Tomorrow I am off to Montréal, back home to la belle province. I have to admit a little trepidation on my part, as my mum is still quite sick from all the poison they've been pumping into her to fight the cancer. I know she likes to do Christmas up and though it is traditional for her to complain about the Christmas tree, I can tell by talking to her on the phone that she's wiped out and close to fed up.
My worry, since she told me my dad made a noticeable grimace when she buzzed her hair before chemo, is that I don't react the right way to how she looks. I don't even want some involuntary twitch to be misinterpreted. I have been having nightmares for weeks about it, that some Frankenstenian mess will be hiding under her head scarf. And then I feel bad for even having the dreams.
Anyway, the point being I will be happy to be home regardless of how diffiuclt this holiday season is going to be. And then I'll be really, really glad to be back here.
Laters. Boogie down with your bad selves.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
The Universe is Hilarious
I couldn't have imagined I'd be so gullable as to join that cult...but I was. I blame the ah-ah-ah-ah- alcohol. (Merci Jaime Foxx) And alas, though it has been years since a meeting, I worry they are like Jehovah's Witnesses hopped up on Red Bull and that I will be forever plagued by these psuedo-spiritual nutbags who are addicted to chain letters and the sounds of their own voices/problems. *sigh* Learning experience. And thankful for it.
But feast yon eyes on the deplorable garbage forwarded to me by one of their ilk. (barf bag not included):
Monday, December 14, 2009 7:28 PM
Subject: FW: Christmas 1960 but could be now.. Food for thought.
>
> In September 1960, I woke up one morning with six hungry babies and
> just 75 cents in my pocket.
>
>
> Their father was gone.
>
>
> The boys ranged from three months to seven years; their sister was two.
>
>
> Their Dad had never been much more than a presence they feared.
>
> Whenever they heard his tires crunch on the gravel driveway they would
> scramble to hide under their beds.
>
> He did manage to leave $15 a week to buy groceries.
>
> Now that he had decided to leave, there would be no more beatings, but
> no food either.
>
> If there was a welfare system in effect in southern Indiana at that
> time, I certainly knew nothing about it.
>
>
> I scrubbed the kids until they looked brand new and then put on my
> best homemade dress, loaded them into the rusty old 51 Chevy and drove
> off to find a job.
>
> The seven of us went to every factory, store and restaurant in our small town.
>
>
> No luck.
>
> The kids stayed crammed into the car and tried to be quiet while I
> tried to convince who ever would listen that I was willing to learn or
> do anything. I had to have a job.
>
> Still no luck. The last place we went to, just a few miles out of
> town, was an old Root Beer Barrel drive-in that had been converted to
> a truck stop.
>
>
> It was called the Big Wheel.
>
> An old lady named Granny owned the place and she peeked out of the
> window from time to time at all those kids.
>
> She needed someone on the graveyard shift, 11 at night until seven in
> the morning.
>
> She paid 65 cents an hour, and I could start that night.
>
> I raced home and called the teenager down the street that baby-sat for people.
>
> I bargained with her to come and sleep on my sofa for a dollar a night.
>
> She could arrive with her pajamas on and the kids would already be asleep
>
> This seemed like a good arrangement to her, so we made a deal.
>
> That night when the little ones and I knelt to say our prayers, we all
> thanked God for finding Mommy a job. And so I started at the Big Wheel.
>
> When I got home in the mornings I woke the baby-sitter up and sent her
> home with one dollar of my tip money-- fully half of what I averaged
> every night.
>
> As the weeks went by, heating bills added a strain to my meager wage.
>
> The tires on the old Chevy had the consistency of penny balloons and
> began to leak. I had to fill them with air on the way to work and
> again every morning before I could go home.
>
> One bleak fall morning, I dragged myself to the car to go home and
> found four tires in the back seat. New tires!
>
> There was no note, no nothing, just those beautiful brand new tires.
>
> Had angels taken up residence in Indiana ? I wondered.
>
> I made a deal with the local service station.
>
> In exchange for his mounting the new tires, I would clean up his office.
>
> I remember it took me a lot longer to scrub his floor than it did for
> him to do the tires.
>
> I was now working six nights instead of five and it still wasn't enough.
>
> Christmas was coming and I knew there would be no money for toys for the kids.
>
> I found a can of red paint and started repairing and painting some old
> toys. Then I hid them in the basement so there would be something for
> Santa to deliver on Christmas morning.
>
> Clothes were a worry too. I was sewing patches on top of patches on
> the boys pants and soon they would be too far gone to repair.
>
> On Christmas Eve the usual customers were drinking coffee in the Big
> Wheel. There were the truckers, Les, Frank, and Jim, and a state
> trooper named Joe.
>
> A few musicians were hanging around after a gig at the Legion and were
> dropping nickels in the pinball machine.
>
> The regulars all just sat around and talked through the wee hours of
> the morning and then left to get home before the sun came up.
>
> When it was time for me to go home at seven o'clock on Christmas
> morning, to my amazement, my old battered Chevy was filled full to the
> top with boxes of all shapes and sizes.
>
>
> I quickly opened the driver's side door, crawled inside and kneeled in
> the front facing the back seat.
>
> Reaching back, I pulled off the lid of the top box.
>
> Inside was whole case of little blue jeans, sizes 2-10!
>
> I looked inside another box: It was full of shirts to go with the jeans.
>
> Then I peeked inside some of the other boxes. There was candy and nuts
> and bananas and bags of groceries. There was an enormous ham for
> baking, and canned vegetables and potatoes.
> There was pudding and Jell-O and cookies, pie filling and flour. There
> was whole bag of laundry supplies and cleaning items.
>
> And there were five toy trucks and one beautiful little doll.
>
> As I drove back through empty streets as the sun slowly rose on the
> most amazing Christmas Day of my life, I was sobbing with gratitude.
>
> And I will never forget the joy on the faces of my little ones that
> precious morning.
>
> Yes, there were angels in Indiana that long-ago December. And they all
> hung out at the Big Wheel truck stop.
>
> THE POWER OF PRAYER. I believe that God only gives three answers to prayer:
>
> 1. 'Yes!'
> 2. 'Not yet.'
> 3. 'I have something better in mind.'
>
> God still sits on the throne, the devil is a liar.
>
> You may be going through a tough time right now but God is getting
> ready to bless you in a way that you cannot imagine.
>
> My instructions were to pick four people whom I wanted God to bless,
> and I picked you.
>
> Please pass this to at least four people you want to be blessed and a
> copy back to me.
>
> This prayer is powerful, and prayer is one of the best gifts we
> receive. There is no cost but a lot of rewards
>
> Let's continue to pray for one another. Here is the prayer:..
>
> Father, I ask You to bless my friends, relatives and email buddies
> reading this right now. Show them a new revelation of Your love and
> power.
> Amen.
>
> I know I picked more than four, so can you.
>
>
>
>
>
>
SLAGDUMP'S NOTE: PLEASE DO NOT ATTEMPT TO FORWARD THIS TO ANYONE YOU CARE ABOUT OR YOU WILL GET CROSSED OFF THEIR CHRISTMAS CARD LISTS THIS YEAR. *EVERYTHING IS EXPENSIVE IS NOT LIABLE FOR ANY AWKWARD MOMENTS AT THE DINNER TABLE AS THE RESULT OF THIS FORWARD*
>
>
But feast yon eyes on the deplorable garbage forwarded to me by one of their ilk. (barf bag not included):
Monday, December 14, 2009 7:28 PM
Subject: FW: Christmas 1960 but could be now.. Food for thought.
>
> In September 1960, I woke up one morning with six hungry babies and
> just 75 cents in my pocket.
>
>
> Their father was gone.
>
>
> The boys ranged from three months to seven years; their sister was two.
>
>
> Their Dad had never been much more than a presence they feared.
>
> Whenever they heard his tires crunch on the gravel driveway they would
> scramble to hide under their beds.
>
> He did manage to leave $15 a week to buy groceries.
>
> Now that he had decided to leave, there would be no more beatings, but
> no food either.
>
> If there was a welfare system in effect in southern Indiana at that
> time, I certainly knew nothing about it.
>
>
> I scrubbed the kids until they looked brand new and then put on my
> best homemade dress, loaded them into the rusty old 51 Chevy and drove
> off to find a job.
>
> The seven of us went to every factory, store and restaurant in our small town.
>
>
> No luck.
>
> The kids stayed crammed into the car and tried to be quiet while I
> tried to convince who ever would listen that I was willing to learn or
> do anything. I had to have a job.
>
> Still no luck. The last place we went to, just a few miles out of
> town, was an old Root Beer Barrel drive-in that had been converted to
> a truck stop.
>
>
> It was called the Big Wheel.
>
> An old lady named Granny owned the place and she peeked out of the
> window from time to time at all those kids.
>
> She needed someone on the graveyard shift, 11 at night until seven in
> the morning.
>
> She paid 65 cents an hour, and I could start that night.
>
> I raced home and called the teenager down the street that baby-sat for people.
>
> I bargained with her to come and sleep on my sofa for a dollar a night.
>
> She could arrive with her pajamas on and the kids would already be asleep
>
> This seemed like a good arrangement to her, so we made a deal.
>
> That night when the little ones and I knelt to say our prayers, we all
> thanked God for finding Mommy a job. And so I started at the Big Wheel.
>
> When I got home in the mornings I woke the baby-sitter up and sent her
> home with one dollar of my tip money-- fully half of what I averaged
> every night.
>
> As the weeks went by, heating bills added a strain to my meager wage.
>
> The tires on the old Chevy had the consistency of penny balloons and
> began to leak. I had to fill them with air on the way to work and
> again every morning before I could go home.
>
> One bleak fall morning, I dragged myself to the car to go home and
> found four tires in the back seat. New tires!
>
> There was no note, no nothing, just those beautiful brand new tires.
>
> Had angels taken up residence in Indiana ? I wondered.
>
> I made a deal with the local service station.
>
> In exchange for his mounting the new tires, I would clean up his office.
>
> I remember it took me a lot longer to scrub his floor than it did for
> him to do the tires.
>
> I was now working six nights instead of five and it still wasn't enough.
>
> Christmas was coming and I knew there would be no money for toys for the kids.
>
> I found a can of red paint and started repairing and painting some old
> toys. Then I hid them in the basement so there would be something for
> Santa to deliver on Christmas morning.
>
> Clothes were a worry too. I was sewing patches on top of patches on
> the boys pants and soon they would be too far gone to repair.
>
> On Christmas Eve the usual customers were drinking coffee in the Big
> Wheel. There were the truckers, Les, Frank, and Jim, and a state
> trooper named Joe.
>
> A few musicians were hanging around after a gig at the Legion and were
> dropping nickels in the pinball machine.
>
> The regulars all just sat around and talked through the wee hours of
> the morning and then left to get home before the sun came up.
>
> When it was time for me to go home at seven o'clock on Christmas
> morning, to my amazement, my old battered Chevy was filled full to the
> top with boxes of all shapes and sizes.
>
>
> I quickly opened the driver's side door, crawled inside and kneeled in
> the front facing the back seat.
>
> Reaching back, I pulled off the lid of the top box.
>
> Inside was whole case of little blue jeans, sizes 2-10!
>
> I looked inside another box: It was full of shirts to go with the jeans.
>
> Then I peeked inside some of the other boxes. There was candy and nuts
> and bananas and bags of groceries. There was an enormous ham for
> baking, and canned vegetables and potatoes.
> There was pudding and Jell-O and cookies, pie filling and flour. There
> was whole bag of laundry supplies and cleaning items.
>
> And there were five toy trucks and one beautiful little doll.
>
> As I drove back through empty streets as the sun slowly rose on the
> most amazing Christmas Day of my life, I was sobbing with gratitude.
>
> And I will never forget the joy on the faces of my little ones that
> precious morning.
>
> Yes, there were angels in Indiana that long-ago December. And they all
> hung out at the Big Wheel truck stop.
>
> THE POWER OF PRAYER. I believe that God only gives three answers to prayer:
>
> 1. 'Yes!'
> 2. 'Not yet.'
> 3. 'I have something better in mind.'
>
> God still sits on the throne, the devil is a liar.
>
> You may be going through a tough time right now but God is getting
> ready to bless you in a way that you cannot imagine.
>
> My instructions were to pick four people whom I wanted God to bless,
> and I picked you.
>
> Please pass this to at least four people you want to be blessed and a
> copy back to me.
>
> This prayer is powerful, and prayer is one of the best gifts we
> receive. There is no cost but a lot of rewards
>
> Let's continue to pray for one another. Here is the prayer:..
>
> Father, I ask You to bless my friends, relatives and email buddies
> reading this right now. Show them a new revelation of Your love and
> power.
> Amen.
>
> I know I picked more than four, so can you.
>
>
>
>
>
>
SLAGDUMP'S NOTE: PLEASE DO NOT ATTEMPT TO FORWARD THIS TO ANYONE YOU CARE ABOUT OR YOU WILL GET CROSSED OFF THEIR CHRISTMAS CARD LISTS THIS YEAR. *EVERYTHING IS EXPENSIVE IS NOT LIABLE FOR ANY AWKWARD MOMENTS AT THE DINNER TABLE AS THE RESULT OF THIS FORWARD*
>
>
Monday, November 16, 2009
Forgiveness
He said sorry. But I don't know...it's not like when it happens once it won't happen again. I know too much about humans to be fooled like that. The mechanisms that are there initially will always be there. And it's not my job to change someone else. Everyone is capable of doing that for themselves. I should know.
So what of forgivenesss? Do I say it's fine? Does me forgiving it mean I'm saying it's okay? Because it's not. Like right now, I am quite aware of my anger surrounding this, but I am remaining even at all costs. I HAVE to. For me. Because it's not worth giving into rage to sublimate someone else's. I expect the same from everyone. And not some overly even-keeled, heavy on the grave intonations, under the surface kind of anger plays, either. Those are SO obvious. It's still anger. And it's insulting.
I love him. I know this. But just saying that it's forgiven (his expectation after the apology), 20 minutes after the words had left his bile spitting mouth...I don't know. Seems unlikely that most people who consider themselves sound of self-esteem would be "okay" with it.
I suppose what's really going on with me right now, my neck stress twisting up, is that I'm disappointed. In love. Maybe it IS just about getting down in the shit with someone, like he says. And maybe I just don't care to if that's the nature of it.
So what of forgivenesss? Do I say it's fine? Does me forgiving it mean I'm saying it's okay? Because it's not. Like right now, I am quite aware of my anger surrounding this, but I am remaining even at all costs. I HAVE to. For me. Because it's not worth giving into rage to sublimate someone else's. I expect the same from everyone. And not some overly even-keeled, heavy on the grave intonations, under the surface kind of anger plays, either. Those are SO obvious. It's still anger. And it's insulting.
I love him. I know this. But just saying that it's forgiven (his expectation after the apology), 20 minutes after the words had left his bile spitting mouth...I don't know. Seems unlikely that most people who consider themselves sound of self-esteem would be "okay" with it.
I suppose what's really going on with me right now, my neck stress twisting up, is that I'm disappointed. In love. Maybe it IS just about getting down in the shit with someone, like he says. And maybe I just don't care to if that's the nature of it.
wax on, wax off
I have realised that no matter how much I've learned, no matter how cautious I am, I invariably will fall for someone bent on hurting me. I honestly don't think I believe in love anymore. What's the use? It's just a freakin' distraction. I suppose that when your 25 year old boyfriend calls you a 32 year old failure it is most certainly difficult to get an unbiased perspective from yourself. Nevertheless, I am finished with chasing boys and dressing them up like men and expecting them to act with respect and kindness. Sheep's fucking clothing, radio listeners.
I swore, after the comedian, that I would never let anyone talk to me with that kind of unkempt rage ever again. You know the kind...it billows out like noxious gas and then chokes you with surprising might. It's as if I have now just experienced that "one too many" feeling. One too many guys who think it's okay to have a rage-a-thon because I have decided not to engage in the bullshit.
Failure. Hmmm. Do I consider myself a failure? I really don't. With the amount of shit I have been through, the lessons I've learned, the true and great friends I have made, I can't exactly go back to sinking with the ship, can I? And I don't think I am. And I don't think I ever will again.
But maybe to him I really am a failure. When you enter a new relationship you have this foggy eyed naiveté, you are both on your best behaviour...you use words like love and loyalty and forever. But it's an experiment without hypothesis or observation, because neither person has really shown their filthy little underbelly. That gets exposed later. When the commitment has already been made, when the agreement of not fucking other people is ratified. That's when the shit hits the ceiling fan.
And I suppose my shit wasn't worth it and I can't possibly continue on after something like that is said to me...I would think of it always, every sentence out of his mouth, I'd be wondering.
Sweet Jesus, life is a trip. I know I will be okay. I always am. More so than ever before. No man, boy or cloaked wolf will EVER take that from me again.
Cheers folks,
I love you all...love each other. Because sometimes it's the only way to get the shit off the walls. Love...and Windex.
I swore, after the comedian, that I would never let anyone talk to me with that kind of unkempt rage ever again. You know the kind...it billows out like noxious gas and then chokes you with surprising might. It's as if I have now just experienced that "one too many" feeling. One too many guys who think it's okay to have a rage-a-thon because I have decided not to engage in the bullshit.
Failure. Hmmm. Do I consider myself a failure? I really don't. With the amount of shit I have been through, the lessons I've learned, the true and great friends I have made, I can't exactly go back to sinking with the ship, can I? And I don't think I am. And I don't think I ever will again.
But maybe to him I really am a failure. When you enter a new relationship you have this foggy eyed naiveté, you are both on your best behaviour...you use words like love and loyalty and forever. But it's an experiment without hypothesis or observation, because neither person has really shown their filthy little underbelly. That gets exposed later. When the commitment has already been made, when the agreement of not fucking other people is ratified. That's when the shit hits the ceiling fan.
And I suppose my shit wasn't worth it and I can't possibly continue on after something like that is said to me...I would think of it always, every sentence out of his mouth, I'd be wondering.
Sweet Jesus, life is a trip. I know I will be okay. I always am. More so than ever before. No man, boy or cloaked wolf will EVER take that from me again.
Cheers folks,
I love you all...love each other. Because sometimes it's the only way to get the shit off the walls. Love...and Windex.
Wednesday, September 09, 2009
Tuesday, September 08, 2009
Someday
Two amazing new jobs, more nice, smart and beautiful people in my life than I can count, a boyfriend who I can't believe is real sometimes, a project in the works, music, laughs...
Maybe this Toronto shit ain't half bad. I don't think I have ever been happier. Or more inspired. And I have a plan. And it's a good one. Still, don't know how comfortable I feel with people now knowing who I am. It's a bit on THIS side of terrifying. Bungee jumping naked scary. But like I did say before and what I have to keep reminding myself of is that have grown. That I can't believe how much I am enjoying my thirties and everything I have wanted forever is happening. Right now.
I am sending y'all a sweet portion of the love I feel now: it is the secret. And music is the message.
Maybe this Toronto shit ain't half bad. I don't think I have ever been happier. Or more inspired. And I have a plan. And it's a good one. Still, don't know how comfortable I feel with people now knowing who I am. It's a bit on THIS side of terrifying. Bungee jumping naked scary. But like I did say before and what I have to keep reminding myself of is that have grown. That I can't believe how much I am enjoying my thirties and everything I have wanted forever is happening. Right now.
I am sending y'all a sweet portion of the love I feel now: it is the secret. And music is the message.
Never Can Say Goodbye Girl
My distaste for what happened with this blog has dissipated considerably. Read on bitches. I'm back. This shit was on CBC Television. HOW can I say goodbye after that?
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
just keep swimming...just keep swimming.
So apparently I've been found out. Someone who I must have told about my blog, directed my ex here because he thought it would be...helpful? And so now despite being anonymous to mostly everyone else on here except a few bloggers i respect, I have been outed. Yah, I have a blog and I talk about my life. Sometimes the posts are up and manic and other times they are sad, weepy laments, someitmes angry rants. It's the one of the places I come to escape to blurt out the "gargled vomit" (thank you The Decemberists for that, great song, Los Angeles, I'm Yours)
Now what... I should censor? Have I said anything I should be ashamed of? NO. I regret nothing. Considering what I've accomplished this week, I'm not looking to trip myself up in any way, but I sure as hell am not going to stop using this blog, me, now, living alone and self sufficient, healthy, with my own computer and space and kick ass apartment. And MUSIC!
Freedom to sing, do my vocaljumping jacks, bellow at the top of my lungs on my days off. Beautiful, beautiful days off. I am productive, writing more and thinking, singing, voice improving sans cigarettes (STILL a non-smoker, I'm amazed), dreaming about stages. And though sometimes sad still about the ex beau, I know it is for the best. IT HAS to be the right thing, I have been getting EVERYTHING I need and want lately. Karma doesn't lie. But if YOU do, get ready for impact lady, because something's gonna take a big 'ole chunk out of your hind quarters.
It's a simple equation when you break it down, but I think it takes some special lessons to get it straight. Thanks teachers.
So write on, read on, sing on, move on. Wrote the bare bones of another song today. Joy to the muther fucking world, peeps.
Now what... I should censor? Have I said anything I should be ashamed of? NO. I regret nothing. Considering what I've accomplished this week, I'm not looking to trip myself up in any way, but I sure as hell am not going to stop using this blog, me, now, living alone and self sufficient, healthy, with my own computer and space and kick ass apartment. And MUSIC!
Freedom to sing, do my vocaljumping jacks, bellow at the top of my lungs on my days off. Beautiful, beautiful days off. I am productive, writing more and thinking, singing, voice improving sans cigarettes (STILL a non-smoker, I'm amazed), dreaming about stages. And though sometimes sad still about the ex beau, I know it is for the best. IT HAS to be the right thing, I have been getting EVERYTHING I need and want lately. Karma doesn't lie. But if YOU do, get ready for impact lady, because something's gonna take a big 'ole chunk out of your hind quarters.
It's a simple equation when you break it down, but I think it takes some special lessons to get it straight. Thanks teachers.
So write on, read on, sing on, move on. Wrote the bare bones of another song today. Joy to the muther fucking world, peeps.
Monday, March 16, 2009
people suck
I can't believe that someone I know, someone who I call a friend, would have sent this to my ex beau. I am embarassed for you. Whoever you are.
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