Sloth Days of Summer

S was away this past weekend, interviewing girls for a research project.  She had the car, so any impulse I may have had to go to Home Depot and buy material to build a trellis (or buy a replacement vent thingie for the stove, or whatever other number of things that could be done) could not be realized. 

I had long ago pre-ordered the new Harry Potter book, mostly to raise my online purchase above $39 in order to get free shipping.  So at 8:58 a.m. on Saturday  morning, my doorbell rang.  A smartly dressed Canada Post fellow handed me the package with a smile and said “Your Harry Potter book.  Have a nice day!”.

Saturday had me sitting in my lovely backyard with a coffee in hand, reading Harry Potter.  I made a tasty bean and lentil salad for lunch followed by a steak and potato for dinner (each meal I shared with lil ’sis – because I don’t need to eat for two).  Other than emptying the dishwasher at some point, I pretty much just read, or sat there and enjoyed the garden. 

Sunday I wandered around downtown.  Bought some clothes because I found some that actually fit!  How often does THAT happen?  I have fallen in this no-man’s land where men’s clothes are too shapeless on me ( lending me an excessively bull-dykeish appearance at times) and women’s clothes are made for little girls.  I can barely cram my breasts into these stretch-fabric shirts, yet as I select larger sizes so I don’t pop a button off, the shoulders hang off me. (And it’s not like I’ve got massive hooters).  However, I found these dress shirts at the Gap – nice collars, french cuffs!  If they were on sale, I’d buy two of each colour.

While I was shopping, I picked up Diane Flack’s “Bear With Me“.  After I finished Harry Potter that afternoon (for variety, I selected a different chair in the backyard), I devoured the baby book.  It was a good read, and I’ll have S read it – but AFTER she gets pregnant. But it left me wondering “what about David – how much of a presence in their lives did he end up being?” and “what about Janis – were there any issues/hurdles/whatever with her feelings as the non-gestational mother?”.  But alas, since this book was about pregnancy and childbirth written from the birth mother’s perspective, it didn’t go into these other issues.

I ran into Diane Flack’s blog on the Globe and Mail website where I learned she and Janis have had another baby who was born with a heart defect and an omphalocele.  Jonathan has spent a lot of time at the Hospital for Sick Kids ( I hope they’re having a much much better experience than my family had there).  Curious to learn more, I found the Pudy-Flacks website.  Unfortunately, the older blog entries seemed to be absent.  And even more unfortunately, I learned too late about the Jon-a-thon fundraiser.  It sounds like it was a very excellent event.

Ass-print

Dear user of the toilet in the far stall of our women’s washroom…you know, the one who leaves the brown ass-print on the back of the toilet seat.   I worry that because of your poor hygeine, you might have some fecal scalding issues.  When my cancerous cat was unable to clean herself, I would wash her ass daily and apply some penaten cream. 

I suggest you do the same.

SuWaDosh

S and I were invited to a neighbourhood BBQ at Stinky’s park on the weekend.  We showed up just before it ended. It was incredibly well organized (who knew?).  There was a raffle where almost everyone won a prize.  The food looked great (we didn’t partake because we didn’t bring anything – it was a potluck). 

 It was good to meet some neighbourhood people, but I was surprised by the number of white faces.  Actually, I thought everyone there was white until I saw a couple of Asian faces and a black man (with his white wife and super-cute toddler.  They were responsible for the ribs, which looked like a real hit).  I felt relieved somehow when I saw these more colourful faces, because I had been wondering if only white people had been invited.

Now that I think about it, almost everyone I know who lives south (or north or west) of Regent Park is white or asian (except for people in Moss Park).  Why is that?  Where are all the brown people at?  It’s not possible that they are all either extremely poor or extremely rich with very few in-betweeners like us Corktowners.  Is it?

Weird.

Blog Stats

One reason I use WordPress is the Blog Stats.  I am often highly amused by the search terms people use that bring them to my blog. I’m amazed how obsessed people are with cold coffee beverages.  I’m astounded not only by how often people search using the word “sphincter”, but that it brings them to my page (apparently, I linked to a photo that was tagged “sphincter”.  My bad).

“Phone number of prostites in barrie” – I don’t know what a prostite is, and I don’t have their phone numbers.

“In the steps of evil” – what the fuck?

Then there are searches for anal glands, crack hos, how to get evicted… yes, I’m the go-to gal for all that.

But the one I like best is “beautiful successful dyke”.  Finally, someone who understands me.

Putanesca

I went out with a friend for dinner last night at Caffe Volo. Nice place on Yonge with a small patio and a huge beer menu. There were around 8 draught selections du jour on the chalkboard and the rest of the menu listed bottled beers. But it makes me wonder – do they have all of those beer at hand? If so, how freakin’ old are some of them? And why do I have to buy an entire 750ml bottle of Blanche de Chambly? In addition to beer, they serve Italian food – pizza oven, pastas. I had a tasty Putanesca, and my friend had an appetizer because she had eaten a large lunch.

Before dinner my friend wanted to buy some porn – not for use during dinner, but for home and cottage use. She bought a Penthouse Letters anthology and a couple of DVDs in the Barely Legal and Blond Bimbos collection. (Yonge Street is one of those places where you can sit on a patio at a decent resto half a block up the street from your favourite porn shop. Quite the melange of establishments).

I don’t actually own much in the way of porn. I have some lesbian erotica that would qualify, but no DVD library at home. Unless the L-word counts, in a soft kind of way. Sure, I’ve watched it, and rented it (usually guy-on-guy. Is that unusual for a lesbian? I don’t know.), but don’t actually own any.

I guess the house will be easy to child-proof if we ever have a child.

Shear beauty

I went to the Lid Lounge on Friday the 13th to get my hair cut.   If you Google the Lid Lounge, it seems to be considered a good place to get a fresh, funky hairdo (the fact that I call it a hairdo, instead of a hair cut or hair style probably means the place isn’t for me).  I was a little anxious - here I am , a 41 year old, sloppily dressed public servant.   I don’t go to the clubs, I’m not particularly artsy, I don’t try to be part of the scene.  Would the place be a good fit for me?

Michelle was the stylist assigned to me.   I explained I didn’t like the longer hair because it was heavy, it was in my face all the time.  I also explained that everyone loves it and likes how it softens me.  But I don’t want to be soft, I want my edge back.  So she suggested an asymetrical cut – short on one side with long bangs on the other, but undercut so they wouldn’t be as heavy.  Okaaaay – riiight – that’s a little too much with the edge.  

I told her I like men’s hairstyles – that tousled choppy textured look.  I pointed at some pictures in a magazine she had – women with short textured hair.  A bunch of cutting later and I put my glasses back on.  Wow – I had maybe an inch left everywhere except around my ears.  On the sides of my face, she kept maybe 2 or 3 inches, and poking just below my ears was some more fringe — tufts from either side of the back of my head (the rest of the back of my head was cut short). Some Aveda paste (smells great) to texturize it all.

Overall, it was great – but a little too artsy for me.  It was the weirdness at the back of the head.  Michelle told me to perservere – give it a fair chance.  I kept the tufts at the neck for less than 24 hours before I started to freak out.   I felt like that Bride on YouTube – I wanted them off NOW.  S obliged.   I left the fringes at the sides of the face.

Reaction seems to be positive.  One colleague jumped back when she saw it, then broke out into a smile and said she liked it (“it’s the fringes, they soften it.”  What’s with the need to keep me soft???).  S likes it a lot (she also liked the tufts at the back.  What is wrong with people??).  N was true to form, though.  I had lunch with her today.  Around 10 minutes into it she looked up sharply and said “You cut your hair!”  Yep. “Why?!” she wailed and looked at me with great sadness.

The important thing is that I like it.  I was wondering if my face would look fatter with the short hair, but I don’t think it does.  As a matter of fact, I think I’m pretty good looking with short hair.  I am actually, at this moment, too sexy for my clothes.

International cuisine

Last Xmas I sent N,  my american friend,  Douglas Copeland’s book “A Souvenir of Canada” because she seems to like Canada.  The book is a collection of photographs and anecdotes – slices of Copeland’s view on what makes Canadians Canadians.  I thought it was interesting – some things he mentioned were blasts from my past – like the Oopik.  I had one as a kid and totally forgot about it until I saw a picture of one in Copeland’s book. 

I anotated the volume with my views using post-it notes.  In one segment, Copeland remarks that Kraft Dinner in the US tastes different than Canadian Kraft Dinner.  So I used a post-it to say “Is this true?  You must bring a box with you!”

So when N came to Canada this summer, she brought a family sized box of US “Kraft Macaroni and Cheese Dinner”.  She also bought two boxes of Canadian “Kraft Dinner” (she couldn’t find a family sized Canadian box.  I explained that that was because we didn’t have family values here).  Yesterday, July 4, we had the cook-off.

Each national packaged food was prepared according to the instructions on the box.  (After the experiment is ended, we realize that perhaps this wasn’t the best idea since neither we nor N actually make the stuff according to the directions on the package). 

Differences in instructions: The family sized US box (413 grams) wanted 8 Tbsp of margarine.  The Canadian box was 225 grams and wanted 3 Tbsp of margarine.  So – the US version used more than twice the margarine for a box that’s less than twice the size.

Differences in colour:  The US version was lighter in colour. Notwithstanding the colour in the picture in the box was amazingly orange, the finished product was insipidly peachy in colour.  Apparently, they didn’t use the full freakish 8 Tbsp of margarine when they made the stuff for the photo.

The Canadian version looked more orange in colour than the US version, even though the picture on the Canadian box was lighter in colour than the picture on the US box.  The picture on the Canadian box was more true-to-life to the end  result of the box contents than the US picture was to the end result of its box’s contents.

Difference is texture:  Although they were boiled for the same length of time (except the Canadian version sat in its hot water while I drained the US version first), the prepared Canadian version looked firmer/fuller.  The US version looked floppy and overdone.  This could possibly be an illusion created by the colour difference.

Difference in taste:   Four of us sat down to what was a blind-taste-test for the others (I, of course, knew which one was which).

The US one tasted of flour (the pasta) and margarine.  Not very cheesy.  But in truth, the Canadian one wasn’t very different.  Marginally cheesier.  Probably due to using less margarine.  We all preferred the Canadian one – but after a few bites of either one, it was hard to tell the difference.  Neither one was what anyone would call good. No wonder people add ketchup to this stuff — something I’ve never done, but can understand.   I used to add worstershire sauce, and now make a “gourmet” version with half a block of old cheddar plus some onion.

I used the second box of Canadian to make the “gourmet” version (made with significantly less margarine).  And ya – we all preferred this one.  Because it had flavour.

It’s only now that I realize I should have taken pictures!  So here’s a shot of the boxes borrowed from Wikipedia:

 

Hands down, the best macaroni and cheese is made from scratch, which I do now and again.   Either macaroni with a cheese sauce (that tastes almost as good as Mom’s – we never ate Kraft Dinner when I was a kid), or a baked macaroni and cheese casserole.  Because unlike Douglas Copeland, I don’t believe Canadian food comes from a box.

(ok, the macaroni noodles were in a box – damn you all to hell Copeland!)

Give me a head with hair… short beautiful hair.

I was leaving work yesterday and crossed paths with a woman I barely know.  She said “Your hair is getting long!”.  I explained “yes, but I don’t know what to do with it”.  “But it’s very nice”, she said . “Very nice”.

Everyone tells me they think my hair is very nice, even people I barely know.  S likes it – she says it’s softer.  My colleagues think it’s “cute” (ya, that’ll win me over).  Another woman said it was less edgy. My sister thinks it looks nice, and that my short hair looked all “Sir, yes sir!”.  She then described my short hair by making hissy noises while thrusting her fingers in the air.  

But I look in the mirror and with this hairdo I don’t see anyone I recognize or aspire to be.  It’s like I’ve acquisced to society’s demand that women be soft. 

Sure my head is a little small and I look a little pin-headed with short hair.  And sure, now that I’m 170lbs, a short haircut accents my loathed underchin.  But perhaps instead of growing the hair longer to fit the bigger body, I should loose some weight and fit into the short hair again. 

I don’t need other people to think I look nice.  But I’d like to go back to recognizing the woman looking back at me – and that woman has short hair.

Oh Canada

Canada Day 2007.  

I was going to take S to a place I used go to see the fireworks displays.  Why pay to get into Ontario Place when you can see them for free (albeit on the incorrect angle)?

Well, seems that over the years this quiet, hardly known spot has become anything but.  We couldn’t get close.  So we drove back toward home and saw them from a great distance from the roadside, each of us listening to the simulcast from one earphone of my tiny radio’s headphones.  Then we drove down to Cherry beach to look at the big orange moon shining over the lake.   A few people had their own fireworks that they were setting off at the beach, with a spontaneous singing of the national anthem.

The next day (the national holiday – because Canada Day fell on a Sunday), we bicycled out by Cherry beach then off to the Beaches.  All sorts of people from all sorts of ethnicities enjoying a lovely afternoon at the beach.  Walking their dogs along the boardwalk, riding their bikes, blading,  skateboarding, playing soccer or beach volleyball or catch.  Picnics, ice cream, and BBQs.  Exploring the strand.  People taking to the water in boats and canoes. People sitting on the grass under the trees…  (Can you dig it?  Yes I can)

After having an ice cream and people watching,  we bicycled back home along the bike trails – you’d hardly know you were in the City at times.  Birdsong and the smell of wildflowers.

Isn’t Canada great?