Monkeys Postponed.

Well.

Monday came, the new post didn't. Sorry about that.
I'm experiencing slight computer problems. Eech.

I promised you Monkeys. I promised you Blurbs and Banter.

You'll have to forgive me for postponing these entretiens to a later time. Thank you for your indulgence, Loverly Ones. I owe you one. (Actually, I owe you several. But we'll discuss that topic some other time, too.) This is a blog, I am entitled to some indulging.

Since Tuesday evening, I am being jubilating. I am being happiness. I am being yesyesyes.

As some of you may know, I've been through a rough patch, baby wise. we've lost 3 babies so far, and am sick of it. I was beginning to wonder what kind of tumor ate at my insides, what thyroid malfunction fucked up my body, and which food I should ingest to make sure my blood iron was good enough. And folic acid and all that. And good stuff. You know, for baby-making. You get it.

Well yesyesyes, jubilation and happiness! The tests I took in the Fall have revealed nothing is wrong with me physically. This is, to say the least, extremely relieving. Phew. We're now heading into Genetic Investigation Territory (I know, I know - so CSI of us!) to figure out what's up. My doc said for all he knows, we could have just hit a streak of bad luck. So, pardon my Inuktuk, Fuck bad luck. It's been 3 years, gimme a baby. Why can Brittany Spirit and Angelina BradPitt and freakin' Girl-Next-Door who thinks self-indulging can make you with child have twelve kids, and not I? Goddammit.

So voilà. I know some of you out there care (B, you should know I carry that angel everywhere), and so would like to know.

As for the excepts from my book, well, that was just bullshit. :o)

Giving Thanks.

I'm not into God things. I believe in the Little Pixies Who Rule the Universe.

But I am hereby Giving Thanks anyway.

I am Giving Thanks for my family, my friends, and all who surround me with love. I am also Giving Thanks for those who don't like me. I am grateful for the questions, doubt, and uncertainty they instill.

Other Things I Am Giving Thanks For:

- Fuzzy animals
- Hot chocolate
- Manhattans (Oh.My.Pixies. Two parts Canadian Club, one part red vermouth. Yumness.)
- Fall, with its colours and smells. And hail with sunshine, like today.)
- Work. When it's fulfilling and elating, like my job.
- Brig and Jenn and Marie and especially Estorbo. They are why I write here. (Oh - 'Storbito, Boo says hi. He caught a spider today. He split it in two and claimed you were coming over for dinner. What a sweetheart, no?)
-Girl Weekends like the one I'm about to enjoy. Mom, Sis and knitting needles. (And Manhattans)

The list could go on. But I'll just bore you to death.
Instead, I'll say this: GO VOTE ON TUESDAY! I've actually been following the US election more than ours...hmmm. Dunno why. Probably because Jon Stewart is so sexy.

(WARNING: I am about to express Political Views. Avert thou eyes, Republicans!)

Oh! And I'm grateful I don't live in the States. Marie, I really hope you don't get stuck with McCain and Palin. I have a room here, if you want. You can bring Estorbo. ;o)

Back on Monday with monkey stories, useless banter and fascinating blurbs from my new book, "Oh What Now". Ciao, Legion of Fans!

Pause. Blink. Movement Anticipated.

Delicious Sunday morning. Lukewarm coffee, because I got sidetracked reading yesterday’s paper. Meowing cat. Food bowl contains food? Check. Water bowl fresh? Check. I’ve no idea why he’s meowing. Oh – wait – the patio door is open. He wants out. That’s why.

Snoring boyfriend. Check.

List of things to do? Don’t get me started. I was discussing this with a coworker the other day...how our List of Things That Must be Done keeps getting longer and longer. If we let it bother us, it really nags and becomes unpleasantly present. Always in the back of our minds. After ten minutes comparing notes, we concluded we needed to tell the list to shove it and get on with our lives. Only one life to live, and all that. Right?

My list isn’t written down. It used to be. This morning, I’ve been debating whether I should write it down, just to get it off my mind. Is it guilt in not doing everything that’s on it that bugs me? Is the fact I’m afraid to forget some of the things it includes? I don’t know. I don’t even want to over-analyze this. Here I am doing it anyway, just in writing this post all about it. So I’m just doing random things this weekend. I was lazy all summer. I didn’t cook/bake/clean up, or barely. When I did, it wiped me out.

So now, since it’s Fall, I’m going to do like I usually do every change of season, and make resolutions I won’t keep.

Just not now.

The Eye.

I do it on the bus, on the street, and also when I’m being driven around. I even do it in restaurants, at the grocery store and in my backyard. I get some perverse satisfaction from it and feel guilt at the same time. Sometimes, no one suspects I’m doing it, and I sometimes get caught. I am a people watcher.

I like to observe and imagine what fascinating/boring lives my fellow humans enjoy. I glance at what the woman on the bus reads, week after week. She pulls out a bookstore bag from her purse, which is huge, by the way – I suspect her lunch, shoes and wallet also fit in there, as well as maybe a change of clothes – and I’m always intrigued by the titles she pulls out. She was reading something by a Japanese author two weeks ago, and is now learning Sanskrit, or something that looks a lot like it. I look at the forty-something guy who looks like a movie star and wonder what’s in his i-pod. I wonder why his right arm looks like there is no muscle in it, and find him very thin and pale. Maybe he’s sick. He smokes Camels and has an Elvis do. He dresses impeccably and never smiles. He looks lonely. I sometimes feel like sitting next to him and putting a hand on his arm. Maybe he would like that and he would smile a bit.

Through the little old lady’s grocery bag, I am surprised to see she buys fair trade coffee and sun-dried tomatoes. I am also surprised when she gets on the bus and refuses every seat offered to her with a big smile and holds on for dear life, grocery bags and purse flying all over the place. She bobs her head and looks really happy. I think she knows something we don’t. She has that mischievous smile, like a five year old who’s up to no good. And she also leaves the grocery store weekdays between 7:15 and 8:00. Sometimes she has grocery bags two days in a row, sometimes she has one of these net bags with some clothes in it and no groceries.

I don’t know why I like it so much. I think of every little spy game I play as an exercise in creativity, because all by themselves, with no effort on my part, several life stories unfold before my eyes and I collect details about them. I piece together facts and learn things. I worry when the little old lady isn’t there. And relieved when she’s there the next day. I smile when I see the girl with her boyfriend on the bus, because I can tell they’re in love. When he isn’t with her on the bus and she talks to him on her cell phone, she blushes and smiles. When he is there, he has a spark in his eye (probably from all the glitter she wears, mind you) and looks at her like a shy teenager.

I wonder if someone on the bus also spies on me.

Oh – complete change of subject. The winner of my easy/lazy contest is Tortuga - she won three Squibbits! The quote was from Lord of the Rings.

Have a great weekend, my preciouses.

Things that Are, Things that Were, and Some Things that Have not yet Come to Pass.

(Note of July 19: This was meant to be posted Friday, July 11. Some obscure malevolent Technical Glitch prevented its publication, but fret not, O Lucky Fanlings of my Heart, here it now is.)

There are very few things which I am unsatisfied about. I have a great house. I own (well – technically, the bank owns) my very own love nest in which I can relax, think, take refuge and enjoy the finer things in life. I have The Man. He is my rock which rocks, both in his stability and gentle swaying motion. He protects me, counsels me, occasionally makes fun of me, is an excellent source of sarcasm and laughter, puts up with my quirky little self and most importantly, he loves me. Very nice for me. Tasty and all.

I have friends I would do anything for. I have a loving, caring family and ties which the most devastating events would not sever. I have a magical cat. I have no idea where he’s hiding right now, but I know when he emerges (probably from the top of the cupboard in the bathroom upstairs), he’ll be happy as a clam to see we are home on a Friday.

(Editorial note: I just asked my half-asleep Man why we use the expression “happy as a clam”. His answer from beneath the blanket, in his sexy raspy morning voice, between two deep breaths: “Never complains – always keeps its mouth shut.”)

I have a kickass job with stellar colleagues in a great business. It’s new - if almost two months working there qualifies as new, it’s satisfying, and I am learning as I go. It is very, very rewarding. Yesterday the power went out at two in the afternoon. It was very, very quiet. Everyone was at a loss: “What do we do when the computers don’t work?” I had cleaned up my hard copy files the day before. Pfff.

Someone pulled out a camera, and everyone in our department assumed sleeping poses at their desks. We sent the results by e-mail to our Vice-President. Heehee. Yay.

Oh - an easy/lazy contest. Three Squibbits to the first person who tells me where the title of this post was pilfered from. Good luck. Don't cheat.

Get Your Dialogue On.

Again this year, The Man and I are privileged individuals. We get VIP passes for the Festival d’été here in Québec. That’s right. We’re VIPs. We marched onto the terrasse section last Thursday night, really excited to finally see (after 15 years of faithful fanship on my part) Marseilles hip hop gods IAM. Ohhhhhh the Magic. The Poetry. The Yumminess. Followed, at 11:30, by the most wonderful fireworks I’ve ever seen. They were magnificent, huge, loud, colourful. Two hundred fifty thousand people all chanting “oooooh! and “aaah!” at once, to celebrate the city’s four hundredth anniversary.

And the sea of people – ohhh the sea of people – was quite impressive too. All trying to get in or out of the walls in the old city, buzzing about and interspersed with baby strollers, motorbikes, old ladies, drunk teenagers, and a family of tourists from Jersey trying to get through against traffic – human traffic - in their freaking minivan. No, seriously. I almost walked up to the van to knock on the window - which was tightly closed, thank you very much, so as not to get any locals intruding on their air-conditioned bubble of safety in this throng of people. I would have said:

Me: “Man, hi. Listen. You see this? This is thousands of people going this way, like this (gesturing with both arms towards the back of his perfectly waxed and shiny minivan)…”
Frustrated New Jersey Guy: “Yeah, I’m trying to get through, here, and uhh…well it looks like I can’t get through, it looks uhhh…blocked. I can’t get through!”
Me: “…you see, while you, in your apparently justified attempt of making it god only knows where – are going that way, you’re poisoning us with your fumes. You’re not even moving.”
Frustrated New Jersey Guy: “Yeah, uhuh…but I’m trying to get through, here. Because of all these people, I can’t get through.”
Me: “You look surprised that people are not responding to your fuming look. Why do you look mad? You drove into this!”
FNJG: “ Yeah, I think the hotel is that way. Can you help me out, here?”
Me: “Yes. Absolutely. (Big, huge smile) Stop the car, turn off the engine, and wait it out, man. Lock your doors. We’re going this way. Oh - and the streets are closed off, did you know?”

I often do this – usually on the bus on the way to or from work. I imagine how a conversation would have turned out if I approached complete strangers. Sometimes, it takes exciting paths I did not expect, and I end up having this very detailed scenario/dialogue play in my mind. I always end up surprising myself. (Note to self: invent mind recorder. Possibility of replaying favorite parts of imaginary dialogue potentially interesting.)

So, with complete confidence and intelligent lines, I strike.

Completely Confident Me: “Hey - come here. Sit down. Here - have a glass of wine”
Super Hunk: “ Uh…”
Completely Confident Me: “ Come on. It’s St-Émilion.”
Super Hunk: “ Yes? Ok. One glass. Haha.”
Completely Confident Me: “Hop in my paint-jobbed solar-powered Mini Cooper and let me take you to my surprisingly huge mansion on top of the mountain over there, where the palm trees grow and little green people pop out of the bushes on their segways to serve us cold beer on rubber trays.”
Super Hunk: “I’m...not sure I understand what you’re talking about.”
Completely Confident Me: “Yes, yes – look over there! See? See? The mansion? Mine. With green people. Segways. Come.”

And on, and on, until I usually find really interesting (or raunchy) things to say that I wish I could remember, just to try them out on The Man. That's usually the moment when I snap out of it, and I get off the bus, and crank up the volume on my i-pod for the five and a half minute walk to my new office. Yes! New Job rocks! Yay! I'll tell you more about it some other time.

Last Friday night, we saw NOFX at the summer festival. Punk rock is, I must admit, one of the few things I like because it’s completely chaotic. It kind of felt like we were too “clean”, not trashy enough to be part of the thousands of people shaking their fists and howling the lyrics to the 2 to 3 minute songs booming into our chests. Aaaargh...but to feel alive! It's a good Summer so far, Army of Fans, it's a really good Summer.

Another Thing.

I got so absorbed with the duck story, I completely forgot to tell you I’ve accepted my non-ability to draw comics. It’s okay, not everybody is good at everything. I’ll leave drawing to the pros. Tortaluga, thank you for believing in me.

I am concentrating on “sculpture” these days, and am happily (and finally - been wanting to do this for a loooong time) building little mini Squibbits. What? What’s a Squibbit? Okay. Here’s a Squibbit.

I went to my favorite craft store with a friend. I explained to her what I wanted to do. She suggested a bunch of different materials and was very patient. I settled on a few possibilities and am currently experimenting. Results look promising.

There are a couple for you in the making, Brig, I’ll let you know as soon as they’re in the mail. If only I had a camera, I could post pics of them. Someday, perhaps.

Ducks. Happiness.

This is what I love to do every time El Daddo in law invites us to the cottage. Ducks love me.

I know, you're not supposed to feed the ducks.

But they're out there, in their secret lairs, with their surveillance system and their radar perfectly adjusted, and they wait in silence. You walk out to the water. You stand on the dock, smiling contently. You think "Ahhh. Now that's calm if I've ever seen it." Then the jetskis come by at one thousand miles an hour, disturbing the mirror-like surface of the lake and you pretend they're not there. You think “Ahhh. What calm and peace. Fuck you, over-tanned loud holiday people, and the jetskis you rode in on.”

You are absorbed by the tiny baby fishies, curious and eager. They are cute. They swim around and shake about. You think “Cool. Tiny fishies.” You remember the time you went to that lake with all the distant relatives you didn't know at all, and you ended up having a great time observing the fishies swim above the white dishcloth four of you held taut in the water, standing so still it hurt.

You are too busy contemplating the horizon and ignoring the jetskis. You dip a toe in the water and immediately want to throw yourself in there, clothes and all. Too bad you're still holding your luggage.

And that, Multitude of Avid Fans, is when the ducks commence Scenario Alpha, dubbed Operation Hot Dog Bun.

You were an easy target, contemplating and wading about in your memories. The short antennae, aptly concealed in the water plants scattered about the reeds, were extended the minute you walked to the waterfront. The satellite relayed your position with pinpoint accuracy and the signal was transmitted all the way from headquarters in a split second.
« There she is. We’ve got her, Commander. Teams Charlie and Tango move now now now!»

And they quickly and efficiently put on their cute masks, and climb inside their capsules. They materialize right in the corner of your eye. You put your luggage down. Someone throws a hot dog bun at you. It’s all part of a well-choreographed routine.

And as you sit in the grass, fourteen ducks, small and old, fat and young, waddle your way, and climb on your thighs, cocking their heads, not to lose sight of the Revered Hot Dog Bun of Yumminess, and you laugh. You’ve not been this happy in a long time.

Want.

The wall is right in front of me, and I have several options.

I could either sit on the ground, with my back against it, attempt to climb it with a ladder of some sort, or just back up a few hundred paces, take a swig of water, get a running start, and jump right over it. Whoosh. Just like that, in one swift motion.

(Damn – I’d look good.)

I like that wall – it’s making me think.

Tired of metaphors, Immense Crowd of Faithful Readers? Okay. So am I.

I’ve been delving into the wonderful endless universe(s) of blogs and have recently discovered a fascination for comics. You know, graphic novels, like. They make me laugh out loud. They make me think. I’m reading V for Vendetta these days. Whew. Good stuff. And with my reddened eyes full of tears, I had a – you know – a eureka moment. Where’s my drum roll?

I could draw my own! (Note to self: staring at a screen for over an hour: not good)

That’s right. I have tons of paper down in my craftycraft room (yessss, Ladies & Gents, I have one of those.) not to mention a table I never sit at. And a good lamp. I have a shoebox full of pens that are, at this point, probably planning a riot, since I never use them. Don’t I have everything I need? What? Technique? Pff. Technique schmechnique. I can doodle.

So you see the wall, now?

Either I:

a) Keep enjoying the warm fuzzy rays of other people’s drawings. Extract the goodness like coconut juice and store it somewhere in my brain. Or;
b) Learn some tricks of the trade. Take some drawing lessons. Talk to the people I know who have drawn for at least as long as I’ve known them (phew – 17 years…). Ooooor;
c) Just. Draw.

I’ll keep you posted and let you know how things turn out. You wanna vote? You can vote, if you want.

http://www.dccomics.com/sites/v_for_vendetta/

Croix de Laiton.

au loin courent les images fluides du temps imparfait
les grises faucheuses emmènent avec elles les aurores

un courant de figures excentriques les séparent
la raison et la haine partagent le sceptre

ô chanvre imparfait le silence est mort
douce croix de laiton enterrée sous la glace noire

fibre de ma chair chair de ma peau peau de mon air
aire de repos simple sourire ô mon bourreau

rage des mots je découvre le sens des sons
immobile je me confonds

au nord d’ici quelque part très loin
les couronnes d’or encerclent les pins

l’aurore scintillante amènera le froid
au nord d’ici, quelque part très loin

me sens rongés par la folie se défont
et ils coulent je me noie dans la houle

le feu des éternels brûlera ce soir
les sacrifices spirituels sont terminés

aux rebelles du soir je lève mon chapeau
aux vampires infidèles je soupire d’ennui

The Thing in the Box.

It's there.

It's in the box.

The box has been sitting on the floor for days. The oblong metal keeps its secret under its lid, which neatly snaps into place when gentle pressure is applied. I've been sitting here for five minutes, looking at it.

There's my first knitted glove in there. I'm going to knit now.

Fitness Test.

Ugh.

It's Friday, Ladies and Cats. And Friday - especially in the evening, after a full work week - is a good time to play Wii Golf with one's spouse, kick back with a martini, and take things easy.

Goddamn my life is good. Why do I ever complain about anything?

Have a cold one, friends. Enjoy.
And yes - Boo still owns me.

Boo.

See here, Don Estorbo: this is

The Boo Who Owns Me.

(no lies. he completely owns me.)

Obviously.

It's been a while. Hello. I am still here.

I've been up since 4:30 this morning. I don't like it. My new mattress is calling me, but I know for a fact I'm just going to end up lying there, wiggling, and I'll wake the man up. I know, because I did this from 4:30 to 6:00.

Then I got hungry.

So I got up, tiptoed out of the room, put my penguins PJs on, and turned a few lights on.
I had a bowl of cereal and typed random things into google and youtube.

I learned how to fuse plastic bags to make a messenger bag.
I learned how to apply makeup on my eyes from a charming girl with a great Scottish accent.
I squinted, trying to fix the out-of-focus picture as a weird-looking couple wanted to teach me how to knit mittens. (I never actually got to the knitting part, because the guy was too creepy. And the picture was out of focus.)
I pet the cat.
I tried to come up with ideas for my first watercolour. I got a watercolour kit for my birthday.

I am trying to be interested in something today, so I'll try a bunch of different things until I can stick to one and do it for a while. It's one of those days. Ugh.

I've pretty much been living under my rock, keeping to myself. Finding people annoying or weird or rude. Depends on the day.

Are you still there?

Recycling Spies.

As a follow up on my last post, for anyone interested, I did not finish all of my knitting projects. I finished one of them. I completely unraveled another (which was halfway done but had a very obvious mistake in it) and started two new ones. Nice going, don’t you think?

Okay, on to the topic at hand. It hit me like a brick last Wednesday: my neighbors, if they are so inclined, know me very well.

For instance, they now know that my teeth enamel needs special care, that we’ve quit smoking (ahem – again), and that our noses are sensitive, so we get the three-ply lotion tissues when we have a cold.

They also know how many kinds and boxes of tampons I go through in a month. Great to know when you meet your neighbor on a brisk evening walk – “Heeey hi, so I notice you’ve gone Super-Plus, eh? How’s that going? Cramps? Any cramps at all? No? Hah.”

They know where I bank, what periodicals I subscribe to and that we are amateurs of red wine and martinis. In fact, they know when we’ve gone on a bender and finished the bottles in the bar. They probably think we’re alcoholics by now.

Is there such a thing as recycling spies or is my lack of nicotine turning me into a paranoid wreck? A purely rhetorical question, obviously, as I already know they’re watching.

Hee hee. Just kidding.