everything went from wrong to right

walking to work this morning, in my brand new white platform sandals...white shoes, oh how i struggle with thee...but these are very cute. and i have a nice pedicure. and i'm walking and listening to my ipod and Jeff Buckley's Lover you should have come over is playing...and i'm feeling not as groovy as one would think. but i'm happy-ish right? so what's the problem. well no offence, but it's you, Jeff Buckely (RIP), and this damn song, which i listened to over and over again when the C man and i took a hiatus from one another's company not so very long ago. so i think "self, what up? change the tune" and there i find her...Kylie...Love at First Sight. and my stride gets longer and bouncier. and no sooner am i feeling the groove, wearing my fancy white shoes, than the indigent men on Queen East start talking to me "good morning darlin", "marry me", "you're a fucking whore" etc and i know all is right with the world. every girl has a certain kind of guy she attracts (good guys, assholes, etc). For me, it's the homeless and mentally ill.

hypothetically - a story
I miss you. But I haven’t left you yet. When I do it will be like a girl jumping out of a cake, but less pleasant for you, I think. I hope that what you feel is relief, the weight in your head and chest dissipating as you take the information in, “I am leaving you.” I wish that for you. But mostly I think you will feel surprise, like a tiger jumping out of the closet. I guess I put the tiger in there but I’m waiting for the right time to let you know. I have been leaving for so long now that I’ve come right back around, and I miss you. The way we huddle in bed, blankets tight across our chests so we could make room for the cat, see the television, or take turns reading from Harry Potter. Our feet frolicking together, like puppies, under the weight of the duvet. I miss that you always get up early and make eggs and tea and then send me off to work, ignoring my grumpy mood. And squashing a hat on my head when it is cold. And encouraging me to stay home when I’m sick. you are really quite good, I miss that.
I will probably find someone who is cruel and senseless.
I have a new apartment, one bedroom, and I quietly pay rent so it is there when I am ready. In my head, I decorate the place. I choose paint colours like lavender and lichen green. Light colours you would never choose. But this is my place after all—not yours, not ours.
You will probably ask me “why?” I’m not sure that it matters, well, not to me anyway. But I am trying to think up an answer for you. There is an ocean of disappointment between us. And ocean filled with ideas about who I thought you were, who you are and what you are going to be, flitting in and out of light and darkness. And the same for me. I am held under by what I think I could have been. Living this life; flat and filled with bills and unvisited countries; has turned me on you. It’s cruel, I know, but so it is. Together we have chipped away at each other and ourselves, constantly reducing ourselves to what is base and unloveable. Your hands on my skin are hot but they leave no mark on me. I’m hard and hollow. Your voice, your words in my ear go nowhere. My eyes open and close, as they should. My head nods in acquiescence or shakes in protest, but I hear nothing you say. My face holds its expression but inside I’m off somewhere else. Looking for all things new. I’m thinking about all the other things I think about when I’m unplugged from you, running on my own power, wondering about what to wear tomorrow, what to eat, do I really like anything that I like. Or have I, like tofu, taken on so much of you I can’t distinguish between the two of us. That is possible. But the more I leave you inside, the more I reclaim. I am beautiful and golden when I walk in the street. my legs stronger, my stride longer. And when I start to miss you, in my future life, I pull up a bit on my pace. My shoulders creep towards my ears and I realize I haven’t told you yet.

an apple a day keeps the ass at bay

it's true. i carried an apple in my purse to work this morning...and i ate it. sigh. i hate apples. i also took the stairs, so that's new. and i've only had one cup of coffee--which, frankly, is making me a a little bitchy. alright, bitchier than usual. that and the idiot in the office across from me whistling selections from Andrew Lloyd Webber's Cats and Phantom. this is why people get shot at work.

i'm going to continue eating apples, drinking water and taking the stairs. as i said yesterday there is going to be an ass revolution. and it starts today. even though there is easter bunny goodness all over my office.

i'm out-y.

simon mcfrikkinmaccorkindale and tales from my back side

see what happens, you put random energy out into the universe, say, about Simon MacCorkindale and the next day you're watching TV in your office, say, Poltergeist: The Legacy and there he is...Simon McFrikkinMacCorkindale...playing a very bad bad man. And as you all know Poltergeist: The Legacy is a TV show from some years ago that was filmed here in the Tdot. this is one of those shows that is so very bad that it comes all the way around to be good again. like relic hunter.

note: my spellcheck tried to replace mcfrikkinmaccorkindale with 'macroeconomics'.

Week i dunno, let's say week 15.tuesday
There is absolutely no change for the better when it comes to my behind. i think my ass is getting juicier and it is starting to become a bad influence on my thighs. i know they've been talking...late at night, bumping into each other as i rollover, whispering...

as of tomorrow...we are getting down to business, and here, dear reader is where you will read about all my ass action. uhhh, i mean the actions i will do to my butt...ummm, what i mean to say is, i'm going to talk more about my butt and hopefully it will become leaner and happier. i promise not to post anything very specific about other ass action. it is my solemn oath to you.

where the wildensteins are

you may remember that delightful children's book "where the wildensteins are" about a heinously rich lady, Jocelyn Wildenstein, who morphs herself into a large jungle cat with the help of some highly talented and highly ethical plastic surgeons. Once she transcends her human form she begins the search for love fuelled by the desire to make MORE mishapen wildensteins.

Cat-jocelyn abducts Eric Stolz, and is cruelly disappointed to find that he is, in fact, a cute red-haired man-actor, and not, in fact, a terminally ill boy-man with a massive facial and skull deformity. Confused and distraught she leaves the half naked and drugged Stolz on the floor of his apartment.

Prowling the internet, cat-jocelyn happens upon Simon MacCorkindale, NYPD police consultant with the ability to become many animals (not all) many...he is Manimal. She creeps into his home, knocking him unconscious. Simon wakes to find himself imprisoned in a giant pie shell and cat-jocelyn won't release him until he agrees to assume the shape of a black panther so that they can mate. unknown to cat-jocelyn, simon does not possess the ability to transmogrify into an animal, like a black panther, and he emerges from the flacid, unbaked crust--a man.

disappointed again...cat-jocelyn flies into a blind feline rage where she scratches Simon's piercing blue eyes out.

Poor, poor Simon MacCorkindale.

Spring arrives and cat-jocelyn is at home, horny and alone, and she contemplates more surgeries...perhaps a tail?

this is what happens when you watch too much TV.

where have all the cool kids gone?

walking to work today and what should my wandering eyes fall upon but some graffiti on a "green p" parking robot that dispenses the tickets. i love graffiti doesn't matter if it is a bathroom stall scandal sheet, giant birthday cakes (thank you jellybean), or those indecipherable "tags" so popular with the "breakdancers". (Dear Reader, this is an aside: i have a friend who knows all the words to "Colors" by Ice-T, still, now. She's 30. She's a teacher. if you asked, if you said "hey E, can you sing us "colors"?--she'd do it.)

Anyhoodle, what was the graffiti that so caught my attention this morning? Was it a little well placed love note, maybe a "JA + CK"? nope. Was it an anarchy symbol? oh no. it was a hot pink (hot fucking pink) stencil of an intertwined L and V--it was the Louis Vuitton logo. i quickly looked around...is paris hilton standing nearby with small pot of very expensive pink paint in one hand, a "kick me" dog in the other--it's tail pink with evidence. Couldn't find her. no J-low or any other likely suspects. Then who, WHO stencils a frikkin' Louis Vuitton logo on a parking ticket machine? and why? who has the time? Who has the time to make a stencil and...(oh my god, it was Debbie Travis). Mystery solved.

I once met this girl in Kingston who told me she was heading out of town to an anarchy convention...conversation as follows:

ME: so, you're going to get together with a bunch of people and discuss anarchy?
HER: Yeah, that's right.
ME: And this is an organized event?
HER: Yeah, i heard about it in a magazine.
ME: So there is advertising for the anarchy conference?
HER: Yeah, and there are some speakers too.
ME: At the conference on anarchy. The anarchy conference? Where anarchists group together to discuss how to make better anarchy?
HER: Yeah, it is gonna be really cool. We're gonna hang out and like do, uh, do...
ME: Anarchy?
HER: Yeah.

sex and the trek

when i'm feeling needy i will ask c-man questions like "if we woke up tomorrow morning and i had a shark fin sticking out of the top of my head, would you still love me?" or "if i had a tail, could be a lemur-like tail, or something more sturdy, like a kangaroo, would you still love me?" or "if i could turn into a big jungle cat, like a panther, would you let me sleep in the bed?" Much to my disappointment the answer is often "no". No giant cat in the bed because i wouldn't be able to control my predatory nature, and i'd eat him. he doesn't believe in the "manimal" animal, where i could totally retain my own consciousness, sense of good and evil, and know that he is not kibble. And the tail, he says i would have to have it removed...though, a prehensile tail, that could hold things, act as another limb--might be handy, he admits. and the whole shark fin thing really freaks him out. So then we discuss, what kind of aberrations are acceptable?

This is what i discovered...if Captain Kirk boned it on star trek...it's go. i could be blue. i could have three boobs. i could have a giant bouffante hairdo...it's all good, because Kirk went their first. where no man has gone before. captain kirk and his merry band of officers have formed the sexual consciousness of men from every generation. if you doubt me, go get that third boob. take pictures. start a blog. let me know how it goes.

i'm sure James T must have got it on with some monkey-girl with gills at some point.

when i'm alone

...dream if you will a picture...
i come home from work and make a fairly virtuous arugula omelette with half a tonne of slenderizing cheese and a glass of red wine. i then go upstairs and strip down to my underwear (kelly green with the word "prep" in all caps on my ass) and a tank top (blue) . i place teeth whitening strips on my teeth. i smooth some 'deep conditioning' goo on my hair. i look like Ralph Fiennes in Spider. i pick up my hand weights and do 1950's style calisthenics in front of my mirror. i stare in the mirror at my butt. and my little pot belly. and the cellulite that is partying on my ass like it's 1999. i feel, sad. disappointed that i have not made any headway with my kylie plan.

i do squats. i do more squats. i get down on all fours and do donkey kicks. i cheer, slightly.

i get on my body ball and do crunches. i lean way back on the ball to make the crunch harder, i come up and see myself in the mirror...hair slicked back, plastic baggies on my teeth, glasses on, little roll sticking out from under my tank top in my UNDERPANTS!! i laugh so hard that i roll off my ball and crack my head hard on the hearthstones of my defunct fireplace.

c-man is going to come home from work and find me here, unconscious, or dead from a cerebral haematoma. as the ceiling fades to black i wonder what would kylie do?

when i come to i put away the ball and get out my yoga mat and yoga blocks. safe, square, stable yoga blocks. they are the perfect height for supporting my head and neck when i'm watching TV on the floor. Relic Hunter is on.

moses is really bossy and other stuff

Fat Pants
this morning starts with me wearing lululemon pants to work--mind you these are special "wear these outdoors" pants, but still...when your stretch lulu-pants are being worn to work, the ass, she's a spreading. and then i dumped my coffee in my keyboard.

Moses is really bossy
So, big remake of The Ten Commandments a la miniseries. This may shock you, dear reader, but cinematic Moses avec Cecil B. Demile was none other than our favourite Charlton "ole wooden teeth" Heston. You see, it comes full circle. He was a bossy John the Baptist in TGSET (the greatest story ever told - see previous blog: all things bright and beautiful) and he also played Moses. Will it never end! Charlton Heston - you are NOT the chosen one. That's Buffy. you are NOT the chosen people - that's those lovely people aboard Battlestar Galactica.

Anyhoo...big miniseries remake of the ten commandments with some little chippie named Dougray Scott (avec mullet) is Moses, the bossy. he barks orders at everyone. pharoah ramses, the Jews, a woman he loves, his best friend, and so on...anyone within yelling distance...they get an earful. i wonder if this is an homage to Heston's moses? he was a yeller too. On the upside the beautiful Naveen Andrews (those eyes ladies, those eyes - E, you know what i'm talking about) plays Menerith - moses old childhood "brother" and chum. until g o d wacks Menerith's son with a nasty plague-y thing. then they pretty much have a falling out.

in other news...
if you're not reading go fug yourself...you're missing out people. in an unexpected convergence of fashion and sci fi we have John Corbett getting fugged as the realities of his movie life and personal life fold over each other creating a nexxus of fugliness in sex in the fugly.

tuck it in

have you ever had to tuck your ass into your pants? just curious...

food poisoning: total body workout

gentle readers i have had food poisoning which resulted in about 12 hours of vomiting. as activities go, i'd rather tear off my face and run around bumping into things than barf. but like any good workout you don't know how hard you've worked until the next day. food poisoning is a total body workout of core conditioning excercises that engage not only your abs but your obliques, back and shoulders, and surprisingly glutes. with every heave and lurch i tightened my buns, as i knelt over the toilet. heave and lurch--release. repeat for 12 hours. my ass is as tight as a highwire at a circus.

not about my butt

take a bite out of crime
anyone watching TV during 24 (Kiefer, you need to call me) or CSI: anywhere will notice a series of fabulous ads on how to become a professional crime scene investigator. the advertisement shows us that if if you choose to study and practice in the exciting field of crime scene investigation you will learn how to write backwards on a Plexiglas board with a grease pencil, conduct analysis on your computer while wearing safety goggles, and how to wear a lab coat. what they don't show you, and i think they should, is conducting a ballistics test when you fire the bullet into water...cuz that is just super cool. if you would like to learn how to become a CSI go to guide to criminal justice schools where you can get your degree online. Now doing this online is just easier than going to say, a real school, and beside who doesn't want to conduct home ballistics tests.