Okay, my dream. There was a prelude up to the meat of it, something about getting lost in San Francisco, but it wasn’t really San Francisco – it looked like a set on the back-lot at Universal. Anyway, after some random meandering, I get to my cousins apartment. (It is actually her old apartment manager’s apartment, from a long time ago, where I spent many an underage drunken night. Damn those parties!)
I get there and we’re just talking. She leaves the front door open, because in my dream the apartment complex abuts a forest. Outside I see a pack (gaggle? pride? murder? group?) of chimpanzees. I get up to go to the bathroom and as I’m walking down the hall, the chimps come in to the apartment and follow me to the bathroom.
What they do after is what makes me doubt my sanity and am now really curious to know what my psyche is trying to tell me … I’m in the bathroom and each chimp takes turns to fart at the door. What the hell?
I leave the bathroom and come back out and the chimps are all back outside, pointing at me and doing the weird chimp head-bob laugh thing that they do. I’ve had some strange and random dreams, but this one takes the cake.
My brain is a scary place.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Monday, November 19, 2007
My genes. Her jeans.
Not many of you know that Alzheimer’s runs in my family. (Gee, great.) Anyway, Nana is afflicted with this disease. I’m truly learning that if you don’t laugh, you’ll cry, so I continually look for bright spots in otherwise dark situations. (Typically this is in the form of humor laughing at people. I’m mean. Deal.)
Back to Nana – growing up, and until she started developing dementia, she was always very anti-naked. A point of pride with her was that Popi never saw her fully unclothed. She held the concept that sex was only for procreation and never fun. (And you people wonder where I got my body/sex issues. Exhibit A: Nana.)
Knowing this, the next part is really kind of sad and amusing. Earlier this year, my cousin (who is Nana’s caretaker) would come downstairs in the morning to get coffee started and there would be Nana at the counter, reading the newspaper wearing a turtleneck, socks, and … that’s it. (Granny ass isn’t the first thing you want, or need to, see without at least one cuppa in you.) Apparently she LOVES her new-found freedom from pants.
Sunday my cousin calls and tells me, “We have to change Nana’s name.” I’m thinking something’s wrong, or we have to do it for legal purposes or something, so I hesitantly ask, “Whhhy?” It seems that good ol’ Nana has been stripping in the dining room. And I don’t mean stripping wallpaper. The woman is taking off ALL her clothes and not wanting to put them back on. (She will, but it takes some persuading from what I understand.)
My aunt thinks we should call her Bubbles La Rue. Any other “granny stripper” names come to mind? Another friend said Nana Rose Lee. I was going for imMoral Millie. (I’m afraid of what I will do when I’m her age. Run around wearing undies on my head?)
Back to Nana – growing up, and until she started developing dementia, she was always very anti-naked. A point of pride with her was that Popi never saw her fully unclothed. She held the concept that sex was only for procreation and never fun. (And you people wonder where I got my body/sex issues. Exhibit A: Nana.)
Knowing this, the next part is really kind of sad and amusing. Earlier this year, my cousin (who is Nana’s caretaker) would come downstairs in the morning to get coffee started and there would be Nana at the counter, reading the newspaper wearing a turtleneck, socks, and … that’s it. (Granny ass isn’t the first thing you want, or need to, see without at least one cuppa in you.) Apparently she LOVES her new-found freedom from pants.
Sunday my cousin calls and tells me, “We have to change Nana’s name.” I’m thinking something’s wrong, or we have to do it for legal purposes or something, so I hesitantly ask, “Whhhy?” It seems that good ol’ Nana has been stripping in the dining room. And I don’t mean stripping wallpaper. The woman is taking off ALL her clothes and not wanting to put them back on. (She will, but it takes some persuading from what I understand.)
My aunt thinks we should call her Bubbles La Rue. Any other “granny stripper” names come to mind? Another friend said Nana Rose Lee. I was going for imMoral Millie. (I’m afraid of what I will do when I’m her age. Run around wearing undies on my head?)
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Ani inspired
Recently I've had a revelation: I'm angry. I'm angry with my mom. Angry with my dad.
She's been gone for almost 26 years, and just now am I allowing myself to admit that I am angry with her. Mad. Furious. Angry for leaving us. Angry that my dad allowed himself to fall into such a deep and dark place after she died. Angry that I felt that I had to be the life-line for Dad. Angry that her parents tried to turn me into their dead daughter, instead of just being okay with me as ... me. It's actually not HER that I'm mad at, just the situation that her death created. There's more to it that I am not saying, but that's all I can really put into words right now.
This catharsis though has an upside - it is making me re-evaluate my needs. Not my wants, my needs. For about 2 years there has been this unknown feeling brewing in me, and finally I realized that it is my "needs" voicing their concerns. Screaming at me, "Hey! Dipshit! Focus here, we are not to be ignored!" For a long time I always thought of others first, put their happiness and THEIR needs first. Now, there is this realization, one of, "hey, this really is MY life. Perhaps I should start living it. Enjoying it. Reveling in it. Bathing in it. Being okay with ME. Knowing that I have value, in and of myself, and not as the offspring of my mom."
The realization that it is okay to demand attention for me, and not as a watered-down version of Mom. A version that could never live up to others expectations. Though some life situations may be untenable right now, the knowledge that the SITUATION sucks, and NOT ME ... that is truly liberating.
The song that has been stuck in my subconscious for the last two years is Asking Too Much, by Ani DiFranco.
And no. I am not asking too much.
Now ... back to your regularly scheduled programming.
She's been gone for almost 26 years, and just now am I allowing myself to admit that I am angry with her. Mad. Furious. Angry for leaving us. Angry that my dad allowed himself to fall into such a deep and dark place after she died. Angry that I felt that I had to be the life-line for Dad. Angry that her parents tried to turn me into their dead daughter, instead of just being okay with me as ... me. It's actually not HER that I'm mad at, just the situation that her death created. There's more to it that I am not saying, but that's all I can really put into words right now.
This catharsis though has an upside - it is making me re-evaluate my needs. Not my wants, my needs. For about 2 years there has been this unknown feeling brewing in me, and finally I realized that it is my "needs" voicing their concerns. Screaming at me, "Hey! Dipshit! Focus here, we are not to be ignored!" For a long time I always thought of others first, put their happiness and THEIR needs first. Now, there is this realization, one of, "hey, this really is MY life. Perhaps I should start living it. Enjoying it. Reveling in it. Bathing in it. Being okay with ME. Knowing that I have value, in and of myself, and not as the offspring of my mom."
The realization that it is okay to demand attention for me, and not as a watered-down version of Mom. A version that could never live up to others expectations. Though some life situations may be untenable right now, the knowledge that the SITUATION sucks, and NOT ME ... that is truly liberating.
The song that has been stuck in my subconscious for the last two years is Asking Too Much, by Ani DiFranco.
And no. I am not asking too much.
Now ... back to your regularly scheduled programming.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Amused
Okay, the intrepid Canadian has moved floors, leaving me bereft of anger/amusement on a daily basis. Oh well, I guess this blog will move more onto my musings. Or somesuch. Speaking of ...
I love reading the police blotter for my city. Many of these I read and think, “wow, do people seriously call the cops for this kind of stuff? Seriously?!” Most, though, are just sad and funny – funny because some of the actions are just plain amusing in a Darwinian sort of way, and sad because these people will breed and pass along their DNA to the next generation.
I had to bold the parts that I found amusing. All comments in parenthesis are mine. (And some of you wonder why I moved out of here the day after I turned 18.)
_____
_____ Avenue, _____ block, petty theft: An adult male was in custody on suspicion of shoplifting. The suspect was being uncooperative and getting up and giving hugs to security officers, 1:41 p.m. (I don’t know – giving hugs seems to be cooperative to me.)
_____ Park: A pony was loose in _____ Park, which is in the _____ block of _____ Lane, at 10:43 a.m. Monday. The caller said its owner was having trouble catching it. The pony reportedly "almost bit a kid in a stroller." When the pony's owner found out the police had been notified, he became upset and left the park with the pony. (The title on the blotter got me – Rogue Pony almost bites kid. Yeah, those rogue ponies are evil. They roam in packs all around My Town. It’s so bad you can’t go out at night without carrying a bag of carrots to distract the ponies if you happen to run across one.)
_____ Avenue, _____ block: U.S. marshals informed police Thursday around 5:30 p.m. that they had taken a subject into custody in the Lowe’s parking lot in the _____ block of _____ Avenue. Callers reported earlier that the male had thrown his skateboard into traffic. He told the marshals he was upset because he had been kicked off a bus for belligerent behavior. (And throwing your skateboard ISN’T belligerent behavior … )
_____ Avenue, _____ block, suspicious circumstances. A resident told police she thought someone was in her attic and it sounded like the person was “dropping stuff.” She also said she had called police in the past with the same fear and every time police responded and checked the attic, no one was there. The woman noted that she was “not drunk or high,” 1:34 a.m. (No, not drunk or high, just crazy.)
_____ Street, _____ block, mentally ill person. A woman described as “hysterical” by a dispatcher reported that her boyfriend was “on a plane” and was broadcasting from 555.55 FM that he was “on his way to come and kill her.” A dispatcher noted the woman wasn’t “making any sense,” 12:03 p.m. (No comment.)
_____ Street, _____ block, sexual battery. The same woman from the earlier “mentally ill” call reported that her boyfriend’s son had sexually assaulted her while he was visiting from the United Kingdom. She also said there was a small airplane outside her balcony writing bad things about her in smoke and “somehow broadcasting messages to three subjects that were in/around her residence.” Later she confessed that she had “made the whole story up” because she had consensual sex with her boyfriend’s son and she was trying to reconcile with her boyfriend, 10:14 p.m. (Damn. Just ... damn. This stuff is better than a soap opera.)
_____ Street, _____ block, patrol check. A woman in a beige Honda drove by and yelled at people in another language as they were going into a Mormon church for a Jewish religious service, 11:01 a.m. (What gets me is the whole "Mormon church holding a Jewish religious service" part. If you aren't Mormon, you're really not supposed to be going into their inner sanctum, yanno? And why, oh why, would someone call about this?)
_____ Avenue, _____ block, patrol check. A woman told police she believed people were hiding in her attic and she wakes up and sees people walking around, 3:59 a.m. (Same crazy woman as before. Maybe ghosts? Oh, or zombies. Braaaaaaaaains! No wonder they are looking for something, this woman doens't apparently have any.)
_____ Avenue, _____ block, other agency: A man called police to say he thought he may have died earlier in the night but that he was feeling fine now, 4:21 a.m. (Yeah, I thought I’ve been dead before too. But it turns out I was just hung-over. WTF?!)
_____ Lane, _____ block, 911 non-emergency: A woman called 911 to report that her boyfriend was logging into her MySpace.com account without her permission, 2:11 p.m. (911? For real? I shudder in fear that these are the people that will lead us into the future.)
_____ Avenue, _____ block, vehicle burglary: A backpack and a camera were stolen from a car sometime during the night, 2:54 p.m. (Okay, who the hell leaves anything of value in their car? I can understand if you're running in and out of somewhere, but overnight? Are they dumb?)
_____ Circle, _____ block, vehicle burglary. A handgun was stolen from an unlocked vehicle, 12:16 p.m. (Once again - who the hell leaves a handgun in plain sight and in an unlocked car? We ain't in Texas here. Y'all.)
_____ Street and _____ Avenue, suspicious circumstances. A caller said while she was getting gas at a gas station, a person offered her money for sex, 1:28 p.m. (This implies, to me, that the guy either doesn't know where to look for a prostitute, or the woman was dressed like one. Either way, I wouldn't want it to be noted that I was dressed like a wh0re whilst pumping gas. Can you imagine all the "pumping" puns that you'd get from that? No thank you.)
_____ Avenue, _____ block, fire. A car was on fire in a cemetery parking lot, 8:03 p.m. (I know that this cemetery closes and locks its gates at 6. The only explanation I have is zombies. Hey – zombies like bonfires too! Maybe they were making s’mores.)
Damn. Just ... damn.
I love reading the police blotter for my city. Many of these I read and think, “wow, do people seriously call the cops for this kind of stuff? Seriously?!” Most, though, are just sad and funny – funny because some of the actions are just plain amusing in a Darwinian sort of way, and sad because these people will breed and pass along their DNA to the next generation.
I had to bold the parts that I found amusing. All comments in parenthesis are mine. (And some of you wonder why I moved out of here the day after I turned 18.)
_____
_____ Avenue, _____ block, petty theft: An adult male was in custody on suspicion of shoplifting. The suspect was being uncooperative and getting up and giving hugs to security officers, 1:41 p.m. (I don’t know – giving hugs seems to be cooperative to me.)
_____ Park: A pony was loose in _____ Park, which is in the _____ block of _____ Lane, at 10:43 a.m. Monday. The caller said its owner was having trouble catching it. The pony reportedly "almost bit a kid in a stroller." When the pony's owner found out the police had been notified, he became upset and left the park with the pony. (The title on the blotter got me – Rogue Pony almost bites kid. Yeah, those rogue ponies are evil. They roam in packs all around My Town. It’s so bad you can’t go out at night without carrying a bag of carrots to distract the ponies if you happen to run across one.)
_____ Avenue, _____ block: U.S. marshals informed police Thursday around 5:30 p.m. that they had taken a subject into custody in the Lowe’s parking lot in the _____ block of _____ Avenue. Callers reported earlier that the male had thrown his skateboard into traffic. He told the marshals he was upset because he had been kicked off a bus for belligerent behavior. (And throwing your skateboard ISN’T belligerent behavior … )
_____ Avenue, _____ block, suspicious circumstances. A resident told police she thought someone was in her attic and it sounded like the person was “dropping stuff.” She also said she had called police in the past with the same fear and every time police responded and checked the attic, no one was there. The woman noted that she was “not drunk or high,” 1:34 a.m. (No, not drunk or high, just crazy.)
_____ Street, _____ block, mentally ill person. A woman described as “hysterical” by a dispatcher reported that her boyfriend was “on a plane” and was broadcasting from 555.55 FM that he was “on his way to come and kill her.” A dispatcher noted the woman wasn’t “making any sense,” 12:03 p.m. (No comment.)
_____ Street, _____ block, sexual battery. The same woman from the earlier “mentally ill” call reported that her boyfriend’s son had sexually assaulted her while he was visiting from the United Kingdom. She also said there was a small airplane outside her balcony writing bad things about her in smoke and “somehow broadcasting messages to three subjects that were in/around her residence.” Later she confessed that she had “made the whole story up” because she had consensual sex with her boyfriend’s son and she was trying to reconcile with her boyfriend, 10:14 p.m. (Damn. Just ... damn. This stuff is better than a soap opera.)
_____ Street, _____ block, patrol check. A woman in a beige Honda drove by and yelled at people in another language as they were going into a Mormon church for a Jewish religious service, 11:01 a.m. (What gets me is the whole "Mormon church holding a Jewish religious service" part. If you aren't Mormon, you're really not supposed to be going into their inner sanctum, yanno? And why, oh why, would someone call about this?)
_____ Avenue, _____ block, patrol check. A woman told police she believed people were hiding in her attic and she wakes up and sees people walking around, 3:59 a.m. (Same crazy woman as before. Maybe ghosts? Oh, or zombies. Braaaaaaaaains! No wonder they are looking for something, this woman doens't apparently have any.)
_____ Avenue, _____ block, other agency: A man called police to say he thought he may have died earlier in the night but that he was feeling fine now, 4:21 a.m. (Yeah, I thought I’ve been dead before too. But it turns out I was just hung-over. WTF?!)
_____ Lane, _____ block, 911 non-emergency: A woman called 911 to report that her boyfriend was logging into her MySpace.com account without her permission, 2:11 p.m. (911? For real? I shudder in fear that these are the people that will lead us into the future.)
_____ Avenue, _____ block, vehicle burglary: A backpack and a camera were stolen from a car sometime during the night, 2:54 p.m. (Okay, who the hell leaves anything of value in their car? I can understand if you're running in and out of somewhere, but overnight? Are they dumb?)
_____ Circle, _____ block, vehicle burglary. A handgun was stolen from an unlocked vehicle, 12:16 p.m. (Once again - who the hell leaves a handgun in plain sight and in an unlocked car? We ain't in Texas here. Y'all.)
_____ Street and _____ Avenue, suspicious circumstances. A caller said while she was getting gas at a gas station, a person offered her money for sex, 1:28 p.m. (This implies, to me, that the guy either doesn't know where to look for a prostitute, or the woman was dressed like one. Either way, I wouldn't want it to be noted that I was dressed like a wh0re whilst pumping gas. Can you imagine all the "pumping" puns that you'd get from that? No thank you.)
_____ Avenue, _____ block, fire. A car was on fire in a cemetery parking lot, 8:03 p.m. (I know that this cemetery closes and locks its gates at 6. The only explanation I have is zombies. Hey – zombies like bonfires too! Maybe they were making s’mores.)
Damn. Just ... damn.
Tuesday, June 5, 2007
The only time to use an elevator ...
So today, I get a call from downstairs. “You need to add another quarter to the ICJ (In Canada jar). I was getting my breakfast in the break room, and HE starts this random conversation with me.” As it was related to me, here is how it went down (CK represents the Crazy Kanuck, P represents the person he was speaking to.)
CK: Good morning, how are you?
P: Fine, yourself?
CK: Good. You know, I just don’t get it. You guys have a lot of overweight people here in the States. IN CANADA, I worked in an office where the elevator was purposefully made slow so that people would take the stairs instead. It kept us active and trim. (My note – I highly doubt that the office building would purposefully make the elevator slow. All elevators I’ve ridden on in small buildings are generally slow. Unless you’re riding the one at the Stratosphere in Vegas. That one is very fast and kind of scary if you’re drunk and the world is spinning. But I digress.) I mean, you should really just take the stairs anyway, unless you’re like, an 8 month pregnant woman and the baby is trying to shoot out between your legs.
Me: (At this point, I can imagine the look on P’s face and I’m going between giggles and shock. I mean really – the baby is shooting out between your legs? Thanks for that visual. I think I need some bleach for my brain now, thanks.)
CK: Hm, wow. Your oatmeal smells good. (At this time he ends the conversation and walks away.)
Seriously, how do you get from babies shooting out of hoo-haa’s to “wow, your oatmeal smells good”, and without even saying goodbye? I’m glad I already had my oatmeal before this conversation was related to me.
Later this same day, P goes to ask CK a question. His door is cracked, so it is not fully closed, and P knocks then walks in. As P is walking in, CK is quickly pulling his hands up from under his desk and scooting in as far in towards the desk as bodily physics allows. Hmmm, I wonder if he was “massaging the numbers”?
Now, where's that bleach?
CK: Good morning, how are you?
P: Fine, yourself?
CK: Good. You know, I just don’t get it. You guys have a lot of overweight people here in the States. IN CANADA, I worked in an office where the elevator was purposefully made slow so that people would take the stairs instead. It kept us active and trim. (My note – I highly doubt that the office building would purposefully make the elevator slow. All elevators I’ve ridden on in small buildings are generally slow. Unless you’re riding the one at the Stratosphere in Vegas. That one is very fast and kind of scary if you’re drunk and the world is spinning. But I digress.) I mean, you should really just take the stairs anyway, unless you’re like, an 8 month pregnant woman and the baby is trying to shoot out between your legs.
Me: (At this point, I can imagine the look on P’s face and I’m going between giggles and shock. I mean really – the baby is shooting out between your legs? Thanks for that visual. I think I need some bleach for my brain now, thanks.)
CK: Hm, wow. Your oatmeal smells good. (At this time he ends the conversation and walks away.)
Seriously, how do you get from babies shooting out of hoo-haa’s to “wow, your oatmeal smells good”, and without even saying goodbye? I’m glad I already had my oatmeal before this conversation was related to me.
Later this same day, P goes to ask CK a question. His door is cracked, so it is not fully closed, and P knocks then walks in. As P is walking in, CK is quickly pulling his hands up from under his desk and scooting in as far in towards the desk as bodily physics allows. Hmmm, I wonder if he was “massaging the numbers”?
Now, where's that bleach?
Monday, June 4, 2007
Are all Canadians arrogant? Or just this one?
It’s just one of those days where I feel I am about to snap. Everyone wants a piece of me, and they don’t seem to understand that they aren’t the priority. Granted, most of them get it when I explain that I cannot help them now but will help them later this week, because I’m working on this one massive project. 99.9% of them nod and say they will either figure it out on their own, or that they’ll talk to me at the end of the week. I love them. But then, there’s that 0.01% who seems to think that the world revolves around him.
He feels that when he wants something we should all stop what we’re doing and revel in the wonderfulness that is him. (He has a poster sized picture of himself on his office wall. Seriously.) Telling him, “No, really. I cannot help you now. The lease for Company X is up in 2 weeks, and we’re moving them all to Location Y. I need to finish the logistics of this” doesn’t sway him in the least. Company X doesn’t fit into his worldview at the moment and doesn’t care that their deadline is more important than me making him lunch reservations. Which will no doubt change tomorrow and then the next day. And I know I’m not the only one doing this for him – he’ll ask another assistant to do the exact same thing. He says that his way of doing things is better, because he subscribes to the Kaizen mind-set. Hmmmm, if that were the case, you wouldn’t have people doing the same job twice, which is actually the job we’re paying you to do! You are a lawyer; we are assistants – why do you assume we can do the same job you can do? Maybe in Canada they give out law degrees to whoever asks for one.
His view, by the way, really only consists of Canada and why the US sucks in comparison to it. If that’s so, then why did you move your arrogant ass down here in the first place buddy? I should’ve screwed with his immigration papers while I had the chance.
And to top it off, it's not even lunch yet and I've spilled coffee in my lap. No, actually, not my lap - my crotch. Now I'm sure he'll think that, "At least in Canada, people don't pee their pants."
He feels that when he wants something we should all stop what we’re doing and revel in the wonderfulness that is him. (He has a poster sized picture of himself on his office wall. Seriously.) Telling him, “No, really. I cannot help you now. The lease for Company X is up in 2 weeks, and we’re moving them all to Location Y. I need to finish the logistics of this” doesn’t sway him in the least. Company X doesn’t fit into his worldview at the moment and doesn’t care that their deadline is more important than me making him lunch reservations. Which will no doubt change tomorrow and then the next day. And I know I’m not the only one doing this for him – he’ll ask another assistant to do the exact same thing. He says that his way of doing things is better, because he subscribes to the Kaizen mind-set. Hmmmm, if that were the case, you wouldn’t have people doing the same job twice, which is actually the job we’re paying you to do! You are a lawyer; we are assistants – why do you assume we can do the same job you can do? Maybe in Canada they give out law degrees to whoever asks for one.
His view, by the way, really only consists of Canada and why the US sucks in comparison to it. If that’s so, then why did you move your arrogant ass down here in the first place buddy? I should’ve screwed with his immigration papers while I had the chance.
And to top it off, it's not even lunch yet and I've spilled coffee in my lap. No, actually, not my lap - my crotch. Now I'm sure he'll think that, "At least in Canada, people don't pee their pants."
Sunday, June 3, 2007
Oi! 'ello there!
All right, I’ve caved. And here I am, officially blogging. Why do I have “C’mon people now, join in, start a blog-train, blog-train” running through my head?
Here's some random for you ... show your friends you love them, send ‘em some crack, http://www.virtualcrack.com/ (Wow, you really can find anything on here!)
I’ll mainly post random thoughts, weird food cravings, and rants about a particular co-worker, interspersed with the obligatory drunken post(s), along with the hopped up on coffee ones. And on that note, I have some pasta boiling and I must pee. (Coffee goes straight through me, but I wouldn’t give it up for anything, bladder be damned!)
I'm an avowed chowhound, so if you have any favorite "make me cum in my pants" pasta recipes, send them my way! I lost a dinner bet and have to make a pasta dish for an Italian. Nope, no pressure there!
Here's some random for you ... show your friends you love them, send ‘em some crack, http://www.virtualcrack.com/ (Wow, you really can find anything on here!)
I’ll mainly post random thoughts, weird food cravings, and rants about a particular co-worker, interspersed with the obligatory drunken post(s), along with the hopped up on coffee ones. And on that note, I have some pasta boiling and I must pee. (Coffee goes straight through me, but I wouldn’t give it up for anything, bladder be damned!)
I'm an avowed chowhound, so if you have any favorite "make me cum in my pants" pasta recipes, send them my way! I lost a dinner bet and have to make a pasta dish for an Italian. Nope, no pressure there!
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