1990...but this one actually was. Nothing makes me more jazzed for life than some totally out-there 90's fashion, and can I say that seeing Nina Hartley in an electric blue lace leotard and black black floor-length tulle skirt with mega-teased hair AND A PURPLE DOUBLE BAUBLE HAIR ELASTIC kind of just made my life. And I haven't even mentioned what her character's wife was wearing, or the fact that their butch third lover actually tries to GRASP ON to the baubled ponytail during some of the action. Speaking of hair, i also adored the full on mullet (not to be confused with a 2009 hipster mullet) being rocked by one of the main characters' neighbours during a sex-on-the-bench-press-in-the-garage scene, so much so that I almost rethought my stance against the naked-save-for-gym-socks look just for her. Almost. Gosh, hair joy totally abounded in this film, and the radiance of the full-n-fabulous bush belonging to the character "Pepper" even made Nina's bordeaux velvet scrunchie in the hot tub scene not only forgivable, but kinda stylin'. Oh yeah, and I guess I could be pressed to say the sex part was okay, but I still give 2 thumbs up to this short and endearing film, and I may have to make it the first piece in my permanent porn collection. PS speckled finish mirror walls with hi-gloss mauve baseboards!!! Just sayin'.
In breif news chunks, I noticed that today in the Metro free newspaper there was a short news story on "The Midnight Knitter", a mysterious person (or people) knitting wee sweaters for saplings somewhere in New Jersey. Being someone who stood in a book shop and visually devoured almost all of a Knit-Bombing book of urban yarn-graffiti-style culture jamming on my lunch hour the other day, I am rooting for the Midnight Knitter and their posse. I just found it amusing that it made it into the paper in Toronto, and that the writer seemed like they were trying to keep a stern face on while writing about it.
Also, Kate from Jon and Kate Plus Eight is on DANCING WITH THE STARS now? She's got the extensions flowing and those funky little ballroom dance dresses. I only know because I bought People Magazine today to look at Academy Awards outfits and Kate's on the front yelling "WHY CAN'T A MOM HAVE FUN?" Reality TV has become a strange loop now, where people attempt to ressurect their fame from past reality TV messes into better fame through other Reality TV. What I want to see is awful Reality TV stars trying to start their own soap operas or game shows or something. Let's get the cross-genre pollination going, people!
Wandering around the 24-hour overpriced grocery store like a lost child with holes in her rainboots, I discovered that Capicola was on sale. HOT Capicola. It hooked me with the little hot pepper "spicy" symbol, and its physical proximity to the sliced Salami, which is my guilty pleasure, but alas, not a sale item this time 'round. After a long day of work with squishy feet inside my favourite crappy-but-cute boots and my mental snapshot of my scribbled budget in my head, I decided to take the plunge and root for Team Capicola - it sounded familiar and I was feeling just frustrated enough with grocery shopping to decide for no good reason not to worry that it might be ham. I detest ham, and pretty much any pork product that registers as pork-ish to my taste buds or stomach. Foreshadowing is not really needed at this point (especially if you are someone who knows that Capicola is pretty much fancy, circular ham) but I will add at this moment that as I left the supermarket and spied a cab in the parking lot with its "available" light on, I was more than a little effing miffed after trying to leave the shopping cart in a spot where it would not roll into traffic with my hands full only to discover that there was nobody in the driver's seat and I had to hobble out to the street in the rain with all my bags flopping everywhere. Empty cars masquerading as ready cabs! Pork lulling me into a false sense of security with a pretty name! I didn't even think to read the label on the back, and only noticed its porcine origin when I was halfway through making my lunches for the next few days.
In other, more wonderful appearances-can-be-deceiving news, I must say that I was more than pleasantly surprised with EVERYTHING about my porno pick du jour, *Suburban Dykes*. Working in a fabulous sex shop has so many, many benefits, including the fact that watching lots of porn is truly part of my commitment to up-to-date product knowledge as it leads to being able to help customers find what they want. This "homework" has lead me to watch a huge range of Adult films, if you will, which I hadn't been nearly as open to in years past. Blah blah blah, I am too stoked about *Suburban Dykes* to delay any further! I was not aware when I borrowed this movie that it was actually made in 1990. Sometimes it is hard to tell with porn packaging, to be honest MANY movies look like they are from 1990...but this one actually was. Nothing makes me more jazzed for life than some totally out-there 90's fashion, and can I say that seeing Nina Hartley in an electric blue lace leotard and black black floor-length tulle skirt with mega-teased hair AND A PURPLE DOUBLE BAUBLE HAIR ELASTIC kind of just made my life. And I haven't even mentioned what her character's wife was wearing, or the fact that their butch third lover actually tries to GRASP ON to the baubled ponytail during some of the action. Speaking of hair, i also adored the full on mullet (not to be confused with a 2009 hipster mullet) being rocked by one of the main characters' neighbours during a sex-on-the-bench-press-in-the-garage scene, so much so that I almost rethought my stance against the naked-save-for-gym-socks look just for her. Almost. Gosh, hair joy totally abounded in this film, and the radiance of the full-n-fabulous bush belonging to the character "Pepper" even made Nina's bordeaux velvet scrunchie in the hot tub scene not only forgivable, but kinda stylin'. Oh yeah, and I guess I could be pressed to say the sex part was okay, but I still give 2 thumbs up to this short and endearing film, and I may have to make it the first piece in my permanent porn collection. PS speckled finish mirror walls with hi-gloss mauve baseboards!!! Just sayin'.
In breif news chunks, I noticed that today in the Metro free newspaper there was a short news story on "The Midnight Knitter", a mysterious person (or people) knitting wee sweaters for saplings somewhere in New Jersey. Being someone who stood in a book shop and visually devoured almost all of a Knit-Bombing book of urban yarn-graffiti-style culture jamming on my lunch hour the other day, I am rooting for the Midnight Knitter and their posse. I just found it amusing that it made it into the paper in Toronto, and that the writer seemed like they were trying to keep a stern face on while writing about it.
Also, Kate from Jon and Kate Plus Eight is on DANCING WITH THE STARS now? She's got the extensions flowing and those funky little ballroom dance dresses. I only know because I bought People Magazine today to look at Academy Awards outfits and Kate's on the front yelling "WHY CAN'T A MOM HAVE FUN?" Reality TV has become a strange loop now, where people attempt to ressurect their fame from past reality TV messes into better fame through other Reality TV. What I want to see is awful Reality TV stars trying to start their own soap operas or game shows or something. Let's get the cross-genre pollination going, people!
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
mix! intertwine! blend! combine!
I want to collect up a kind of fountainous list of writings, art, storytelling, performance and poetry coming from the experiences of mixed race folks. I read ravenously, write with my guts akimbo, paint wildly and don't often enough bump into created characters whose experiences of their identities come from often dichotomized places, mishmashes, mixtures of so many experiences but also entirely new ones.
Bein' mixy: there is no single way to describe "the" experience of being mixed, even though I have been asked to, and then been seen as difficult for not being able to answer. A close friend once asked me something about my understanding of myself as a mixed race person as a child, and when I said I guess I never even got a glimpse of the concept until I was older. I just knew I was "different" from everybody else, but there were lots of things that made me different, so how was I supposed to unpack that bundle? Unless they, too, come from mixed ancestry, parents don't often sit their li'l mixy kids down and say things like "mmmkay. So you're 'mixed race' and sometimes people might not get that. People can be racist, colourist, snobby, bring up Tiger Woods a lot, ask you 'what you are', ask you 'where you're from' as a way to mean 'why are you the colour you are', claim you aren't _____ enough, claim you're too ________, and they may frequently dis' your wild hair! But you know what? Fuck 'em, you rock just they way you are." (Although I might give my future little mixy kid(s) a pep talk of that nature, but with more practical tools and less swearing some day in the future when they exist)
At present, my mixy list is fairly wee, but here it is. If you have things to add, please post them in a comment, I would love to check out new stuff!
Caucasia by Danzy Senna
Cereus Blooms at Night by Shani Mootoo
Colonize This! (An anthology)
Consensual Genocide by Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha
Fall On Your Knees by Ann-Marie MacDonald
Fireweed Mixed Race Issue
Double Agent - (song!) by Amanda Marshall
...And there has to be more, as these are just things here in my room!
(Goodness, my room! what a great segue into a closing statement of "I need to tidy my room, post haste, if I ever in good conscience want anybody other than my cat to be interested in hanging out in it with me.")
Bein' mixy: there is no single way to describe "the" experience of being mixed, even though I have been asked to, and then been seen as difficult for not being able to answer. A close friend once asked me something about my understanding of myself as a mixed race person as a child, and when I said I guess I never even got a glimpse of the concept until I was older. I just knew I was "different" from everybody else, but there were lots of things that made me different, so how was I supposed to unpack that bundle? Unless they, too, come from mixed ancestry, parents don't often sit their li'l mixy kids down and say things like "mmmkay. So you're 'mixed race' and sometimes people might not get that. People can be racist, colourist, snobby, bring up Tiger Woods a lot, ask you 'what you are', ask you 'where you're from' as a way to mean 'why are you the colour you are', claim you aren't _____ enough, claim you're too ________, and they may frequently dis' your wild hair! But you know what? Fuck 'em, you rock just they way you are." (Although I might give my future little mixy kid(s) a pep talk of that nature, but with more practical tools and less swearing some day in the future when they exist)
At present, my mixy list is fairly wee, but here it is. If you have things to add, please post them in a comment, I would love to check out new stuff!
Caucasia by Danzy Senna
Cereus Blooms at Night by Shani Mootoo
Colonize This! (An anthology)
Consensual Genocide by Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha
Fall On Your Knees by Ann-Marie MacDonald
Fireweed Mixed Race Issue
Double Agent - (song!) by Amanda Marshall
...And there has to be more, as these are just things here in my room!
(Goodness, my room! what a great segue into a closing statement of "I need to tidy my room, post haste, if I ever in good conscience want anybody other than my cat to be interested in hanging out in it with me.")
Monday, March 8, 2010
Dazzle of the Day: SPRING!
What a stunner of a sunny day today is! A dazzling dose of Vitamin D really gives me one heck of a boost. I slept in until our buddy the Sun was at its peak, dozing in a big fatty of a sunbeam with Ms. Violet, my kitty; Then, honest to goodness I got up, stretched myself and showered off my weird dreams.
Today being International Women's Day, I thought it would be a good idea to get out there in my "F*** Patriarchy!" shirt and go visit my mom at her new workplace, bearing cookies. I hung out there for a good hour and a half, striking up light and intermittant conversation with my fabulous mom and her fantastic co-worker about feminist pornography, crocheted mathematical models of Hyerbolic Planes, warrior goddesses, tax forms, babies and, of course, the frozen tundra of my queer love life. But we all agreed that spring can bring nothing but good things in the latter department, and the Vitamin D coursing through my eyelids let me bask in that possiblity as I streetcarred back to my neighbourhood and let them get back to helping customers pick out stylish upholstry and wade in welcome-to-the-neighbourhood flowers and new filing techniques for paperwork.
Spring just sparkles with renewal, and while that renewal sometimes means the potent waft of defrosting dog poo deposits emerging from their hiding spots in last season's snow banks, I'm still 100% pro spring! Just watch where you step, Squooshy-gooshy patches abound.
[flow of thoughts into next paragraph: Spring --> Fresh ---> Fresh Prince --> Aunt Viv -->the ORIGINAL Aunt Viv]
This evening, I have had the joy of watching several episodes from the first season of the Fresh Prince of Bel Air, and I can't get over how much I love Janet Hubert-Whitten, the original Aunt Viv. She was fierce, glam, hilarious and so expressive! No offence to the actress who played Aunt Viv in the later episodes, but I find it so weird when shows switch new actors into a role that has been played by someone else for a long time. I can only imagine how difficult it would be for the new actor or actress to fill those shoes, but to be honest, it peeves me. Original Aunt Viv! This woman is so sincere! She makes me want to do my hair like her! (It could happen!)
In related thoughts, I am so glad how often I am reminded of my emense respect for Auntie figures and Mother figures, blood related or chosen family. I have been thinking about all the women in my life who have supported me and not only held my world together when I didn't know how, but who helped to create that world for me in the first place. As I mentioned before, I love my mom something fierce, for her totally unique sense of humour, all her protective energies, how much thought she gives to everything she says, her creativity and all the quirks and talents that come from being a sassy single mom for most of my life. I also have a vivacious, irreverant, madly creative and whirlwindishly enthusiastic auntie who thinks of me as her daughter, too, who has lived all over the world and has entrepreneured herself in such directions as jewelry and tea sales, wholesale distribution of human hair for extensions as well as spandex lingerie erotic dance costumes, unique dog jacket fashions and her own employment agency.
Family is such a complicated concept for so many people, and choosing one's own people out of all the spirits we are tied to by blood or karma or fate or happensance has been such a liberating journey for me and so many people I have known throughout the past five years especially. I just spoke to my father for the first time in five years yesterday, and realized how much I have grown and changed, and how far I have come in my healing journey since our last (yucky) conversations so long ago. I've accumulated a couple of amazing, magical chosen sisters along the way, snuggled a small brood of fantastic teenage ducklings under my wings and really valued being able to cherish and nurture such deep relationships in the space created by a lot of tangled roots coming undone.
I feel my heart thawing out in a pretty golden way.
It makes me wanna shoop-shoop -shoop!
Today being International Women's Day, I thought it would be a good idea to get out there in my "F*** Patriarchy!" shirt and go visit my mom at her new workplace, bearing cookies. I hung out there for a good hour and a half, striking up light and intermittant conversation with my fabulous mom and her fantastic co-worker about feminist pornography, crocheted mathematical models of Hyerbolic Planes, warrior goddesses, tax forms, babies and, of course, the frozen tundra of my queer love life. But we all agreed that spring can bring nothing but good things in the latter department, and the Vitamin D coursing through my eyelids let me bask in that possiblity as I streetcarred back to my neighbourhood and let them get back to helping customers pick out stylish upholstry and wade in welcome-to-the-neighbourhood flowers and new filing techniques for paperwork.
Spring just sparkles with renewal, and while that renewal sometimes means the potent waft of defrosting dog poo deposits emerging from their hiding spots in last season's snow banks, I'm still 100% pro spring! Just watch where you step, Squooshy-gooshy patches abound.
[flow of thoughts into next paragraph: Spring --> Fresh ---> Fresh Prince --> Aunt Viv -->the ORIGINAL Aunt Viv]
This evening, I have had the joy of watching several episodes from the first season of the Fresh Prince of Bel Air, and I can't get over how much I love Janet Hubert-Whitten, the original Aunt Viv. She was fierce, glam, hilarious and so expressive! No offence to the actress who played Aunt Viv in the later episodes, but I find it so weird when shows switch new actors into a role that has been played by someone else for a long time. I can only imagine how difficult it would be for the new actor or actress to fill those shoes, but to be honest, it peeves me. Original Aunt Viv! This woman is so sincere! She makes me want to do my hair like her! (It could happen!)
In related thoughts, I am so glad how often I am reminded of my emense respect for Auntie figures and Mother figures, blood related or chosen family. I have been thinking about all the women in my life who have supported me and not only held my world together when I didn't know how, but who helped to create that world for me in the first place. As I mentioned before, I love my mom something fierce, for her totally unique sense of humour, all her protective energies, how much thought she gives to everything she says, her creativity and all the quirks and talents that come from being a sassy single mom for most of my life. I also have a vivacious, irreverant, madly creative and whirlwindishly enthusiastic auntie who thinks of me as her daughter, too, who has lived all over the world and has entrepreneured herself in such directions as jewelry and tea sales, wholesale distribution of human hair for extensions as well as spandex lingerie erotic dance costumes, unique dog jacket fashions and her own employment agency.
Family is such a complicated concept for so many people, and choosing one's own people out of all the spirits we are tied to by blood or karma or fate or happensance has been such a liberating journey for me and so many people I have known throughout the past five years especially. I just spoke to my father for the first time in five years yesterday, and realized how much I have grown and changed, and how far I have come in my healing journey since our last (yucky) conversations so long ago. I've accumulated a couple of amazing, magical chosen sisters along the way, snuggled a small brood of fantastic teenage ducklings under my wings and really valued being able to cherish and nurture such deep relationships in the space created by a lot of tangled roots coming undone.
I feel my heart thawing out in a pretty golden way.
It makes me wanna shoop-shoop -shoop!
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