Twas the night before Rapture and all through the lands.
People in tin foil hats, were still making plans.
We'd all seen the signs. End of days nigh.
Just ask a Mayan or Conspiracy guy.
I thought what's the point of a blog here today?
So, I went on Xmas vacation, hip hip hooray!
I can hardly believe that it's already here.
See you in two weeks, Have a Happy New Year.
There are children all over who grow up dreaming. Sometimes they are too shy to talk their peers. Perhaps their mouth works just a hint faster than their brain and they often find themselves chewing foot. Maybe they find their own thoughts more amusing and entertaining than reality and well, just a wonderful place to play. Those starry eyes drifting; lost in a teeny insect world, or on an intergalactic journey. For little bitty me, imagination was my best friend. We would read fairy tales and mystery novels together. Yellow jacketed puzzles that we'd solve just in time to start the next. We'd write dark and brooding poetry, as that was the only kind we knew about until haiku. But movies, they were our home.
There are so many lives I have lived through movies. I have been a warrior, a dancer, an outcast, a vigilante. I have fallen in love with the bad boy, and the good boy who pretends to be the bad boy but gets caught up being bad until his true love for me snaps him out of it. There have been to millions of Christmas', tonnes of Weddings and oh so many narrowly escaped terrors. Movies have always been a special part of the world for me. A chance to jump into someone else's imagination. Maybe even explore uncharted islands, star systems or the future. I've attended Proms where the whole grad class knows the same dance moves. Having wishes come to life. Making children out of wood. Flying elephants. Then just as quickly drafted back onto the front lines. Dark and dirty. With just a hint of hope. The smile of the inn keeper's son, and suddenly the rain doesn't seem so bad. Without warning the band starts warming up and you're dancing. Singing songs that reflect the hopes of the world around you. Being a part of the magic is an important part of me; and my imagination agrees with that.
The movies might not always be good. A lot of the time they will be rotten. You'll forget about them. Perhaps you'll fall asleep before the end. But knowing that eventually, no matter how bad the movies get there will always be somebody who wants to make them great again. There will always be a writer searching for the greatest idea they've ever had. Each character is a chance for the makeup artist to perfect their craft. Then there's the lighting guys, the boom operator, the focus puller. And as we all know there's the cast. There might be a lot of movies out there that will never surprise us. They may never get noticed. They may even let us down. But every once in a while there's a movie that finds our imagination, wakes it up and asks them if they want to come out and play. And this time of year has my imagination pulling all-nighters, but with another trip to the concession stand, I should be able to pack enough high fructose energy to keep my imagination and I going, at least until Boxing Day.
Hubby and I are at that delicate age when people start asking you about babies. When are you going to have them? Is it soon? And I want to say yes. I want to say I can't wait. But I'm scared of this world I might be bringing them into. There are tragedies everyday. Big tragic awful things. People hurting people on purpose, for profit, against all laws both natural and criminal. That's nuts. And it breaks my heart. But seriously, as Marvin Gaye said: What's going on?
After voicing these concerns people respond that one little baby could be the person who changes things. The one voice who finally gets through to the rest of the world. This tiny unmade baby might be the answer to all these big and tragic problems...To that I say, anybody could be that baby. To my Momma and Papa I am that baby. But I'm having a tough time changing this big messy world we've become. I don't like this world I live in. I don't like the fact that people hurt children, I don't like the fact that I can't help every child be safe. There is so much that needs to change. Though no matter how much I change, it's still not enough. Why can't I just help everyone, and fix everyone, and hold everyone, so that we all feel better? I mean I don't litter, I recycle, I pick up my dog's poop, I do the little things while fighting the good fight. I try to make everything brighter.
The trouble here? Is that nothing I do makes those big differences. How do put in my order for those? Can we start soon? It would be better for all of us, trust me. And deep down, and in some of us really deep down we all know what's right. When will the little guy be the winner? And I don't mean, poor me, I'm not a winner. I'm not being a Sad sack. I work hard to win the races I run. But why doesn't the big guy share? I mean how much can one person really absorb in their lives. Corner offices, fifteen minutes of fame, square footage, ocean frontage, reality television, a regalia of yachts, making a million dollars a minute. When is more enough? And at what point does more just equal more. If I had that much money; you would have to call me Brewster, cuz the money would go out so fast. But even now, being a middle class canadian artist couple, I wouldn't mind giving up a little piece of my world if that meant that others are going to be safe and healthy.
The sad part is that all of these Super intentions come at a difficult time. A time that may be the worst in history and we all hope things will never surpass this monument, but as long as there is darkness in the world, and parties fighting for evil. Our world will never get ugly enough for them. As for where we are now, there is always someone hurting in this big wide world. It may not be me getting hurt, but that doesn't mean I am unaffected. If I can't change it when I am grown up, how can I ever expect one tiny baby to change it. Or Oh wait, I am supposed to wait until my baby is my age now, and by then because of how I raised them they will be able to make a difference? That isn't a likely outcome. If things are this bad now, in 30+ years where will we be? Things should be fixed before he gets here, so life can be what it's supposed to be for everyone. A world I would be happy to bring a baby into. Kind and bright, safe and sound. If I don't feel safe myself, why would I want to give this mad world to anyone. The rule is- don't do to someone else what you don't want done to you- or something like that. And I don't want this to be a world where they could be shot at school, or the movies, or the mall. How could I do that to them?
The Starving Artist will appear tomorrow.
A little bit of bad luck goes a long way. Cell phones are a modern appendage. They are the gateway to the universe, the twitterverse, the blogsphere, and intergalactic entertainment time travel. And these tiny little upwards-of-expensive devices live by 2 rules. I mean, they aren't even as complicated as Gremlins. The rules are simple- Do not drop it, and do not drop it in water. As you well know I am not one to follow rules. So, I dropped it- in the toilet. And not just any toilet, a public toilet, at a wing joint. Argh, sigh, job well done, truly a stellar moment in my technological history. Take that rules!
The moment it happened without a thought I thrust my hand into the bowl to retrieve it. Popular opinion is split, those who reach in and retrieve and those who cut their losses. I am a retriever. It was a clean bowl, and that phone is my link to the outside world. It would also cost way too much to replace. And I am not due for a hardware upgrade until the 36th of Septnever. Holding that drippy white digital box, my brow forcefully furrowed, squealing "Oh my Rod, I dropped my phone in the toilet, I can't believe I dropped my phone in the toilet! What do I do? What can I do? Help!" Swaddling my wee wet white technological sponge in paper towels and caressing the now black screen. Rushing my patient upstairs, searching for an urban legend rice repair, awaiting lackadaisical first responders. The only option for providing such grainy apple care was to hit the road, trudging to far off destinations. Finally sliding my swaddled baby into a ziploc full of hope. Needless to say it was a quick end to an otherwise pleasant night. I have been worried ever since. What should I do? How long should I wait? Is an iPhone comfortable in rice because it was made in China? How many hours, days, weeks before this tiny apple would be unsaucy and ready for fun? Would our relationship ever be the same?
I fretted and fidgeted about this little device all day. BFF says perhaps it's a sign. That being unplugged from online reality, might be a good thing. Thrust back to pen and paper. Writing my blog in my mind and on the back of my hand. Like a teenage girl in the early '90s. Counting on my watch to actually tell the time. Brass tacks baby, back to basics. But I don't want to be the stupid girl who forgot her phone was in her back pocket. And even though everyone knows someone who's done this, now I'm that girl. And she sucks. If everything comes out alright and my teeny apple dumpling flickers back to miLife I am going to buy one of those $80 waterproof unbreakable protectors I've been making fun of at Future's Best. The money is worth the peace of mind. Then I can continue on not following rules, and dropping that delicate little appendage any dang place I want to. Also I pledge never to take any hardware to the loo again, maybe I'll buy a couple of Betty and Veronica comics to keep myself occupied early '90's style.
The hottest trend for holiday events this season is "The Ugly Sweater Party". If you are not familiar with the concept it's pretty self explanatory, but here we go. Scour second hand racks for the ugliest Xmas sweater you can find, and I mean the ugliest! Bedazzled, adorned, appliquéd and flair-ed to the max. Hubby and I were invited to and attended an Ugly Pub Crawl, an Ugly Sweater Holiday House party and 2 late night burger runs which were accidental Ugly Sweater destinations. There are so many things I love about the ugly Sweater epidemic, so here we go.
- It levels the playing field. Being clad in an ugly sweater is similar to being in a school uniform. No matter who you are you look ugly. It's actually better if you look like a tacky shack, wrapped up in a bad idea, tied with a yuck bow.
- Santas, Snowmen, Angels, XmasTrees, Elves, Bells are the images we wrap ourselves up in. Forcing the Holiday spirit. And I mean forcing. Even a Scrooge looks holiday season happy.
- You are hot. I mean you are warmer than you think you could ever be. It also encourages consumption of beverages, including eggnog and spiced rum. At house parties there is the possibility of overheating and passing out...from heat.
- Matching sets of sweaters are the cutest ugly looking pair a couple can be. Unless of course you count the holey sweats those same couples wear at home.
- There are bonus points available for ugly sweater skirts,ugly knit tights and other ugly add-ons including but not limited to- elf shoes, reindeer antlers, light up brooches, red plaid tights, Xmas earrings and uber-long Rip van Winkle style hats.
- When everyone looks silly, stupid and sweater-ed, there's a sense of camaraderie. Fighting the good fight in the name of the Tryers! (Tryers: a social group that strive to participate at the cost of their own ego)
- It's just plain fun to see people look ugly and be able to make fun of them as such
This busy season, take the time to be ugly. It's a warm, warped and wonderful way to spend time with friends, both old and new. In the name of the Ugly Sweater, I wish you the very best these Hideous Holidays have to offer. Oh, and if you see me coming, ring your bells and light those brooches, cuz it's about to get ugly.
Please find attached 2 relatively related rants:
Rant the First
Hubby and I are chronic renters. We prefer small cozy city living. Snuggled up in tight quarters. Small spaces but with great windows that on a clear night can see all the way to Bloor St. But to make way for progress our panoramic view is quickly depleting. It is a sad day for open space loving small townies like us. I liked the view from here. It's a great location... Location, location. Real Estate has never been my forte. It sounds really interesting at first until I realize the stories I hear about these amazing gems with nob and tube aren't in my future. I don't want a fixer upper in the city that's been lived in by 15 different people and none of them cared. Bleached and barnacled and tired from city living. It's not my cup of T.o. There is a dream though, a teeny little quiet dream. The wish is to have a house that's been in someone's family for generations and, this is silly; it's been deemed historically significant. Our house would be a part of the history of something bigger. Our very very very fine house, would have 2 cats in the yard. A story to tell. A song to sing. Our house would have personality. The stairs would creak and the wind might whisper on occasion but it would hold the secrets of history. Of course, it would be a pain to maintain all the structural integrity in accordance with the local historical society bi-laws; a challenge Future Me willingly accepts. But for now we live in a city shoe box, without a story. And the wide screen we were watching life on is shrinking. I guess I'll really have to go outside.
Rant the Second
The giant hole that is my backyard is a muddy disaster. Clay and gravel and slick squishy mud coat my pathway home. Covering my boots and imbedding itself in my tread. Stomping and dragging my feet the whole way. Trying to shake off the filth. When I do get inside the view is like an exposed root after the tooth has been ripped out. The bottom which is almost 4 stories down is dotted with tents to protect the men working in these conditions. Giant flood lights click on at sunset and push the crew to quitting time. The holes have been drilled, the rebar impacted. Cranes have been brought in to move the cranes in. The skeleton structures floating over head. Suspended and riveted. They are sleeping giants. Not quite ready for action. But I can hear them practicing their shriek, stretching for the long job ahead. I get why people want to live in the city. I mean obviously I do, it's just that how many more of us does there need to be? In such tight quarters and with all this mud and dog pooh, you can't ever wear nice shoes. Fancy city night living shoes. Shoes you hoped to look nice in, ensemble shoes. Been a long time since my feet were fancied up. Also down side, there is a lot of stomping in my building. Mud clots dot the hallway carpets. But winter is coming. The anticipation of frozen clay is killing me. Though, I don't think it will be a respite. By the time it gets cold enough to freeze everything's gross and soggy anyway. The once dirty route now becoming treacherous. It will be a slippery layer of icing on top of the so-hard-it-hurts-to-fall when you fall on it permafrost. (Notice I said when. I accept I will fall. It's slippery) At least while I am hibernating this winter, trying to pick the pooh out of my boot tread, I can watch the cranes spin and twill and finally grow up to be elevators. A dirty festering hole like that? The dentist would recommend a filling, at least 9 out of 10 of them would.
Heading into the busy holiday season I thought I would try to organize myself. I would love to be one of those "5 year plan-It's all going according to schedule" girls but these are words I have never uttered. Ever. There are things I am good at organizing; like other people's events-which can be very helpful this season. But there are organizational tools that elude me, for example choreographing a Puppy and Kitty Xmas Carolling Concert- I don't know how those animals on the radio do it. Oh and Social planning. It's not my forte. Please let me explain. I am great in social situations, it's all the other stuff that goes with them that I stink at.
Firstly, I am not a good planner. Not to mean I can't make plans and keep them. It's just that I like to fly by the seat of my pants which means I leave a lot up to destiny. I make general plans with multiple options for amusement. Letting myself go with the flow- a BFF trick extraordinaire. It's a lot more fun that way. Unless of course you're married to the Commish, who must account for every minute he's on the clock, otherwise the boys upstairs will start giving him heat; and he's too old for that.
Secondly, I tend to double, triple and in rare cases even quintuple book myself. The enthusiasm of just being invited somewhere clouds my judgment, going against all scientific theories of time and space. Which I hope by this time in the year 2014 (baring the Rapture) we'll have solved. And I will be able to attend all events simultaneously on a fractured timeline.
Thirdly, distraction. I am easily distracted. Oh! A squirrel!
Fourthly, short term memory loss. Did someone say something about squirrels? If I don't write it down it's gone.
Fifthly, I forget every year this coming month goes by so fast and then the parties are over. It's a busy blur of festive cheer. Leaving us in the Daylight savings dark with nothing to celebrate until Valentine's day.
So, I hope this year to take advantage of some much needed celebrating. Despite all my social foibles. There something relieving about FB holiday invites going out early and the pre-event planning I've been involved in. So, this year I look forward to wrapping myself up in an ugly Sandy Clause sweater and enjoying all the miracles and merriment of the season. At least that's my plan;)
After long consideration on whether or not I would blog today. I gave into my own sense of responsibility. So, it's short but not so sweet. The way that language evolves sick can mean different things. For example sick can be a good thing. As in: that tattoo is sick. But for today we will be using the word in the traditional sense. I am sick. I have spent the last day rolling around, wrapped in blankets. Sweating and shivering. Getting up only to go to the loo, for a plethora of reasons...I will leave to your imagination.
In recent history I have called into work sick, when I was actually hungover. I have ducked out of events early claiming illness. But the worst I have had is a bothersome nagging cough and cold drippy nose. Oh how things change. This is the first year I didn't get the flu shot. I thought with my track record of having been flu free for 7 years, I would be safe. Never thinking the reason for my health was the one thing I didn't do. If I were a bit stronger I would kick myself.
In The Devil Wears Prada, the extremely thin receptionist says: ' I am just one stomach flu away from being my ideal weight.'. I on the other hand would rather exercise and eat veggies- to achieve that goal. The flu fast is not my wheelhouse. Neither is fasting in general. The gurgle of emptiness paired with the shriek of burning acid. Of all things pain related I suffer most with stomach pain. I can muddle through a headache. The bruises I get constantly are tolerable. It's the sick and dizzies that I can't stand. So, if you can hear my Pepto fairy- bring me some relief. Please don't make me Gravol.
The Dawn is Breaking, the dream is over. I’m a “Twilight” super fan and now I’m going national, having been invited to share my enthusiasm with a country of screaming fans. Breaking Dawn pt2 marks the final installment the Twlight saga. A sad day. I’m also a card carrying member of Team Jacob, though not necessarily team Lautner, as he was very much a minor when this whole thing began (I have the same issue with Bieber, but that's another story). The ultimate question for Twi-hards: are you Team Edward or Team Jacob?
Vampires are often tortured souls who live eternal lives. There is something undeniably romantic about a 1000-year-old falling in love with you. You're the most beautiful person he's ever met. You’re the object he's been undying for. You’re his mate…and vampires mate for life! Those mates join Covens – together – for the entire afterlife. But the idea of having to consume blood to stay 'alive', well, that's a choice I'd rather not make. I’m even squeamish around Grey's Anatomy blood.
Werewolves on the other hand are monsters. But they are also warm and fuzzy. Once a month they get furry and ferocious. The Twilight werewolf pack, however, are really more shape-shifters than werewolves, in the typical sense. They have rage issues and can be dangerous to those they love and those who love them. But their love is everlasting- ah hello- imprinted! As pack animals, you're stuck with your pack. And being part of that pack isn’t chosen, it's genetic, which is tough cuz you have to take into account that any pups in your litter could be werewolves too.
It's tough to pick a side.
In the ever-hopeful event that any of these mystical things actually happen, I choose werewolf -to be diplomatic. It's only fair that I give Edward to my girlfriend. I mean, she did invite me to the tiny town of Forks. However, we do have an agreement that should Edward truly love me, she would gracefully resign her affections. As any good friend would for eternal love. Fingers crossed, I'll be able to pick a few more members of that coven. There are people I wouldn't want to be undead without:)
Growing up my Momma convinced herself (and the rest of us) that making our costumes was a cost effective and easy way of celebrating a devious holiday. But every year we'd get to the day before the School Halloween Parade and those costumes wouldn't be ready. Then, it was crunch time. Frantically breaking out the markers and glue gun... Taking short cuts and crossing fingers that the safety pins would hold. Side note: This was typical of bake sales, science projects and term papers too. Now, it was not entirely Momma's fault we didn't finish our costumes early. She's always been a busy lady and as a family unit we're not great at prioritizing, except by which project is the most fun. Which explains a few things about my genetic inclination towards procrastination. But you can't call it procrastination if you're too busy doing other things.
The most memorable costumes my Bro and I had growing up include, but are not limited to: Robin Hood, Black & White Harlequin clown, Lydia from Beetlejuice, 3 years in a row being a blue FryGuy, Beaten up Robin Hood, and an 'I don't do mornings' lady with slippers and bathrobe, curlers in her hair, Cup a'joe and green overnight mask.
In our family though, there is always one clear winner. Drum roll please, and the award for the Best Worst costume goes to my Bro as the Orange masked- nun chuck whipping Pre-teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle- as he was only 8. He was covered head to toe in green with an orange face paint mask cuz at that point masks had been deemed unsafe for children. The kicker though? My Papa B (infamous for his sheet ghost costume) fashioned a homemade shell and being a woodworker; choose wood. Forgetting a giant wooden shell might throw all 45lbs of 8 year old Bro off kilter. But Bro being so excited for Halloween, gave that hulking shell his most valiant effort. An attempt that his rat Sensei would've been proud of. More than once he toppled over backwards, splayed and unable to flip himself over, in typical turtle fashion. It wasn't many houses before my teeny Bro collapsed under the shell's weight, my Papa B and I doubled over with laughter, de-shelled my teeny-weeny Bro. Exposed the way he was, my Bro was determined to continue his trick or treating. Without a shell he was transformed into a Pre-teenage Mutant Nun-chucking Slug. Not as intimidating, but just as green. You know, I think we still have that shell, maybe he could go out this year as a turtle, though that Weeny is still only 78 lbs full grown;) Here's hoping your Halloween is flippin' awesome!
P.S. If you've never seen my Bro's mad fuk-coo skills, they're really something.
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