Emergency oxen and opium popsicles.

Do you have a tendency toward disaster thinking? I am constantly thinking of possible tragedies and considering what I could do in the event of one, especially in the midst of travelling in a vehicle. On the train, actually, after getting off the train, in the underground track area, I considered what could be done if the whole thing started to collapse. I noticed that at the end of the track, if you jumped a few lines, went across some dirt and ducked behind some construction temporary walls, there was an opening into the parking lot beside. I figured I could dart to that area if I ever needed to. I wondered if it was better to stand under the arches of cement or the x's of cement. I also briefly entertained the idea that somehow, if I found a wire, and there was someone being a huge menace, I could throw a loose wire over the electrified part of the track and use a stick to get the other end to touch the menace and deliver 25,000 volts of kick-ass. That scenario is a bit far-fetched, I know, but I like it.

From other disaster preparing brain activity, I noticed that all the emergency things: first aid, axe, oxygen, oxen(ha. I would LOVE it if places provided emergency oxen in the event of a disaster. Think about it, they probably would come in very handy.) and such, are all in the exact same panel on the train as the high voltage area. What was the designer of that snorting when he submitted that concept? I guess I wonder how much opium popsicles the person who signed off on that idea was licking to ease the effects of the summer heat in his un-air-contidioned office, deep in the bowels of "Train-making Guys Inc."...

At work here, I realize that up on the 28th floor, I'm pretty much frigged if there is any kind of fire or building collapse. I figure the best I could do would be to go the roof in the event of a raging fire below this floor. At least I would be outside and visible to helicopters and in the open air.

At home, I have some places planned out for quick hiding in the event of an axe murderer coming in the middle of the night and have an escape route planned, depending on which window I need to use.

Sometimes, I just think about having a really good peanut butter sandwich.

Oh, by the way, party was good. No outright fistfights, almost everyone got along and pictionary was played, oh yes it was. Props to certain members of the party for being so good at guessing, it was as if they had made a pact with the devil. I'd do it again and I believe I shall.

French the Rainbow Unicorn

Oh ma gad. Oh ma gad.

Tomorrow is party. Many people vill comink. Trouble brews like moldy potato in cold soup.

"Why not try to be more positive? Look on the bright side! Kiss the rainbow unicorn on it's hot pink lips, so to speak."

Well, maybe I will try to ,metaphorically, french the rainbow unicorn about this party idea of mine but I will need several gin and tonics to do so.

I guess this whole thing is why I have had Eddie Murphy's, My Girl Wants to Party All the Time in my head for at least a week.

Today, while going to get what turned out to be a freaking excellently tasty falafel sandwich, I saw an elderly lady who looked strinkingly like my mother, panhandling on the street. I asked her why she was begging for money. She said she does it sometimes when she doesn't have enough for rent because her pension is not enough. She said she could ask her family(her kids I presume because she said she was 73) but she felt she should be providing for them, not the other way around. I suggested that they would probably be happier giving her money than having her panhandle. She said they probably would but she prefers it this way. It's her choice.

On the one hand, I believed her and wanted to help, on the other hand I thought, why ask for money from strangers when it's not nessecary? She was a nurse for decades in California and this is what she is now? Could it be true? If she had other resources, what about people on the street who really had no other option?

I noticed that I felt more inclined to help her because she was clean and approachable and looked sane. Ironically, that would make her someone the least in need of help. Is it cynical to feel that helping someone more likely to actually improve from your help is better than giving to someone who cannot be saved? Is it prejudice to think that the homeless people living on the street are so beyond the ability to function in society, that any money given will be futile towards improving their lives in the long run? Am I an asshole for thinking that everyone should be striving to live in the normal confines of society in the first place? Surely, anyone would prefer a home of their own, if possible, to a life on the street!

Where do I lend my dollar? I wish I could consult Virginia Woolf on this one. She laid it out so well in Three Guineas on the topic of governement, education and cultural life. But what of the homeless? What can my dollar do for anyone and what's the best way to give it?

No work, all blog.

I am really digging this blog at the moment. I suggest you give it a look see. Funny and good insight into what it's like growing up in the crazy world of mormon-osity? mormon-ness? Anyway, don't let that put you off, she's over it now. However, don't abandon me. Then I would be sad. I would cry. Do you want to make me cry?? DO YOU??

How the crack do I end my own quote?

Now that they have finally started selling my favourite hummus flavour in Quebec I am doomed. Doomed to eat it everyday and gain a trillion pounds and lose friends and family because I won't share. Get your own, this hummus is MINE.

The ongoing saga of: Will anyone actually show up at my party? is looking good. People have confirmed and unless it's some really elaborate, cruel joke, they are probably not lying. I know I'm not the only one with this pre-party paranoia. Mrs. Dalloway for starters. Maybe I should be worrying more about getting fresh flowers and mending my gown with the right coloured silks and whether the carpets should be rolled back further so the young people will have room to dance and court each other.

Instead I am worried people will revolt if I get the wrong kind of relish. Will everyone eat and then immediately want to go home? Can I FORCE people to play pictionary and if so, can I pit english versus french people? What will keep people happy and enjoying themselves? Chocolate? Gin and tonic? Calendars with nude women?

I do so want everyone to have a good time. Ever so much. Quite.

Moving on, I have done sweet, f-on-a-stick, all this week at work. Maybe 5% of my day is actually spent on working. The rest is on the good old internet that I'm sure is being monitored by the company, but what the hell right? I mean what in the christ else am I supposed to do?

It's not like I refuse to work. There's nothing to do! I don't smoke, I'm not sustaining an office flirtation, I don't have that bottle of whiskey and package of chocolate chip cookies hidden behind the soap dispenser under the sink in the bathroom to take nips out of throughout the day in the handicapped stall with my feet up on the toilet so no one can see and my iPod playing the Royal Tennebaums soundtrack. I wish I did. Instead, I will just have to fantasize about going on a date with Luke Wilson before he aquired the bloat. I like to think of him permanently as Richie Tennenbaum. Do you know how many times I've watched that movie? Me neither but alot is a good estimate. A lot.

You know, I had a dream last night where a wedding was being held and the bride's parents didn't show up because they had some sort of prejudice against someone there. One of the aunts stood up in the church and said on the topic of these nasty parents and their judgemental ways: "Auden said(WH Auden? I've never read him in real life!), 'To not hear is one thing, but to play deaf and blind is ----'" I forget the last word! It was a great quote! That aunt really stuck it to them with that quote and now I can't remember the end of it. In the dream, everyone stood up and clapped after she said it. She was saying that simple ignorance is one thing that perhaps can be corrected and forgiven, but actively applying prejudice is a choice and makes you a shit. Trying to end the quote has been driving me nuts all day. Any suggestions of how to end it? Anyone? Bueller?

The post-it note will read: "you suck"

Happy Birthday Morrissey. You are getting hell old. So am I. We age and bloat together but we are still wicked cool.

Today seems to be the day where all the women of Montreal have unanimously decided; no more tights. Even though it's not that much warmer than usual, 20 degrees, I still decided that today would be dress and bare legs day. I was a bit cold and I thought maybe it wasn't the right choice. However, upon arriving downtown I noticed not one woman sported tights on her legs. Perhaps it was the long weekend, perhaps the moon is a certain distance from us that dictates our leg baring behaviour, whatever it is, today is all about it.

Additionally, it seems that today is also the day to sit in a crowded courtyard and roll your dress up at the front so people can see your underwear. Or maybe it was just that one woman doing that. She was dressed semi-business like, in that- "I'm 44 and working in a bank but I still like to party" way, with the dyed orange hair and the dyed orange tan and the line outside the lips one shade darker than the frosty berry coloured lipstick...anyway, anyway what? She was a freak obviously.I don't know why I'm remarking that she is a business woman and not some crazy methed-up street urchin. I would be the first to say that clothes never speak truly of the freak that lurks inside the skull, especially of those in business attire.

I am starting to have the usual, pre-party panic that no one is going to show up saturday. They've all changed their minds, they all hate me, actively. In fact, it was all part of a master plan to cruelly hand me comeuppance for being a stink on the face of the earth-pretending they all want to come and then they will send a wild boar with a post-it note to me instead, as I sit crying that no one has shown up, all my decorating and arranging of vegetables and cookies untouched and unloved...the post-it note will read: "you suck".

Rich Corinthian leather beverage.

Ahhh, coffee substitute, you're rich dirt taste soothes my jangled nerves. No caffeine means I won't try to bite glass and vomit blood and the essence of chicory and beetroot is practically undetectable in your deep brown depths. So smooth in the sense of not having any sharp bits of stuff in you and so satisfying. I pronounce you edible!

With love, your honorable servant in Satan,

Me.

PS. Call me sometime coffee substitute. We will talk of things.

Screw you people of tomorrow.

Ha. As two working people, here at my working place, were discussing the re-labelling of old boxes of files, one was worried about people in the future, after she was gone, not knowing what was inside the boxes. The other one said, "In five years from now, if you are not here, are you really going to be worried about those boxes and people having to go through them to figure it out?" At which point I asserted, "Ya! Screw the people of tomorrow!"

One chuckled quietly, one cast a sidelong glance. And that's the story of my life.

You hail David Lynch now!

So I took off work a little early yesterday to catch the 5pm showing of David Lynch's new film, Inland Empire. That movie is so right on. I am a David Lynch fan and this did NOT disappoint me. It disturbed the hell out of me. I actually felt afterwards that I may have done some irreparable damage to my emotional brain center that would never be lessened, even with years of therapy, but the feeling faded over a few hours. The film was 3 hours long. 3 hours! I think it was right for him. He needs that much time to get it all out. Shot on dv and incredibly well done. It was gorgeous and dark and decrepit and fucking insane, just like you would want your Lynch films to be.

I feel so clumsy trying to pay tribute. I didn't find 3 hours to be too long because it's like swimming in some hypnotising, fascinating, dark, deep ocean when watching his films, particularly this one. Also, Laura Dern should win Queen of all Actresses ever for her part. SO good. So very good. I want to see it again. I love his brain. I love that he makes movies of his brain. I love that he is so sacking excellent at making movies of his brain. All hail David Lynch. I mean it. Hail!

I was wondering, in addition to leaving work to go see a movie, is it wrong to eat a nut and seed bar that is 5 months past the best before date? Well, if is, too late.

Third question: What am I supposed to do when I have finished reading every single comic on the achewood site? It propels me through my day! Ray and Roastbeef and Phillipe are my special friends. I must hear tales of them all day or I will become grumpy and fill my pockets with hammers for hammering people. Like the family on the train this morning. 4 year old boy whining like a little bastard and parents doing nothing but validating this behaviour. Way to raise a snot-faced, cokelicking ass crack who will annoy everyone forever and amount to nothing but a little piss drop of a man. Suckers. Puking pukes of people.

Hm.

I need a 20,000 page book of comics of Achewood and a week long David Lynch film. That would make me feel better.

Thank you OCD

Well, either the pills are working or a neuron carved a new path in my brain or Xenu has graced me with extraterrestial rays that repair negative brain vibes or...something.

Cos, truth is, I'm feelin alright. Ya man, whoo! Alright. Not too bad, too good, just alright. Likin' it. I can dig.

So impending bbq is approaching. How is all that meat going to be cooked? I'm not touching it! Where will everyone sit? How will I keep people from being bored and hating me forever? Will fist fights break out?

What can I tell you of any interest? Very little. Mostly just getting up to buying 2 of something with the intention of returning one after I make an informed decision in the comfort of my own home, getting home, deciding a few days later, discovering the tag for the one I want to return is gone, getting annoyed, looking for it briefly in the trash, giving up, deciding to try to return it anyway and then the next day, realizing I'd rather keep it and return the one I do have tags for because the one I was going to return is actually more comfortable upon some reflection. I am fun to live with.

What else? I made some muffins on the weekend. 12 of them. I ate 7 of them in 2 days. They were good muffins.

It's pretty much all about good times with me lately.

Tonight, after work, I go to gym to increase my elbow strength and eyelid flexibility. Nothing like a good pancreas stretch for enhanced stamina.

Oh guess what? Remember how I had this thing with my teeth where I had to floss this one spot so it wouldn't hurt and then I became obsessed with flossing? Well it paid off. I went to a university's school of dentistry to try to become a patient in the student clinic and they told me I didn't have anything for them to work on and that my oral hygiene was unusually exceptional. Thank you OCD!

sauve puke

So today I feel like I smoked a pound of hash. Don't know why. Just reaaaal mellow and slow. Abnormal.

My arms feel too tired to lift my cup of water. They are all loose like a goose.
La-la-la, la, la, la, la, feelin' groovy.

So highlights of this weekend:

-Planting an array of purple and crimson pansys in my flower bed.
-Sleeping 9 full hours.
-A swirly wind on a sunny day making the waves on the river choppy and quick.
-2 episodes of the Simpsons back to back.

It's hot today. Actually hot. I've started going to the gym. It's at T's school and therefore cheaper but full of dudes. Always the trade off. However, the girls change room is super clean and empty all the time which is decent. I am going to pump iron.
And iron pumps. Watch it now!

In a contrary fashion to the spirit of working out, I discovered very tasty vegan dessert squares which are made from dates and coconut and dark chocolate chips and oats. Dear lord. SO good.

Rapidly changing topics, I'm sick of seeing rich business men covering up their insanity with suits and fancy haricuts. It all comes out in the elevators man. So many freaks.
-"The jitterer" who jangles his keys and taps his toes
-"the glancer" who suspiciously side-glances everyone in case they are trying to read his thoughts
-"the stabber" who just keeps pressing the floor he wants to go to even though it's lit up
-"the sauve-puke" who feels compelled to chat up every female.
etc.
Might need to work on a few quick drawings of these.

I cast ye off.

Wuh-oh! Somebody's gonna have a big party that's probably the biggest they've ever had.

I decided we needed to utilize our riverside patio and bbq fully by having people over. I started off thinking my knitting group and their significant others but then some of their workmates are also invited, plus T's Superfriends team and other friends....That ends up being a whole lotta bodies. OH GOD! I'm so unprepared for hosting! I haven't a clue how to make it all go smoothly. And people speak different languages. It's going to be a culture war. French vs English. Americans vs Canadians vs Germans. Vegetarians vs Carnivores. Kid Rock vs Snoop Dog. Ankle socks vs wiener dogs. 14th century architecture vs processed cheese slices.

I know, I know, just put out a big table of booze and let the rest take care of itself right? I hope that works because it's my main plan.

My other plan is to continue obsessively catching up on several years worth of genius comics and blogs called Achewood that my friend "the H" recently introduced me too. I am sick with needing to read everything he does. All work has become a nuisance that gets in the way of me enjoying his comics.

"Could you scan this and email it for me?"
"CAN'T YOU SEE I'M BUSY?! I AM READING COMICS ONLINE AND THEY ARE GOOD SO AWAY WITH YOU. I CAST YE OFF!"

Freak: Special Blend

No matter how much I wipe my desk with moistened, grade-school-brown-paper napkins, it is still filthy. Filthy with sandwich crumbs and hand cream fingerprints.

So damn.

Getting less bitchass cold here every second day-ish. Still biting in the morning and at night and most of the day but if you find a spot outside, completely shielded from the wind, directly under the sun...it's almost not cold.

I have been an insane psychotic freak lately. Either I really am just totally mentally unstable or it's this great thing called being a woman over 30. Apparently, as we gear up to stop menstruating all together, we become more and more like caged, abused tigers in our brains. Or again, it's just me.

There isn't any external source to be causing such distress but nevertheless, I still wake up some (most) mornings wanting to stick my hand on a heated stove element, shave a mohawk in my hair and run around in dirty jogging pants, slapping everyone in the face.

So, if you asked T, he'd probably tell you that he's pretty good. Except for the fact that he lives the life of someone who is in a perpetual game of Russian roulette where the trigger of the gun is anything he says or does or any movements he involuntarily makes or any thought he has in his head that is detected by the enhanced psychic abilities of his insane lady and the bullet is her lighting-quick ability to pour all her freak into him. The freak is a special blend of rational and sensible rage about the pitiful state of humanity in general plus ancient, personal, festering, baggage issues plus some straight up mental insanity of the brain. Combined it's a laser-sharp-pointed, volatile, irresponsibly firing ray. Pity the man. Pity me while you're at it or I'll bust you one.