My weekend

I have just returned from a weekend Up North. I was supposed to be back last night and at work today, but my friend's car battery died yesterday and we could not depart until she got boosted this morning. Then we drove to Ste Agathe on her boosted battery to a dealership where she got a new battery and we tootled on home. What an ordeal! If that car had stopped on the dirt roads of Up North, we were thinking it was Deliverance time! But we survived.

But Amy Winehouse didn't, I have just read. Too bad. I liked her.

And Jack Layton looks like he's on his way out too. I guess the campaign was just too strenous for his body. What a shame.

And now for a Fancy Feast update: there was some mail for him from his employer. As I have permission to open it, I did. And ha ha ha his last pay was a mistake. He should not have received it. So he now owes them $722.00. I can't wait to give him a call and hear what he says about that. Maybe he'll never be allowed to own a land line again until he pays up. I wonder if his company blackberry is still working. I'll soon find out.

Ontario: The Home Wrecker

First it was Kumar was went off to the greener pastures of Toronto; now it is my Tall Teacher who is heading off to Ottawa.

Ontario is my Other Woman, luring my men with her siren's call into her clutches!

What does Ontario have I don't have? I ask you. ..... oh yeah, jobs. Careers.

I shake my fist weakly at you, heartless Ontario.

No News from Fancy Feast

I have not heard from FF in five days. Does this mean:

a) he has learnt to manage his money?
b) he got a job?
c) he has run off with the medical marijuana delivery woman and will live happily stoned ever after?
d) his phone died and he can't reach me?

News News

I've been spending a lot of the morning going to various sites and live blogs reading the testimony of the police and the Murdochs (no, not those nice Murdochs) before the Parliamentary Committee.

It's been fascinating but it just got amazing with old Rupert being smacked in the face with a shaving foam pie.

Too bad the News of the World doesn't exist anymore. It could put that on its front page.

Reverse Ceausescu Fail

You may remember that back in the bad old days, Hall of Famer Dictator Nicolae Ceausescu would not allow temperatures to be reported when they were below minus 15. The logic being that people wouldn't suspect they were freezing to death if they didn't know it was minus 25.

Given the current heat wave, I decided over the weekend to launch the Reverse Ceausescu manoeuvre. Readers of this blog will know I am addicted to the Weather Network. So it was quite a challenge I undertook to not check the weather on t.v. or on the Internet, no matter how hot it was.

This worked perfectly yesterday. Yeah, it was hot. But I dunno how hot exactly, and I did okay. Had supper in an air-conditioned restaurant with Smoothie. No wine. No overheating.

But today, around 4:00 p.m. I was sitting in the backyard with Blackie and I started to feel woozy and unwell. So I came inside and sat in front of the fan until I felt a bit recovered, and then being only human, I turned on the Weather Network.

Well, the dang Humidex is 39. Three-nine. No wonder I felt like crap. Thank you Weather Network. You are a pal.

We have a winner!

MsMushrooms fearlessly predicted that FF would be in touch for more money as of Friday morning B.C. time.

And she is right! Sadly, I have no prize to award to her.

He is down to $50. He bought a sleeping mat and a camp stove. Also, beer, pot and cigarettes. Why cigarettes when he is a non-tobacco smoker? They are a good appetite suppressant when on the road. Whatever!

Oh, and olive oil. He bought some olive oil. And soya sauce, onions, garlic and fresh dill.

A Tragedy of Shakespearean Proportions

Move over, Othello.
Scram, Hamlet.
O woe is me, Nanuk.

Provigo was out of Greek Feta-shist Chips. Nary a bag to behold on the shelf. I was wounded to the core.

I needed to apply a balm to my wound. So I picked up a bag of Thick Cut Sour Cream & Dill.

I'm starting to revive...

Crisis Averted for Today

FF now has $200 in his account. I called him from the bank.

Me: Hi. I just deposited the money.
FF: Thank you (happy voice)
Me: it's supposed to be instantaneous, so it should be there.
FF: Uh..I checked 30 seconds ago, and I saw it. It's there.
Me: Good.
FF: When can I expect the next installment?
Me: When you need it. But if it is within 48 hours, you are in big trouble.
FF: (Nervous laughter) Ok. I'll call you back later.

Any estimates on when that 2nd installment will be requested? I'm guessing Monday. It's been 20 minutes. He's probably already bought beer....and olive oil. He was upset at the high price of olive oil in B.C. Only he would be complaining about that.

Movin' On Up

Went to see Horrible Bosses last night. It's pretty funny, but the language, people, the language. At the risk of being seen as an Old Fart-ette, did it have to be so vulgar? And I say this as a big fan of The Big Lebowski. Sometimes swearing is funny, and sometimes it's just excessive and boring.

But my point is, I saw it at Cavendish with Smoothie. As we were leaving the theatre, walking through the parking lot, he points and says: Look, a two-door Bentley. Frankly, I could not tell one car from another, but he is an obsessed car guy. So apparently there was a Bentley. At the bus stop, this car pulls up and he says: check out that Lamborghini. Who knew? It was pretty nice, but I didn't know what it was. Not 30 seconds later, he points and says: Aston Martin.

I'm living in the wrong neighbourhood.

Don't Kill Me for This

Fancy Feast just called. I'm advancing him some money. Don't kill me, please. I know better, but I'm doing it anyway.

If you look back to last Friday's blog post, he is entitled to $400 from his employee's pension plan. He needs the money. It will take at least 6 weeks, according to the paperwork in my possession, for them to process the request for the cheque. He can't wait 6 weeks.


So I'm putting the money in his account, $200 for now, and when he is back in Montreal he will deposit the cheque and pay back his debt. He has always paid up in the past, so I am trusting him to pay up in the future. I won't lend him the whole $400 at once because I told him he will blow it all and I am protecting him from himself. He whined about that. Tough shit, buddy. Take the $200 or leave it.


He said he will be back in Montreal WAY before November because B.C. is incredibly expensive. Gee, now he knows what the rest of the country has known for years. He can't afford to buy beer, and a steak at the grocery store costs $10.00. I didn't ask him for the price of pot. It must be cheap, since they grow so much of it out there.

Bliss, thy name is Bus

I was waiting for the 103 yesterday afternoon in the infernal heat and deadly humidity. Being the delicate flower that I am, I was wilting.

The bus came, I got on, and Oh My Goodness Gracious, it was air-conditioned. An air-conditioned city bus.

I was transported, in more ways than one. Heavenly.

It is a pilot project only, so I dunno how many buses are likely to get A/C in the future, but yesterday was THE day for testing it out. One of the few times in my life I wished for a longer ride.

Kumar: Back to the Future

Had an unexpected visit from Kumar on the weekend. The man still has no sense of time.

When I met Kumar, almost 3 years ago, his goal was to land a good civil service job. Which he did, finally, as a Business Analyst/Project Manager in Toronto. A civil service career would show everybody back home that he was successful in Canada. So now after 2 years, he is bored, unchallenged and wants to get out and start up his own business again.

Apparently you can’t make serious money in the civil service, you have to work for yourself to be really successful. And apparently the next decade are the prime earning years.

See what happens when we let in these “brown” immigrants, with their “goals” and “ambitions”. They just want to make “money” and be “successful” and make the rest of us public servants look lazy. Harrumph.

I asked him if he got along with his colleagues in the Ontario Civil Service. He said “They think I’m a bitch”. Really, I said, a bitch? “Yeah, but I say you have your projects, I have my projects, we work on them, you don’t have to be my friend”. Warm and fuzzy, he ain’t.

How I want to go

I see that a large crowd is expected at the funeral of the guy in Texas who fell over the railing while reaching for a baseball. Unfortunately it wasn't G.W. Bush. Oh well.

This got me to thinking that it might be cool to die a really silly, pointless death. It would make me a posthumous "celebrity". And would be less painful and awful than slowly wasting away from an actual disease.

I think I'd like to be known as the woman who met her maker in the Giant New-Dill-Flavoured-Doritos-Free-Giveaway Stampede.

U2....live in my living room

The wind is blowing just the right way tonight. I can hear the U2 concert perfectly sitting in my living room.

Bono is talking to the crowd right now. He started in French but has now switched to English.

I couldn't hear anything last night, but it is very clear tonight.

Mysterious Way is one of my fave songs, and they've already played it. I guess I'm awake until the end of the show. Why go to bed? All I Want Is You is on now. This is really fun. And it's free!

Update: I just emailed Smoothie since he is in Cote St. Luc and therefore much closer to the site than I am, and he can't hear anything. The wind, she works in mysterious ways. It is SO loud here right now. They are playing Beautiful Day and it sounds great. :D Happy Icon.

Chip Review by Nanuk

Apologies to JAW Fan if he already covered this flavour. There have been so many I can't remember, and since I don't tag my posts like a serious, proper blogger would, I don't have any way to check.

I was in Provigo yesterday, scanning the chip aisle for something a little different. Let us be honest about it, President's Choice makes a huge number of "exotic" chip flavours, but in the vast majority of cases, the essential flavour comes down to "barbecue". They all are just variations on barbecue chips. NOT that there's really anything wrong with that, is there?

Anyway, I spied the various bags of delectables, and came across one that promised not to be another riff on barbecue. Under the rubric World of Flavours* I found Greek, which is feta, olive and oregano flavour.

I may never have mentioned this before but I am a serious feta-shist. I lurve me some of that feta. I am a fan of all things Greek, except getting in the butt.**

Thus, I purchased these Greek lovelies. The verdict? PDG, pretty darn good. Not barbecue at all, but still spicy, tangy and Greeky. Permit me to avail myself of the wang-o-meter and rate them a solid 7 inches.


*I appreciate that u in Flavours, but if I was in charge of this product line, I would call it World o' Chips.
**What would a chip review be without a JAW Fan-like comment.

Hanging out in the park

I received mail yesterday, which included a two-week old issue of Maclean's with Jack Layton on the cover. Turns out the park on Chester where I once drunkenly smoked one of JAW Fan's cigarettes (after lying in the street on Coronation) is named for Jack's grandfather. Who knew?

So I was googling the name of the park and found that it is included in a website called "Gay Cruising Sites in Montreal". I did not click on that particular link. I'm at the office. I doubt that it is very highly rated as a gay cruising park. It's full of old Italians playing bocce every night. They seem like gay old Italians, but they are definitely not old gay Italians.

It does seem to be a good pot-smoking park, however. I often notice a smell. Not that I ever did that myself. We did our pot smoking at home as it should be.

Speaking of the old pot-smoking days, in yesterday's mail I also received a letter for Fancy Feast from his ex-employer. I opened it by accident, I didn't look at who it was addressed to since, hey, I'm the only one living at this address. Seems his ex-employer has $400 in a pension plan with FF's name on it and they want to know what he wants to do with the money. I sent an email trying to track him down. God knows where he is, on the road like Kerouac. Surely a man who had only $15 to his name last week would be happy to learn there is $400 coming his way.

Shall we talk about Canada Post?

The posties have been back to work for a week now. Am I supposed to believe there's no backlog of mail to be delivered? On Monday I didn't get anything.

There's been plenty of junk. That always seems to come through. But what about bills that I know should have arrived by now? Where are they?

Smoothie's mother spoke to her letter carrier last week and was told that they are not allowed to work overtime to clean up the backlog. Great.

They want to make themselves obsolete. Be my guest.

Work news

A bit of positive work news, for a change.

I had a meeting this morning with a very enthusiastic person about a new project. We are going to write a proposal for our "thing" by the end of the month.

I'm now in a weird twilight zone because I'm not sure how to feel about being interested in work again. It's so foreign and unlike me.

This "thing" will however mean getting released from my current dept for a few months. Awww, what a SHAME that would be.

FF: *sigh*

FF emailed last night to ask for a loan. Or, to put it his way, to ask if I was okay with the idea that he ask for a loan.

I said he couldn't have one because I knew he would never be able to pay it back. He called me judgemental. ha! said I.

Overnight, he sent an apologetic email, saying he didn't want to get in a fight about it.

He will not get a loan from me, but he's smart enough to know that this is a bridge he must not burn. He may be nuts on many levels, but he's no fool.

In brighter news: I'm off work for a couple of days. Time to declutter. ha!

On the road

FF update: He emailed this morning to say he is in Toronto and is already broke.

He has $15 to his name. When he arrived in Toronto yesterday he had $40. So where did that $25 go? I suspect beer. But I could be wrong. (Not likely, though.) It wasn't on pot because he stocked up with $50 worth in Ottawa. Even he can't go through $50 of pot in three days.

Shall we have a pool to predict the exact date he shows up on my doorstep? It will be way before November, won't it?

I had a Dream

I had one of those dreams last night where I wake myself up because I am laughing. I believe the Anonymi family is away this week, but I’ll post this now while I remember it and direct their attention to it for their return. This is because it involves Mr. Anonymous. He is the “star” of the dream.

In my dream, Mr. A. and I are married (!?) and we are in bed in that classic sit-com domestic arrangement where we are both sitting up, in our pajamas, reading our books. Mr. A. is wearing reading glasses, the half-moon type that Homer wears whenever he has reading glasses on.

Mr. A. is reading a John LeCarre type novel. Here is my reproduction of the cover.

Mr. A. pauses, and looks at me very seriously, and says “You know, I think I’ve figured out what is up with the main character in this novel.”

I say: “Oh yeah, what is it?”

And he says, completely unironically and without any kind of humorous intent: “He is an imposter”.

I woke up laughing.

Life is dull w/o FF

Since Fancy Feast left, there's nothing to talk about. Let's see...

On Saturday night, Smoothie came over for supper. Once again, he is insisting that I eat healthy, so he wanted to be in charge of the menu. I'm good with that. We had chicken, veggies, rice and sweet potatoes. But his "kitchen prep" is not good and I was hovering around him trying to get him to turn down burners that were too hot, etc., etc. He was getting pissed off at me, but we were saved by the bell, i.e. the phone rang.

And it was Fancy Feast on the line. The first call I'd received since he left. And guess what? He needed my help. He was at his brother's place in Ottawa and....wait for it...the computer wasn't working. I was polite enough NOT to ask if he broke it, but let's assume he did. So while Smoothie cooked away in the kitchen, I went on line at the Pirate Bay to find Windows keys and read them to FF who tried to restart his bro's computer. It didn't work.

I had to hang up because supper was ready. I told FF that Smoothie was making supper for me and his reaction was: "Great!"...followed by...."Is he a better cook than I am?" I could not answer because I hadn't tried Smoothie's cooking yet. FF said he will call back soon and I am to tell him who is the better chef. He has no worries; he is far superior to Smoothie. Smoothie cooks like a regular person; FF cooks as if his life depends on it. I'm still trying to figure out how to lose those 6 pounds he gave me.

I hadn't missed FF at all since his departure. In fact, I was relishing my newly spacious home. But after talking to him, I kinda miss the big lug. He said he'll be back in November...

The Fancy Feast Saga has come to an end

FF departed for Ottawa a couple of hours ago. Loaded down with camping gear, he could barely stand up straight. I said he was going to fall over backwards because his knapsack was so heavy and bulky, and he would lie on the sidewalk, arms and legs flailing, like a bug.

I will miss him. The last 2 and 1/2 months have been a very fun, interesting and exasperating time.

Now I need to check how much more grey hair I have, compared to back on 31 March.

Life with Fancy Feast, Part XXXIV

We were at Canadian Tire today, looking for a tent for FF's cross-country hitch-hiking trip. We didn't find the one he wanted. He's on his own to keep looking tomorrow. He needs to go to the CT near Angrignon. Maybe an Anonymous can help him....? heh heh.

Anyway, near the front, he stops at a display. It is a box of small candle holders, the ones that float that you can put in your pond to light it up at night.

FF: I used these in the bath.
Me: Really?
FF: Yeah, I like the glow of the floating candles.
Me: I didn't know you were such a romantic.
FF: I had floating lights and scented candles that smelled like the beach.
Me: How romantic!
FF: And music playing, of course.
Me: You really surprise me. I had no idea you were so romantic.
FF: (pause) I was alone.
Me: What?
FF: I was alone.
Me: Why would you go through all that trouble if you were alone?
FF: It felt nice and it was relaxing.
Me: I really thought you were describing something you did with a girl.
FF: Nope. Just me. Hey. Sometimes when there's nobody else to pamper you, you just have to pamper yourself.
Me: I suppose you're right.

Five hours later, I'm still shaking my head over that one.

Hey, I'm Ordinary

Except for the Ontario part, this would be me. From The Globe & Mail:

Daily alcohol consumption, marijuana smoking and psychological distress rates among adults are on the rise, potentially troubling trends that could have major health implications, a new report warns.

The Centre for Addiction and Mental Health in Toronto released a survey Monday that found a growing number of Ontario adults are drinking alcohol every day, using cannabis and reporting symptoms associated with poor mental health.

Doomed to Obesity

BGTSmoothie stopped by my office just now to collect something. It was 3:00 p.m. I met him in the lobby and he handed me a bag from McD's. What is this? I asked. It was a cheeseburger. Why would I need a cheeseburger in the middle of the afternoon. He said that he doubted that a "woman like you" would go from lunch to supper without a snack. Yes, I might have an afternoon snack, but it would never be a cheeseburger.

I had to accept it because he could not take it back because a cheeseburger combines meat and dairy and that isn't kosher. So I was stuck with a dilemma. Eat it or throw it out. *sigh* Because I am the kind of person who cannot throw out perfectly good food, I ate it. It was tasty. I was not in the least bit hungry. I'm mad at myself and at Smoothie.

I had leftover fish-n-chips from last night's supper (we ordered in) for lunch and I am having a rib eye steak (prepared by FF) for supper. And now a cheeseburger in between. Last week I was complaining about my weight to the Tall Teacher and he said "Hey, 100 more pounds and you can be on the Biggest Loser". Maybe I should aim for that. *sigh* (bis)

The End of the Pot Blog?

Latest report is that Fancy Feast will be departing my humble abode on Thursday. I guess that will be the end of my pot education. On Saturday, he came home excitedly saying that he had something for me to try, but he lost it. It was hash. It was lost. He didn't know where. What a pot head.

JAW Fan's Healthy Food Review

In an attempt to help promote Healthy Eating and Dieting, here is the first Fruit and Vegetable Review:

For months now, I have been bewildered and amazed by the freaky-looking Dragon Fruit. I have espied them not only at my local Fruit and Veggie store, but also in the big name grocery chains. They are so interesting in appearance, mysterious and strange, the exotic black-speckled white interior conjures up images of hot rippling-muscled men in Speedos (why? I’m not quite sure…must be all the pot fumes drifting out the windows of my neighbours) What could this oddity possibly taste like? Sweet and sexy? Bitter and bad-ass? Tangy and tumescent? Who knows?... at close to five f**king bucks a fruit, I wasn’t about to find out. That is, until this week. Whilst sashaying through the store, my 1970s-style high-thigh short-shorts exposing just a glimpse of underwear (OK, walking through the store in baggy-style shorts…but the image just ain’t the same!!!), I noticed one of these magnificent beauties sitting on the quick-sale rack at the incredible low price of one buck. And, no, I wasn’t at Dollarama! So, naturally, I hopped on that baby quicker than Richard Simmons would have hopped on me had I actually been wearing those thigh-high short-shorts. When I got home, I was all eager and agog, shaking with the pre-taste jitters…I sliced into the pink exterior, exposing its white pulp, cut out a piece, and slipped it ever so anxiously into my mouth…What did it taste like? Well, let me tell you…absolutely nothing!!!! I have never tasted anything that had absolutely no taste whatsoever!!! And they have the nerve to sell this sucker for $5 a pop. F**k you, people!!!! You can take your Dragon Fruit and fly away with it!!! And to think that PC often sells their fabulous chips at 3 bags for $5 (each one with an International flavour all their own). Guess I know where I’ll be spending that extra five dollars from now on.

In short: Dragon Fruit = Some People Will Buy Anything.

D'Oh! Stupid Pot

I decided to google the pot laws in case it is still illegal to smoke it in the privacy of your own home. Turns out it is. Now I know.

Funny story, I googled several articles on pot laws in Canada, and then suddenly my work computer crashed with a virus. So I had no computer at work for the entire afternoon and who knows how long it will take tomorrow before the IT guy comes 'round to fix it.

Moral of the story: Pot is bad for one's productivity.

In other pot news, FF's mother sent him some money. As he was heading out tonight he said "I've got $25 in my pocket", which translates to "I'll have pot in my trouser cuff when I get home."

Dave's not here, man.

Born on the Bayou

On Monday we were watching MasterChef. There was a contestant from the Bayou who had prepared an alligator dish for the judges. One of the judges had never tasted alligator so he asked which other meat did it most closely resemble.

The answer. Toad.

LOL

Yesterday

I got home last night, and the living room windows were open so I could enjoy the pot smell whilst still on the front porch.

I went in and found FF sitting in the living room, eating something, and watching Everybody Hates Chris* on the laptop. I asked "So what did you do today?" FF replied: "You're looking at it."

So I went to a movie with Smoothie. We saw the Jay Baruchel movie that was filmed just off Sherbrooke Street. It is not good, but it has lots of cute cats in it, which was enough to salvage it for me, but not for Smoothie who is still complaining about it today. He left a long rant on IMDB about everything that is wrong with it. I say, chill, dude, it's just a movie.


*That show is really funny. I'll have to watch more episodes.

In "Weed" News

To follow up on the Pringles story...

When I got home last night, FF was asleep on the couch and the house smelt like pot. He drowsily said, I was waiting for you so we could decide on supper.

We decided on Chalet. Of course! (An aside on the delivery vehicle from Chalet. It made so much noise, I am certain every neighbour must've looked out their windows to see who the hell it was. It looked like it delivered chicken on weeknights and participated in demolition derbys on weekends. Not pretty. And was driven by the third runner-up in the NDG David Crosby Look-alike Contest. Again, not pretty.)

Anyway, we ate our 1/4 breasts of chicken and then FF decided he would have his 3rd joint of the day. He said: "This may be inappropriate, but do you want to join me?" I shrugged. He said, "No, you are probably just a weekend toker."

Try to picture how hard I laughed at the idea of myself as a "toker" of any kind, weekend or weekday or 24/7. Nanuk and toker don't really go in the same sentence.

So he rolled his joint, and I had two ineffectual puffs. So much for that. Then he said he was not at all worried about me becoming a habitual user because once he is gone, there is no way in hell I'm going to find myself a dealer. Finally, he is right about something. The only scenario more ridiculous than "Nanuk the toker" is "Nanuk and her dealer."

After his Chalet meal, he had a beer, then two oranges, one Twizzler (I held on tight to the bag), then another beer, then the rest of the olive bread, then a cheese sandwich. Then he went to bed. I guess that's the munchies.

Now...how do I get rid of this guy?

The last straw?

Pringles are on sale for 99 cents this week. On Sunday, unable to resist, I bought a can of SC&O.

SC&O are not only my favourite flavour, they are also FF's favourite. When he came home, his eyes lit up. "Pringles!" he chirped happily. In an effort to keep him away from them, he insisted that I dole out a few to him rather than let him take them out of the can. Which I did. All fine and good, and under control.

On Monday I got home from work, I looked in the cupboard and no Pringles were to be seen. I looked in the trash and there was my beloved green SC&O can. "I am going to KILL you", I said, walking toward him making a choking gesture. "Why?" he asked. There was a short pause, while I stared accusingly at him. "Oh, the Pringles" he said sheepishly. "I started eating them and then suddenly it was like oh shit they're all gone. Sorry."

He's got until Wednesday close of business to replace them at 99 cents. Otherwise, he'll be replacing them at $1.49.

Men!

What is it with men and their wieners? I'm referring specifically to the New York Congressman (named Weiner) who has admitted tweeting pictures of his weenie to several women. He's a Congressman, and he doesn't have the self control to NOT send pictures of his wang to strangers?

I will never understand the male brain.

On the positive front, I am unaware of Jacques Parizeau ever tweeting pics of his Johnson. So things could always get worse.

By Jove

From the Globe & Mail:
"Three influential members of the Parti Québécois have abruptly quit the sovereigntist party, saying it has lost its way. The bombshell announcement includes the wife of the party's most popular living legend;..." They are taking about Parizeau's wife here.

The party's most popular living legend? Says who? When has Blaque Jacques ever been anything other than a pompous old windbag?

And how was your weekend?

I don't want to say that we are turning into a stoner household, but on Saturday morning, after our bacon and eggs, FF asked if it was okay if he smoked. I said, sure, then joined him. Yep. Smoking pot at 10:30 on Saturday morning. I blame it all on my employer. If I wasn't so miserable at work, I wouldn't be looking for such an escape on the weekend. Right? I said, amiright?

On Saturday afternoon, he asked if he could smoke again, this time outside. I said sure. He said your CPN's are outside. I said: all the better. If they can smell it and it bugs them, it's a Win. So we sat out in the backyard, reading our books, and passing a joint back and forth. I still cannot smoke it right. Such a nerd. FF approaches Depp-like levels of coolness in his actions, while I cough and mutter that I'm not feeling anything. I keep thinking my nose is going to catch fire.

At 7:00 last night we were lying in the living room, drinking beer, smoking pot* and watching The Good, The Bad and The Ugly. Great movie.

I love being 50.

*Clarification: FF was enjoying pot while I once again attempted to smoke and failed miserably at it. What am I missing? I'm apparently doing it right, but I'm not feeling anything, except being very tired and lethargic and lying on the couch enjoying Eli Wallach. Is that it? Is that all there is to it? Seems like much ado about nothing.

In Fatty News

Last night I was planting geraniums and pulling weeds. I felt winded and had a fair amount of trouble getting up and down from the grass. I was really tired after just an hour. True, it was humid, but still. That is no excuse.

This is how fat I have gotten. I'm too fat to garden. My roly-poly belly is cutting off my breathing. Is this finally the moment of truth? Is this at last the time to say enough of this weight problem?

Yes. Just as soon as I have a bag of those Ranch Chipotle chips. Once I'm done with those, I'll be seriously dieting. Seriously.

Chip Review Time, hosted by your friend JAW Fan

Well, our good ol’ friend Mr. President’s Choice has released two new flavours of chips: Ranch Chipotle and Jamaican Jerk Chicken. And, naturally, this Potato Mad Daddy had to sample both (at an event where B52s were featured…not the New Wave band, but that delicious blend of Bailey’s and Tia Maria in a shooter format) Fortunately, the sampling of these snacks took place prior to inebriation, so I can honestly tell you that this review is not tainted with any of that mumbo-jumbo Mother Alcohol may have to offer.

Ranch Chipotle…Did they make me feel like a Mexican Cowboy with a lasso in hand, prepared to rope the first stallion stud that walked my way? No, of course not..but then who needs a chip for that? Best way to sum them up would be “Cool BBQ”…pleasant to the palette and not overpowering. I’ve never really been a big fan of Ranch chips (sorry, Nanuk) but, thanks to the added kick here, these managed to make the horse in my hacienda hop with happiness.

As for the Jamaican Jerk Chicken…well, I can honestly say that I have never tasted a potato chip like this one. Is that a good thing? I don’t know. What I do know is that I couldn’t stop eating them…even though the odd mixture of hot spice and simulated chicken flavour left me wondering just what the hell kind of freaky chemical mixture did they put into their seasoning. Still, I would eat them again in a second. Were they truly delicious? No. Just curiously different. What can they be compared to? Beats the f**k outta me!

As for the wang-o-meter…it was up, it was down, it was spinning all around, it was flashing, it was blinking, not quite sure what it was thinking. My best advice to y’all is to sample these on your own. If you want to play it safe? Go with the Ranch Chipotle. If you want to try a new experience? Go for the Jamaican Jerk Chicken. If you want to get your hands on my wang-o-meter? Found out the hard way that all it takes is three beers and four B52s.

La Petite Vie

On the weekend, FF was trying to decide whether he should pursue a more serious relationship with the Hippie Witch. This was one of those long, rambling talks that 20-somethings love to indulge in. At one point, he says: "I dunno. I don't think I'm ready to live with someone else right now."

So I gave him a look. Apparently he doesn't realize where he is living or that there is another person living here, i.e. moi.

"What?" he says, then laughs. "Oh, I don't live here". So he doesn't live here. Who knew? Sure seemed like it to me. He says he doesn't "live" here because he could pack up his stuff and be gone in one night, so that's not living here. I get it. Then he says: "this is a....what's the word...a pied-a-terre".

I was ready to put my pied in his backside.

In other news, on Saturday morning, he insisted on teaching me some basic self-defense. He's been bugging me about this for a while now. I relented, and we adopted face-to-face positions and he taught me to throw a punch. (He started learning martial arts at the age of 3.) Apparently, one day in the future when some goon attempts to steal my purse, I will be happy that FF has taught me to punch the guy in the throat. Being a total wimp and a spazz, I did not want to even try this. But I did it anyway. He was happy that I tried.

Now I can punch him in the throat. :)

Domestic shocker

So I'm on my computer, and I see a file for FF's CV. I open it (because I'm nosey and, hey, it's on MY computer). It's a well-designed CV, but there's only one problem: It's got MY home address on it. Yikes!

He's never leaving? Is he?

In other non-news: Fuck this fucking rain! .....fuck.

Domestic news

This morning, FF dragged himself out of bed and announced that he believes the reason he is depressed lately is because he needs his own place. I am amazed he came to this realization on his own. He says he's been feeling uncomfortable living in someone else's home. Really?

I'm glad he's come to this decision on his own and that I don't have to be gently suggesting that he leave soon. Now that he has opened the door to this subject, I'll be in a position to suggest he be out by July, without looking like I'm tossing him.

His old apartment was $600/month; I am charging him only $200/month. So, we both agree, he should have an extra $400 for each of the two months he's been with me. But he doesn't. He's broke. He spent the money on expensive food, expensive wine, stuff for the Hippy Witch, giving some money to a friend, etc., etc. Funny how money just disappears when you aren't good with it.

I can't help him out in any other way. He needs to go.

Happy 70th Birthday to Bob

Bob Dylan is 70 today and doesn't look a day over 75.

Bob continues to work hard every day. I guess he believes the key to a long life is to never stop working. Never slow down. I do not subscribe to this theory, however. I'm barely putt-putting along at 50. So Bob puts me to shame.

I should've taken the day off to celebrate and honour him.

The long weekend rolls on

The sun rose and set today, just like it's supposed to. That is comforting, no?

In other news, FF just called at 10:00 p.m. He won't be home tonight, he's sleeping at a friend's place.
Pause.
Me: "It's not the witch, is it?"
Pause.
Me: "Just say yes or no."
FF: "Maybe. Don't judge me!!!"
Perhaps she has put a boomerang spell on him. *sigh*

In Kumar news, he hasn't changed a bit. When I told him that I do not allow Fancy Feast to bring women home, he said that that was a violation of FF's basic human rights. I said, oh yeah, let him take me to the Human Rights Commission.

I'm glad these two characters did not meet. Imagine the two of them ganging up on me. sheesh.

Hmm, the world is still here

Rapture begins at 6:00 p.m. only. This would explain why the world seems the same today as yesterday. To my untrained eye, at least.

In other news, wow, I MUST be psychic. The Big Romance is Off again. Did I not predict this within the past 24 hours? How did I have such insight? *eye roll* And this time, I am told, it is really over. Riiiight.

In other news, it appears I may get a visit tomorrow from The One, The Only...Kumar. Haven't seen him in a year, but he's in town for the long end-of-the-world weekend. So I'll see him tomorrow, assuming neither of us gets swept up in the Rapture at 6:00 tonight. And neither of us will. Guaranteed.

Today in weight gain news

You know you are ordering from Chalet too often when the delivery man forms a bond of friendship with your black cat.

The guy was practically rolling around on the porch with Blackie last night.

I give up

I can't keep up with the on-again-off-again-on-again relationship between FF and Crazy Witchie Poo.

Apparently, it's on again. He went to her place yesterday and she apologized for her erratic behaviour of the past few days, and so everything is well. Riiiight, think I. Whatever.

On the positive front, this means I have the house to myself tonight. A great start to the long end-of-the-world weekend.

Last night, FF listed a number of things about Witchie Poo that he would like to change. This can't be a great start, right? I said, you can't change people. She will resent it. Don't even go there. But being an arrogant young man his argument is that the things he wants to change about her are "for her own good". Oh good luck with that, sonny.

I suspect that by the end of the long end-of-the-world weekend, this relationship will be off again.

2 days until the end of the world

Is everyone ready for the end of the world? Only two more days to go. The world is officially ending on May 21. So, I've decided I'm not doing the dishes tonight or tomorrow night. Take that, world!

FF is very happy about the world ending on Saturday because he is scheduled to go back to work on Sunday. So he gets to see the end of the world without going back to the office. "Sweet", he said.

I'm going to forget about my weight and eat a LOT of chips until the end of the world. What's the harm? Hopefully I will still be light enough to get Raptured up into Heaven. I don't know if I will see Jesus when I get there, but I am really hoping that Albert, the angel from the cream cheese commercials, is there to welcome me into his heavenly manly embrace.

A little touch of Arnie in the Night

Ex-governor, Schwarzenegger,
Found a woman, and he did make her
Have a baby…then keep it secret
For many years, no one did leak it
Then the dolt done told his wife
And made a scandal of his life
Lovely Maria then dumped his ass
And told him that he had no class
So, to avoid ending up in a similar mess
The lesson to be learned here I guess,
Unless children you want to be sirin’
Instead of gals, just pump iron.

--JAW Fan (of course)

Spoke too soon

Looks like I'm not getting rid of FF any time in the near future. Turns out that Hippie Chick is not an eccentric weirdo in a good way, but a genuine "CRAZY WEIRDO". I'd suspected for a while that there was something not right in the head about this girl, but I kept somewhat quiet about it because I've never met her and FF insisted she was just "out there". Like he is.

Did I mention she says she's a witch?

Anyway, it seems she has some kind of schizo bi-polar condition that she is not being treated for. To quote FF "That explains A LOT". I opined that it seems rather harsh to just dump her as a friend because she's mentally ill. He gave me a look and said: "Do I need that?" And considering all the anxieties and depressions etc etc that he has dealt with in his own life, I had to agree that no, he didn't need that at all.

So what did he do after this eventful day? Put on his headphones, clicked on YouTube and watched three episodes of Star Trek: The Next Generation in a row. I asked: "This is how you're dealing with it?" He said: "I'm a guy. It's what we do."

Tonight's menu: Beef stew.

*Sigh*

It's mid-May so why do I have to write the following?

I'M TIRED OF BEING COLD!

Where is Spring?

Back to Kraft Dinner?

It appears Fancy Feast's stay with me is coming to an end. Hippie Chick can't afford to pay her rent, so I strongly suspect FF will grasp this opportunity to be a hero by moving in, sharing expenses thus saving her from being evicted. Not that he has said this, but I'm betting that is where he is headed before her June rent becomes due.

This is too bad because the marinaded steak he made last night was really tasty. I suppose I can learn to cook these kinds of things for myself...I suppose. But it's just so much easier if someone else does it.

Another Sunday

No garlic lemon chicken last night. FF had to head out. He is currently in pursuit of a hippie chick from St. Henri. She is a genuine hippie as in she does not own a phone, or have a computer, so if he wants to see her he has to go over to her place and see if she’s home. So he took off mid-afternoon, and I decided to make chicken curry all on my own.

He came home at 6:00, hippie chick was AWOL. According to her low-life friends, she left her place, is staying with a friend somewhere, but isn’t talking to anyone. I asked him why he is wasting time on this strange person, and he said “I’m a weirdo, and she’s a weirdo, but in a good way.” Whatever.

Back to the food: so he ate MY curried chicken and gave it a thumbs up. He liked my cooking? It’s like Freaky Friday. Then we drank some beer, then he asked if he could smoke a joint. I don’t want him smoking in the house and he had completely given it up when he moved in last month. But he said because he had been on vacation in the country where there is nothing to do but fish, hike and get high, he and his pal had bought a bag of pot and he had a little bit left and he wasn’t going to waste it by throwing it out. So I said, go ahead. Then he said, why don’t you smoke it with me? And I said, yeah, okay, because I’m 50 now and I don’t care about anything anymore. So I had a few puffs but I still don’t understand how to inhale.

Then he entirely re-arranged the living room furniture to his liking. I let him. Why not? I think I like the change. Then I washed the dishes and he fell asleep on the newly positioned living room couch. It’s like we’ve been married for 10 years.

The Return of FF

Fancy Feast is back from the Capital. A week early.

You know what this means?

Garlic lemon chicken for supper. Yay!

(I remain at my Highest Weight Ever...)

Dive Bars and Bagels

Talking to the Tall Teacher the other night about (in)famous dive bars of Montreal. He's too young to remember O'Leary's when it was O'Leary's Irish Heaven but when I referred to it as Spurs, he said Oh Yeah! The least Irish Irish heaven bar on earth.

Then I mentioned the worst of the worst: Bar Diana. There was a pause. I clarified: on St. Catherine near Fort. Long Pause. "The Eskimo Bar?" he asked.
I said I believed the politically correct term was "the bar full of drunken Natives". His response: OMG!

He then told me about his most recent visit to Maz (or as he put it, "you call it Ma Heller's, it's a generational thing"). He was at a table with friends when the woman sitting alone at the next table slid off her chair and onto the floor. He said he looked around and said to the staff "can someone help her?" I asked "you didn't try to help her yourself?" HELL NO, he said.

So he left Maz and crossed over to D.A.D.s Bagels (where MsMushroom purchased 6 and 1/2 dozen bagels a few months ago, thus depleting their stock) and the toothless woman who faceplanted at Maz followed him in and tried to pick him up.

And this is why NDG is a high-class neighbourhood.

Modern Love

BGTSmoothie in his endless quest to find a new girlfriend has been chatting (and rather explicitly I might add, being an old lady and thus by definition prudish by young folks’ standards, or so I am told) with a new girl. He has not met her yet, but he knows she weighs over 300 lbs. He weighs about 250 lbs. Here is our conversation:

S: It’s not the weight that bothers me, it’s her attitude.
Me: You’re just saying that to pretend that it’s not the weight when you know the problem really is the weight.
S: NO! It’s her attitude. I suggested we should go to the gym together and encourage each other to lose weight, but she isn’t interested.
Me: Seems like a good idea to me.
S: See? That’s what I mean about her attitude being the problem and not the weight. She says she can’t lose weight and so she doesn’t even want to try.
Me: But I have the same problem, and you don’t reject me.
S: What?
Me: I hate being fat, I complain about it constantly and yet I do nothing about it. And you don’t reject me because of it.
S: But you don’t weigh 320.
Me: A-HA! So I AM right, it is the weight and not the attitude. Just admit it’s the weight.
S: You don’t weigh 320. The weight wouldn’t be a problem if she had a better attitude.
Me: But it is the weight.
(Pause)
Me: (joke) You’ll have to be on top.
S: Yes, we’ve already discussed that.
Me: Oh come on. You haven’t even met her yet.
S: I actually suggested something. I don’t know if this is offensive or not, but I suggested it.
Me: What?
S: I said we shouldn’t have sex until we’ve each lost 20 lbs.
(Pause)
Me: (surprising myself) I think that’s a great idea. It certainly would be motivating. I’m all for that idea.
S: Really?
Me: Yeah. I would take a deal like that with someone new.
S: Wow. Thanks for agreeing!
(Conversation ends on a happy note.)

Another quote

from an Englishman this time:

"The notion that money can't buy you happiness is a myth put about by rich people who are afraid that the poor will murder them in their beds." -- Michael Caine

Why am I on some kind of class warfare theme today? I don't know...but perhaps it has to do with the fact that I now live in the Province of Jack. Workers of the world unite. Or, in my case, people who show up at the office but don't actually do much work, unite!

And speaking of Michael Caine, I love this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HFIQIpC5_wY

Let's talk about America

Two quotes: one about America by a famous American, and one about an American by an anonymous poster on Wonkette.

1. "Socialism never took root in America because the poor see themselves not as an exploited proletariat but as temporarily embarrassed millionaires." -- John Steinbeck.

2. "Donald Trump is as American as egregious litigation and fucking over your friends for a profit. Also, apple pie." --Wonkette commenter.

Rite of Spring No. 2

Just finished mowing the back lawn for the first time in 2011. It's so green and smells lovely. And Blackie is the only cat I've known that is not afraid of the mower so he sat on the picnic table keeping me company.

CPN also worked on his lawn. But screw him, who cares? Incidentally, CPN's name has changed, at least for the duration of Fancy Feast's stay with me. He renamed him FAN. As in, your FAN is outside.

FAN stands for (obviously) Fucking Asshole Neighbour.

Crude but accurate.

The Rite of Spring

It's 14 degrees out and sunny, so you know what that means? Everybody is outside. (And, yes, Mushrooms, many people are smoking...)

But you know what? It's really windy. So 14 degrees and wind is really not that warm out. But try convincing Montrealers of that.

Collective lunacy here.

OBL Inc.

I watched a feature on the hunt for bin Laden last night. It raised one question. Since 1996 there have been teams of investigators, military, researchers, etc., whose only job was to find and kill Osama. Since 2001, the number of teams was even higher. For 10 years, hundreds of people were employed just to find this fellow.

What are all these people going to do now that he's dead? Will unemployment numbers spike? Were all these people immediately laid off last week because their jobs are obsolete? "For 10 years, I hunted Osama, now I'm bagging groceries."

Yeah, there are other bad guys out there, but Osama was a once-in-a-lifetime, large than life villain. I mean, look at his image: the height, the beard, the robes, the caves, the eyes, the multiple wives. He was summer blockbuster material. There isn't going to be another like him for a long time.

Maybe it's like Trudeau. With the father dead, we all have to wait patiently for years before one of the sons is ready to step into the spotlight.

Happy Muddah's Day

I woke up this morning when Mr. D. began stomping on the pillow and pawing my head. This is subtle feline code for "I want my breakfast".

It was quite sunny and I thought it must been quite late, so I got out of bed quickly, looked at the clock and saw that it was only 7:10. There's nothing like being up and about at 7:10 on a Sunday morning.

I look around the house and see a hundred things that need to be done. How long will I go before I think "screw this" and take a nap instead?

Guilty

Yes, I am guilty. Guilty of missing the Kentucky Derby.

I am not worthy to walk the hallowed poop-strewn pathways of Churchill Downs, Saratoga or any other great American track.

Apologies to Mrs. Anon for being away. And what was I doing? What is my excuse? I went to see Thor. Yes, I saw a summer blockbuster. Me. It was dumb, dumb, dumb. But the guy who played Thor is surprisingly likable (but not my type).

And I have a sinking feeling I'll probably see Fast Five next weekend. What has become of me?

Pension countdown

We got our annual statements today, the ones where they show you cannot possibly afford to retire in the foreseeable future. But I knew that.

There's a calculator function which indicates I can survive on the pension I would get at 60, so I don't have to go to the bitter end at 62. That chops off 2 years, but it's still 10 long years in the hell hole.

I can't leave at 55 without the help of Loto Quebec.

I think I will run the numbers for retiring at 59. If I can chop another year off, having come to work today will have been worthwhile.

Joke

I went to a reading by David Sedaris last night. He was very funny, and he told a lot of off-colour jokes. I could not stop laughing at this one:

Q. What are the words you least want to hear while blowing Willie Nelson?
A. I'm not Willie Nelson.

Rain, rain, go away

I'm serious.

Go away, rain. I'm sick of you.

Enuf already.

The election result we REALLY want to know

How did our sweet lovin' man David Andrew do? Was his love alive? Or was he all out of love? He was made for loving us, baby.

According to the latest results, 207 voters felt the love for David Andrew. He did better than the Marxist-Leninist candidate. She got only 131 votes. No love for her.

Down with Marxism, up with Davidism. Feel the love.

Post-Election

Quebec is orange. That is so weird. I guess we will be hearing a lot of Jack’s mangled street French for the next few years.

Jack can have his massages in Stornoway now. That’s classier than Chinatown.

The fundamentalists out West are now going to demand their due. I’m too old to be barefoot and pregnant.

The next time JAW Fan sees Duceppe at the SAQ in his wrinkled linen trousers, he should offer to buy him a bottle of wine, seeing as how he is now unemployed.

Elizabeth May won her seat. Our only Green. Congratulations to her.

What will happen to Rex Murphy when the CBC disappears? And Evan Solomon? Who will adopt Evan?

Conservative Majority Govt

Goodbye reproductive rights. It was nice having you.
Goodbye gay marriage.
Goodbye 21st Century.
Hello Dark Ages.

Two letters

1. Dear Amazon.ca Tracking Stalker,
Thank you for your email of this morning, advising me of the opportunity to purchase Martin Amis's most recent novel for 28% off the retail price. You may wish to note that since 9/11 Mr. Amis has become a ranting, paranoid, anti-muslim crank, and therefore my interest in his work has diminished significantly.
Yours truly,
NOTN

2. Dear Smarty,
Now that bin Laden is dead, are you going to regain your senses?
Yours most sincerely,
NOTN

Sunday morning in NDG

(Author's note: I'm kind of on strike today. After a morning staff meeting wherein my boss repeated that she is here for another year and 3 months, I feel completely deflated and unable to function. Thus, I blog.)

Scene: The living room. I am on the couch, FF is in the recliner. We are drinking coffee. (Domestic bliss. LOL!)

FF: How do you feel about getting a daybed?
Me: Why?
FF: To replace the futon.
Me: Why? I like the futon.
FF: The futon hurts my back.
Me: You seem to be sleeping fine on it.
FF: It's okay, but it's starting to hurt my back. Daybeds are nice and more comfortable.
[At this point, I wanted to call MsMushrooms for her opinion on the comfort level of the futon and any back pain she may have suffered while here.]
Me: I'm not buying a daybed.
FF: I'll pay for it.
Me: But you're only here for a couple of months.
[Raised eyebrows from FF. And those raised eyebrows said many, many more words than anything else could've. He thinks he's here for longer than a couple of months.]
FF: Yes. But I'm still ready to buy it.
Me: Fine. But you have to take it to Ottawa with you when you go.
FF: No. You can throw out the futon and keep the daybed.
Me: But I don't want to throw out the futon. I like the futon. We'll move it upstairs.
FF: Okay. But you can still keep the daybed. I'm not paying to move it to Ottawa. That'll cost more than the daybed.
Me: It's up to you. But I'm not buying a daybed.
FF: Hand me the laptop. I'm googling daybeds.
Me: Go ahead. You'll be over this in an hour.
FF: That's true. I do move onto other things pretty quick. What's daybed in French?
Me: I have no idea.
FF: Wow. IKEA's daybeds are really ugly.

Sunday afternoon in NDG

I am now free to regain control of my domicile as Fancy Feast is off to the National Capital Region for 3 weeks vacation. Yesterday, as a parting gift, he suggested reprising the rib eye steak from heaven with garlic mashed potatoes that he had made on Thursday. I happily agreed to this plan.

He was scheduled to take the 2:00 p.m. bus to Ottawa but seeing that he didn't start marinating the steaks until 1:30, I knew that plan had flown way out of the window into the next riding.

Seems it is impossible to make a beer-based marinade without actually consuming beer at the same time. My father would've agreed with this methodology. He bought 3 cans of Rickard's Red. 1/2 a can for the marinade, 1 1/2 cans for him and 1 can for me. I didn't want one so that's 2 1/2 cans for him. Then came the scotch.

He generously poured some Johnny Walker Red into the bowl of soy sauce, beer and steak spice.

Me: Whoa. That's more than a measure of scotch. You never actually measure anything.
FF: No. It's all measured by eye.
Me: !!
FF: How about doing shots?
Me: Are you crazy? It's 1:30 on Sunday afternoon. I'm not doing shots.
FF: Why not?
Me: I'm old and I can't drink. I'm not doing shots.
FF: Live a little.
(He starts to put the bottle away.) (I decide to live a little.)
Me: Umm...okay. Let's do one.
FF: YAAAAY! (Gets two shot glasses. Pours. "Cheers". We drink.)
Aside: Johnny Walker Red is the cheapest and there's a reason it is cheap. It's not very smooth. I can feel it searing my insides.
FF: Whoa. This stuff is rough.
Me: My lungs are burning.
(Pause)
Me: Let's have another.
FF: GREAT! (Pours another. "Cheers" We drink.)
Me: That's enough.
FF: You're such a cheap drunk.
He continues cooking while I sit and watch.
Me: My legs are numb.
FF: HaHaHaHaHa. Open the wine. (We had red wine to accompany the steaks.)

After lunch, we both needed a nap. I slept for 1/2 hour, FF slept for 2 hours.

What I learned:
When you live with a 20-something, you start living like a 20-something. This cannot be good in the long term.

The steak was very good again, but the high point was the mushrooms which were also cooked in the marinade. I could've eaten them forever. Now for three weeks, it's back to culinary reality.

Thanks a lot, USA

So, Obama, you just had to go ahead and kill bin Laden on the eve of our big election? Buzzkill.

This news is so big, I may go the whole election day without hearing one reference to Jack Layton in a massage parlour.

Election Fever

Here is my candidate of choice. Go David! This guy is a legitimate candidate running as an independent. Do you want your M.P. to love you? Then vote David.


Who says Canadian politics is boring? Weirdo.

It can't be over already

NaPoMo went by far too quickly. We haven't even had the election yet.

I hereby declare that NaPoMo will be extended until Tuesday, 3 May, in order to allow for some post-election poeteering.

Thank you for your kind attention.

Foodie vs Non Foodie

The Scene: Dinner table last night.
The Menu: Beef stew (with dill throw in)

Me: This is pretty good.
Chef: No. It's substandard. When I make something I want it to be perfect.
Me: Well I like it.
Chef: We're only eating it because we are both hungry and it's here. It's not good. The beef is low quality.
Me: Yeah, it is chewy, but who cares? Overall, it's good.
(we both chew and chew)
Me: Yum. I just got a big dill flavour happening there.
Chef: In one bite?
Me: Yes, that was good.
Chef: No, that's not good. You shouldn't get a noticeable taste in one bite. It means the flavours are not evenly distributed.
Me: But I LIKE dill. It tastes good.
Chef: I need to try this again with better meat and more attention to the ingredients.
Me: Whatever. More wine?
Chef: No. I don't like that wine.
Me: Fine. More for me. (pours and drinks)

Update (Just now in an email)
Him: Just had leftover stew for lunch. Gross.
Me: I just had it too. It's perfectly acceptable. I guess I'm having the rest of the leftovers!

Tonight on the menu: rib-eye steaks, baked potato, mushrooms and green beans. And yes, I am back to my Highest Weight Ever. :(

Cats R Us

I had been predicting this conversation would occur, and last night it did.

Fancy Feast asked me if he could bring his cat to live with us. I had to say no. I knew it was coming.

I'm all for being a Crazy Cat Lady, but 3 cats is a crowd, 4 is already a bother and 5 would be pandemonium.

I know she is a sweet little thing, but if my 3 have not yet accepted Blackie into the inner sanctum, and he has been hanging around for almost two years now, what would they do this new stranger? FF acknowledged the inevitability of cat fights and acting out (i.e. one or more cats peeing on the furniture to "make a statement"). But I know this subject will come up again.

Problem is FF's brother won't keep the cat anymore because she is lonely and is already acting up (i.e. peeing on FF's stuff that is in storage at his brother's). FF has found another friend to take her for now, but I know that will not last either.

Another day, another escape attempt

This morning I submitted an application for an editor job at Mr. Anon's esteemed employer. Yes, I would be making less money than I currently am, but I've decided this has become a matter of retaining my sanity.

Escape at any cost in now the name of the game.

Fancy Feast feels this is sheer insanity. His suggestion is to try to get 6 months to a year off for mental health reasons. Which, frankly, sounds wonderful, except a) I don't think I can manage the whole screaming-like-a-maniac-while-rolling-around-on the-floor-of-the-doctor's-reception-room shtick, which seems to be necessary for securing long-term mental health leave in this place, and b) the situation here will be the same or worse on my return, so what does this really serve?

Oh LottoMax, why have you failed me, too?

The Fix is On

Far be it from me to accuse the National Hockey League of wanting to make an extra buck or two, but two 5-on-3's get the Canadiens to a game 7? How convenient.

A bit hard to believe that victory is legit.

How quickly is our joy extinguished*

This morning, I got on the scale and I was down 2 pounds. I was surprised but very happy. I had done a lot of walking over the weekend, and FF had cooked us some healthy food. Just now, I was emailing FF about this, and he said: "Wait a sec. I was also down 2 pounds this morning."

Pessimist that I am, I am now certain something is wrong with the scale.
*sad face icon*


*Doesn't this sound like the name of a Bach hymn or a psalm? Maybe something Milton wrote while on a diet?

Election Friendship Deal Breaker

Yesterday, BGTSmoothie told me he is going to vote for the Conservative candidate in his riding because he is the only one who wears a yarmulke.

Really? I said. That's your reasoning. I'm assuming every candidate running in the riding is Jewish, so he makes the decision to vote for Steve-o because the PC guy wears a yarmulke. What? The others aren't good enough Jews?? And this from a man who claims to be an atheist and only follows practice for "cultural" reasons.

Also, he's convinced Harper wears a wig. Where do we stand on that?

Then he tells me voting for NDP is a wasted vote because they can't win. But his vote is also wasted because his riding is always 80%+ Liberal.

Question: Is voting for Harper (for any reason) a friendship deal breaker?

My nephew may also vote for Harper but blood is thicker than water. I can't disown him, I can only mock him.

Back to work for some....but not all

The Easter weekend is either over or in its last day, depending on how evil your employer is. I have One More Day off, but it is already filled with back-to-work anxiety.

It's the final week of NaPoMo. It's the final week of the election campaign. It's the final week of Fancy Feast staying at my house. Is it the final week of anything else?

In Literary News

Our favourite (biographer of a) pornographer has a review in the Big Time. Very cool. Hope it helps to sell some books.

http://arts.nationalpost.com/2011/04/22/open-book-a-gentleman-of-pleasure-by-brian-busby/

Our Bizarro World Election Campaign

According to today's poll, the NDP is ahead in the polls in Quebec.

The NDP is first in Quebec?

Has this ever happened before? In history? How weird. And I learned a new word. Young francophones who support Layton are called "Jack-istes". I like that.

Suddenly for the first time, my little NDP vote won't feel so lonely.

Oink, oink

I think I may have to toss Fancy Feast out. Not because of any problems, but he has gone into cooking mode. And at this rate, I will be in Totie Fields territory in no time. Shopping for a muu muu.

Last night I came home to the aroma of an amazing spaghetti sauce, with garlic bread and a nice red wine. Tonight when I get home, he will be out but he's asked if I want anything made for me to reheat when I get home. This is ridiculous. My plan was to make a tuna sandwich because I have lots of tuna and want to use up the bread I bought on the weekend, so I said no thanks, but then he said he can make up tuna salad, with mayo, lemon, pepper and green onions. Like I'm going to say no to that?

Look for me next season on The Biggest Loser.

Local celebrity death news

Michael Sarrazin has died. Surely this is worth a poem from JAW Fan, who if I am not mistaken was a fan (i.e. in lust with him) in his youth.

Election update

Last week, my sister (the now Ontario-ite) asked me if the Bloc has ever done anything good for Quebec. To my knowledge the answer is No. They are never part of government so why would their ridings be given any money from the Feds. So she asked, why do people keep voting for them?

All I can figure is that Bloc voters in Quebec are our version of poor Americans who always vote Republican. They are trapped in a mindset that does not permit them to understand the concept of voting against your own interests. I don't know how many generations it takes before a voting bloc wakes up and says "wait a sec, this party hasn't given us anything. Let's not vote for them anymore".

Onward

When are we going to get some actual Spring weather? It's awful around here. Temperatures in Florida were amazing. Mid-80's F and sunny, sunny, sunny. The water in the Gulf was warm and lovely to swim in. The beach was quite empty, as were the restaurants. It was All Good. {smiley icon here}

I came home to find that Fancy Feast had not let my cats starve, and everyone was happy and healthy. The kitties seem to have taken to the new human stray in their midst. There was one problem, however. FF downloaded an episode of the Simpsons from a pirate site and crashed my home computer with a virus. He fixed it overnight...but then...while in Florida I received a grovelling email from him confessing that he had returned to the site (DUMB BELL!), caught the virus again and now the computer was DOA. Angry email exchanges ensued.

Anyway, days passed, I returned home and the computer did not get fixed until last night, after endless attempted fixes and various improvisations. He assured me the morning, the darn thing is fixed again. The punchline? When I informed him that he was FORBIDDEN to go back to the stupid pirate site again, he was disappointed. Some people never learn. I fully expect him to ignore me, and end up confessing later this week that the computer is again FUBAR.

But other than that, everything is dandy.

Back to reality

Back home, back at work and back on line. More later. Only two weeks of NaPoMo left. We have catching up to do.

Countdown to Heat

Happy Birthday to us. Tomorrow this blog will be 5 years old. Finally ready for kindergarten. How time flies.

In 24 hours I shall be boarding my flight to Tampa. I leave my feline friends in the sturdy hands and absent-minded brain of Fancy Feast. Let us hope nobody runs away from home before next Friday.

Forecast temps in Tampa for the upcoming week are insanely hot.

Repeated dips in the gulf will be required.
I hope there will be no tornados or oil spills in the next 7 days.

NaPoMo will return to its regularly scheduled programming on Saturday, 16 April.

My Clueless Boss

Even though I'm on vacation, I got a work update today. sigh.

Due to our restructuring, there are new offices being built and bodies are moving around. My boss said to one of my colleagues that there is no point in moving my office because quote it's easier to leave Nanuk where she is because when I retire next year Nanuk can just move into my office unquote.

Holy crap, woman. Could you be more inappropriate? You don't say things like that. Maybe I should tell her that since our dept went from a staff of 6 to a staff of 17, I have no intention of applying for her stressful, insane job. Jeezuz.

B.O. (not Barack Obama)

Crisis phone call from Smoothie this morning. He is president of his class, and there is a student who stinks to high heaven and the other students are telling him he has to tell the guy to clean up his act. I told him this is one of the most common workplace/school problems, and yet nobody ever seems to know the correct way to approach it. I told him to talk to the vice-principal, who Smoothie is very friendly with, and see what she suggests.

Why do we have such a huge fear of offending somebody whose smell offends us? Any ideas? poetic or otherwise. References to Peppy LePew will be lost on this student because he is not from a Western culture and will not get them.

Another odd point which intrigues me, the stinky student is married, so does his wife also stink? Or does she tolerate him? And if she does not stink, why isn't she telling her husband to take a bath already?

About Jobs

This is an unrhyming poem about work.
What is it with jobs?
I have one but I don't like it
so I am looking for another one. JAW Fan had one he seemed to like fine
but he got placed in a different one it seems he's not going to like.
Mrs. A. is in a new job this week
So that is good
She escaped the clueless tool of a boss she had for so long
Mr. A had a job he hated
and he found another one that is better
but he still works insane hours sometimes.
Does anyone have a job they like?

Survivor: JAW Fan edition

JAW Fan survived the massive round of cuts. He is one of only 4 people kept on out of 23. While this occasion deserves a poem, I think everyone is too mentally exhausted to rhyme even moon with June.

Life with Fancy Feast

I could not turn this into a poem if I tried. If it was a poem, it would be The Odyssey. Epic.

So FF calls last night when he's leaving work at 5:15. But he doesn't get home until 7:15 because he made a detour to buy chicken (not Chalet, but New System). I thought the plan was for him to take the 8:00 bus to the Nation's Capital, but clearly he's not going to make that bus. He's going to Ottawa because his days off are Monday and Tuesday. So he says he'll take the 9:00. Then he decides to do laundry....and he starts talking, talking, eating, talking. Suddenly it's 8:20 and he can't make it to Berri for 9:00. Next bus is 10:30. If he takes the 10:30 he will be in Ottawa by 12:45, and there's only one friend he thinks might accept him at the hour. He calls her. She says no, because she has given her boyfriend his own key to her place, and the boyfriend and Fancy don't get along, so it's not a good idea that he be found sleeping on her couch if boyfriend shows up. So he says, I guess I'll take the 8:00 bus tomorrow morning.

I hear him showering at 6:50 this morning. I'm thinking he has to be out of by 7:15 to make the 8:00 bus. Showering, showering. Finally he's done. I get up, it's 7:10, I go downstairs. He's standing there in a towel. I say "You have to be out of here in 5 minutes if you are going to make the 8:00". He says "Good morning!" all smiles. sigh. He tells me he doesn't like to be rushed. He'd rather be late. He's supposed to meet another friend in Ottawa before 11, but clearly that isn't going to happen. He calls the friend, leaves a message that he'll be an hour late. Needless to say he doesn't make the 8:00. He leaves the house at 7:55, so he will make the 9:00....unless he detours somewhere. Time management: not his forte. This is the kind of thing that stresses me but I have adopted a sigh and detachment. He doesn't care about being late, then I don't care about him being later. He's not my responsiblity. sigh (bis)

He'll be back Wednesday. He had planned to come here (or, as he has taken to calling it, "home") and then go to work for his afternoon shift, but he said he'd better bring his work headset with him in case he gets delayed and has to go straight to work from the bus. I said I think that is an EXCELLENT idea. So he did.

Happy NaPoMo Everybody!

Le Grand Jour has arrived.

Firstly, congratulations to Mrs. A. as this is her last day under her clueless tool of a manager and is off to a new job on Monday. Bravo!

In other news, I was shocked while walking home last night to see a "For Sale" sign at the house of Blackie's real owners. What will this mean? Typical of these odd hoarder folk, it was not a real estate agent's sign, but simply a "For Sale" sign you buy at the dollar store and write your phone number on it. Does this mean they are serious about selling their hoarder house and moving away? And will this mean.... a custody battle? Will they expect to take Blackie with them when they go? What to do? What to do? I've always considered Blacke to be my Foster Child and never really mine, so I think I would let him go, but maybe he won't want to go. And if they move away, then he really is mine through and through. Crazy Cat Lady is worried.