Monday, April 13, 2015

Could Someone Just Please Explain The Seventies to Me.

morning fog 1

I got fired the one and only time in my life because I did not wear a bra.  I was hired to work in a nursing home and after three nanoseconds, I was called into the office.

I was going to hell AND I was fired.

morning fog 2

I could have fought it.  I had a blouse on with a pullover baggy sweater on top.  Even with my bra, given the freezing temperature that they kept the nursing home in, presumably to keep the corpses for a few days until the morgue could make their rounds, my nipples would have been detectable.  Well, I mean IF someone had stared at them for a long long time, crossed their eyes a little and mistook some pilling for a bump.  Seriously, my nipples and my breasts were pretty much non events at the time.

Also nowhere in the information package did it state that someone would be inspecting my underwear or that I was required to provide my own.  For all I know I wasn't wearing any underpants that day either. 

I had other priorities in my youth.

Besides I was speaking to a woman who looked like her bra was probably made of canvas and rivets.  She looked like she tried out to be a nun, the one who walked around and smacked kids knuckles with a yardstick and then spent the rest of the day planning new ways to carry out nun penance ... like kneeling on broken beer bottles.  I think they turned her down because she scared the hell out of them.  At any rate I know for a fact she had never married and so in fairness, he bra had probably never come off . . . not even in the bath tub.  She probably knew if it had, she would have done something completely crazy like touched them with her wash cloth.

She hated breasts.  She really hated mine and those were surpassed only by her hatred of her own.  

Later I got a job as a secretary/gopher because I didn't wear a bra.  My breasts were a little more interesting and evidently evidence of my ability to type and fetch coffee.  I was wearing underpants for those of you who are planning on penning my life story once I am done here.

I know my boss liked me most on the days when I didn't bra those puppies up.  I learned how to navigate life with my boobs leading the way.  I was heady with the power of it all.

But I was still going to hell.

Then I grew up and I started to worry about hell.

It is these kinds of mixed messages that make us completely messed up grown-ups who have not got a clue what we are doing.  And then God hands us babies.  I just think someone needs to point out that I am still confused on the whole bra burning things ... was it a good thing?  What happened?   Did  we win?  What did we win?  When do we get our prizes?  

Does anyone else know that we won?

Do they care??

morning fog 3

What the hell ... can someone just tell me ... are my boobies free or not???

SKIN:  :[ Al Vulo! ] - [ Salina ] - [ Dolly milk TDRF]
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Saturday, April 11, 2015

Making the Most Out of Those Motorcycle Moments.

scooter 2

We didn't really have scooters.  Farmers don't scoot.  And farmers attempting to be cool, after the whole combine tractor debacle could not take another hit with "scooters."  We amped it up to motorcycles.

My brush with motorcycles is a compelling love story/instruction manual.

scooter 1

His name was Victor Rogerson and he was funny, and intelligent and had freckles.  He wrote in my autograph book,

"Freckle freckle on my nose
I know not why it's me you chose
Or who you are, or where you're from,
So I'll kill you with my thumb."

Of course in Grade 3 speak everyone knew that meant he was totally into me.   It went on for years.

I liked that he read books that were not the books I had read and that he talked about things I did not already know.  I liked that we both knew we liked each other but we didn't have to say or do anything really about it.

It was always an unspoken between us.

He was my first guy FRIEND.  He took off a lot of the black my brother had smeared all over the idea of boys and what they were about.

And HE had a motorcycle when we were older.  Well, it was his older brother's who looked like Ilya Kuryakin from The Man FromU.N.C.L.E. and I LOVED that show.  It just made the whole thing sexier.  And he gave me a ride on it around the yard and then he brought it to the school sports day once and we went off on it together.

That's it, nothing more.  I grew up when the idea of holding hands for the first time was a total butterfly in stomach thing so riding on the back of a guys motorcycle was so sexual I can't even tell you about it.

When my brother and I went to see him one time, as he was conveniently one of my brother's good friends, he took me on another ride.  I loved driving through the wheat feels, catching grasshoppers in my teeth without even trying.  And when we wiped out on the gravel roads and I got the complete epidural scrub for free ... awesome!  Had my grandparents found me in the bedroom with him tangled around my body, our hair in disarray, our clothes shredded and half off our bodies, he would probably not have made it out of the bedroom alive.  But make that happen out on a lonely country dirt road, throw a motorcycle into the scene and suddenly everyone is hugging you and offering you ice-cream.

scooter 3

I suddenly realized there was a way to negotiate puberty, address our raging hormones, achieve our goals, and do it with the blessings of our parents.  It just involved road rash and a bit of pain. 

But anything worth having, is worth the pain to get there right?

Note:  remove the dead semi dead grasshoppers from your teeth before applying "mouth to mouth" at the scene of the accident - trust me - it is more romantic that way.  And of course, even knee scrapes require mouth to mouth.  Remember, he LOOKED like he was not breathing.

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Thursday, April 9, 2015

Abandoned Warehouses I Have Known And Loved.

clean slate 3

My childhood was pretty brutal.  We learned hard lessons in unspeakable ways.  You might want to get out the hankie now, this is yet another sad sad tale.

Wandering around the prairies as kids, trying to find something to do, I mean after we had exhausted looking at the cows and weaving wheat, making pictures with wheat, chewing the wheat, smoking the wheat . . . . it was tough to find things to do.

clean slate 1

So we wandered.  We reeeeaaaallly wandered. . . as far as our little legs would take us in a given day.
And we would find awesome, abandoned buildings.  Some were just granaries out in the middles of the field with some old grain, a dead mouse and/or bird somewhere inside and we were left with our imaginations to claim it as a fort or a castle or maybe a clubhouse. 

Surprisingly we also found old houses in various states of left-overness.  Some had furniture and odds  and ends.  Some were falling down and some housed other animals that had moved in.  We had great fun with those.

But the best one was this old run down house we found hidden by some trees.  There was a dirt track leading up to it, almost hidden in the tall grass.  It was stuffed to the rafters with old junk and furniture - and about 30 feral cats.    First we were pirates, rifling through everything for treasure, and then we started to think about the potential.  CLUBHOUSE!!!   So we raced home and convinced the grandparents that we should go camping and we promised up and down and sideways we would not go far and we would only leave first thing in the morning, stay one nights, and be back the next day before supper.  It was summer, we were bored stupid and probably the idea of getting rid of our whining little butts for a couple of days, sounded too good to miss.  Besides ... how much trouble could we get into among the wheat, cows and gophers? 


We chased off most of the cats, who were happy to run the moment they saw us, and then we  fixed it up, sort of.  We had limited cleaning skills owing to the fact we had a maid who cleaned our rooms.  Our efforts consisted of shoving all the junk over to one side of the house, closing the doors on it all and focusing on a couple of rooms we proceeded to decorate with our finds.  We painted a sign and stuck it on the outside of the door telling people to keep out and proclaiming it our own private clubhouse.  Then we sat down and began to eat some of the sandwiches we had brought. 

I heard, "I have a gun and I know how to use it," right before the gun went off and sent a cat flying through the air and into a wall.  I considered that he perhaps did not actually know how to use the gun, or at the very least he did not know how to use it well.  I also considered that "I have a gun and have no idea how to use it," would actually be a whole lot more scary to most people.  It certainly was to me because even if he wasn't aiming at me, I could still die.

That was about the time we heard, "Come on out with your hands in the air, the house is surrounded."  It took us a minute, my brother and I both peed our pants before we managed to shuffle out from under the table and into the yard where a group of policemen waited for us.  They were actually mad at us and not the old cat killer with the gun.  They asked him if he wanted to press charges and no-one even bothered about the cat, or the fact my jeans were probably completely ruined.  

clean slate 2

It turned out the house was not deserted, old Mac Werthers lived there.  People in drunken stupors, lying under piles of garbage dressed in camouflaged  dirty smelly clothes that perfectly match the couch, rugs and walls , with feral cats howling and hissing to deflect your attention . . . are difficult to see.

I don't know how long it took us to get over the whole experience.  That was the first time I think we fully grasped that not everyone had a maid.  Some traumas stay with you a lifetime.

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Monday, April 6, 2015

The Late Great Science Project

madame 3

My brother read in an encyclopaedia that our eyebrows are important because they, along with our eyelashes, help to keep dirt out of our eyes.  He theorized that if dirt got into our eyes, we could get an infection that could get into our brain and we could die. 

Please don't ask me to explain the mind of a 9 year old boy.

madame 2

I was the victim of the crime.  He lured me into the forest to see the nest of baby birds he had found, tied me up to a tree and shaved off my eyebrows.  He probably would have plucked out my eyelashes but I had good teeth and managed to gnaw one of the ropes off and gave him a black eye.

BTW, I am the one that got in trouble because a punch could have caused real damage and my eyebrows would grow back. 

Why was it common practice for people to buy entire sets of encyclopaedias for their kids and never even check them out to make sure what kind of information they contained?  They could have been porn, or the complete guide for being a serial killer, and they would never have known.  "Here kids, go get educated." 

I became his entry project for the Science Fair.  He observed me to see how long it would take for me to die.  He kept blowing dirt at me and dragging me outside into the fallowed fields when it was windy.  He kept a chart and built a coffin that he hoped I would be in for the big day and he could prove that we did indeed owe our lives to our eyebrows.  It would be my death in the name of science so it would all be worth it.  

He even did up a fake driver's license for me and donated my entire body to his science project.

The big day came and of course I was still alive.  He cried and carried on that I had ruined his entire project. He accused me of blinking more than normal and of washing my face too often, just to wreck it for him.  

My project however went ahead without fail.

madame 1

My project was proving that "stupid" does not float.  It actually has density, lots of "dense-ity."  It involved my brother sitting on a little platform wearing a shirt that said "stupid."  By pushing a button, the platform gave way and he was released into a big  see-through tank of water.  He would always go straight to the bottom of the tank and only by making movements with his hands and feet would be rise up to the top. 

I had wanted to compare that with duct taping his arms and legs so he could not move and proving he would just stay at the bottom of the tank but my teacher pointed out that the coffin he had built for me was not big enough for him. 

I guess that proves that "stupid" also occupies more space than intelligence too.

Ahh childhood memories .. they are just so ... magical in their nostalgic dreamlike quality aren't they?  My screen fogged up several times while I was typing this.

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Thursday, April 2, 2015

Dandelion Journey.

dandelion kisses 3

We had a girl in our school who had really bad hay fever.

I am not a doctor or anything but it seems to me if you have a kid who is really allergic to growing grasses, it is probably not the smartest thing to move out into the middle of nowhere where people spend their lives . . . growing grasses.

She always got to do drugs at school.

dandelion kisses 2

And no-one ever wanted her in their group because she would always be kind of passed out at her desk and it was hard to count on the tiki huts getting done for the Polynesian panorama that was meant to be the big finish for the Social project when the person in charge of that was passed out.  Never assign the tiki huts to someone with hay fever.

Why do they call it hay fever anyway?  It wasn't just hay AND she didn't really have a fever, she just had really scary red eyes and a drippy nose and she sneezed a lot.

I thought we should have capitalized on the talent we had and worked  Snow White into the drama schedule.  She was a shoe in for Sneezy.   I was pretty sure my brother could pull off Dopey. 

Our neighbour used to put out a whole Snow White tribute every Christmas.  I think he was running out of ideas, heard "snow" and got blinded and confused.  After you have 3000 Santa's, 2,458 Frosty the Snowmen, a multitude of reindeer, elves galore AND all the lights in Australia on your front lawn, I can see how it happened. 

He would put out Snow White in a glass case, passed out, already a victim of appleitis, and then have all the dwarves standing around, noses pressed to the glass coffin, weeping.  It was very moving, very effective.

I stole the dwarves one night and had them swimming in our pool, eating shrimps from the barbie and dancing naked in the moonlight.  I took pictures.  I made a quilt of them for Snow White's coffin so she could have some incentive to wake-up.  I think, after 9  years, no prince shows up .. she might have to lower her expectations and go for a dwarf.  I can attest to the fact Grumpy was a good kisser.

Anyway he (the neighbour, not Grumpy, although he took Grumpy with him so Grumpy moved too but he didn't want to go (see kissing above)) moved the next year.  He took all the Christmas gear with him.  I hoped it was nothing I said or did but it turned out is was ... completely.

dandelion kisses 1

So ya I saw the dandelions and thought about the girl with the hay/grass/dandelion/flowers/tikki hut grass fever all those years ago and then I thought about the play we should have done and then the neighbour with the Snow White display and thought I should share these important, life changing moments I had. 

I want your lives to be changed too.

And now, presto doodle doo, thanks to the magic of the internet and my typing fingers ... they are.

You're welcome.

SKIN:  [ S H O C K ] Janis Holidays Skin - Group Gift
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POSES:  Roquai and Bent

Tuesday, March 31, 2015

An Impassioned Plea.

blue gecko 1

Some kids are lucky enough to get a dog or a cat for a pet. Some kids get a cow or a horse. Some are limited to a fish or a hamster. 

 I got a brother.

  blue gecko 2

I wanted to name him "Fluffy" but I was not allowed to name him.  No, no  . . . THAT privilege went to the people who dropped him off in my life and made me responsible for feeding and exercising him . . . not to mention house training him.  If someone ever tries to give you a pet that they have named, NEVER, accept it.  That means this is a "insert type of pet here" that someone else tried to love and they failed.  It is true, sometimes it is the fault of the people who bought the darn thing, but most likely, especially if the pet is a brother, the fault is completely in the pet.

Mine did not do a single trick that anyone cared about.  That is because no-one cares what you can stick up your nose, or what weird sounds you can make with your arm pitt.  Passing gas and burping are NOT tricks either.

Mine was forever doing stupid things. 

That is all that needs to be said about that statement.  No need going into detail about all the kinds of stupid things he did.  He did them.  ALL of them.

Mine was a tattle tale.  He was forever telling everyone everything.  Some of it mattered to me and some did not.  It doesn't matter to what degree your pet disobeys or ignores you, you still have a responsibility to teach your pet the right things to do.  I used electro shock therapy.

Stun  guns didn't work either.

Medication was pointless, even when we buried it in his Kraft Dinner, he refused to swallow it.  Some of my grandmothers best linens, walls, and other children are still stained with neon orange because of his projectile spitting.

Pets are meant to teach a child about love, and responsibility.  They are meant to be part of the warm hearted memories and video reels that you one day pull out and start to cry remembering what a great pet "Fluffy" was and all the good times you shared.  Pets are family members that are with you through some of the best times in your life, celebrating, and then comforting you through some of the worst.  This is the circle of life.  Norman Rockwell drew pictures of this.  Lassie and Old Yeller were the poster dogs for the whole movement.

This is a wonderful, good, heartwarming thing.

That is why I am asking now, that people the whole world over, join with me in a movement to ban brothers from the family home where they suck at being pets and just make little girls grow up hating men and the people who dumped their problem pet off on them.

blue gecko 3

THIS is why the world is upside down and all over the place and makes no sense.

Send your donations to me. 

Thank you.

(and mom, dad . . . I am not ever coming home again until you put him down.  Enough is enough.)

SKIN:  .::WoW Skins::. Ilenia Darktan Nat @SKIN Fair 2015
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Monday, March 30, 2015

They Let Me Pass The Bark.

lemon night 1

Against my better judgment, I went with a friend to a meeting where people get high on life and no-one ever even checks the kool-aid OR the brownies.

They claim it is spontaneous combustion.  Real energy ... flowing in the moment.  Moment-ing all over the place.  I tried to explain to one of them once that people do expect some kind of flow of continuity from one moment to the next.   If you are really happy this moment, in the next moment you should at least still be kind of happy.   Like, you can't be happy, and then sad, and then angry, and then bored in 4 consecutive moments.  They call that shit "bipolar." 

Anyway I went and I promised myself just to smile and nod and not to roll my eyes.

lemon night 2

The speaker for the day talked about how we need to belong in our communities so that we can be part of the "change we want to see."  I actually liked the last speaker I heard at one of these things better.  He was advocating that we all find caves, retreat, eat bark and berries, and understand how much better than everyone else we were.  I think when the rapture comes, the first place God looks, is in the caves.

THIS speaker wanted us all to join in.  Someone said they have a hard time fitting in so we broke into groups to discuss ways we can break through those barriers.  We all have to be able to influence the world around us with our chakra tuned and balanced - yoga enhanced -qi gonged to death - energy.  They brought out extra plates of bark while we discussed and captured our ideas.

There was a whole bunch of stuff going on.   I think someone should address how eating nothing but bark tends to make people cranky and bitchy, albeit probably a very centred and flowing bitchiness, but bitchy none the less.

In the end we regrouped, counted everyone to make sure we had no dead bodies shoved under a chair or something, or that no-one had escaped.  These people are serious about their loving you - whether you want to be loved or not and they will hunt you down if you try to escape.  We made a universal list that we could all take home with us, to allow us to penetrate the enemy camp get out there and force them let us belong in our communities.

High on the list was to join in the same type of activities.  When we "mirror" one another, we make powerful kung fu type of energetic connections with others.  It is like hugging them without them even knowing.

I went home and told my husband we had to go.  He wanted to know why I was putting on my rubber boots and why I was taking his jack knife.  I told him because I did not have a penis and I couldn't find the axe.

I had planned a nice afternoon of mirroring our neighbours.   We were going to wander into their  yards and pee all over their gardens.   Then we would hunt and kill any of the little wildlife we saw running around.   Next we would scatter their maimed bodies around their yard for them and their children to find.  It was not going to be pretty but it had to be done.  In the name of belonging, it HAD to be done.

Hubby locked the doors.

Apparently peeing, maiming and killing was out.  I suggested we could get a  bullwhip and learn how to use it and work it hard at 4 AM when we get up and everyone else is still sleeping? 

He didn't buy that either.  He said we did not have a bullwhip.  I showed him my talent of snapping belts, not as loud, but any sound repeated continuously long enough can cause insanity ... We just had to be really committed.

He hid the belts.

Well I was exhausted.  I didn't know what else we could do to join in with the normal activities of our neighbours, except we could be really rude to one another and ignore each other but that seemed ridiculous, how could we ignore them when they are ignoring us?

lemon night 3

 In the end I had to just go to bed knowing that not only did I not fit in with the world around me, I failed  "belonging school."   I doubt they were ever going to invite me back anyway, they could tell I was not really hugging them back.  Evidently, some of them had difficulty trying to hold my limp body up so I wouldn't slump to the ground.  I can't help it.  I am Canadian and  we are trained from the time we are children how to play dead.  It is a survival skill.  I was surviving.

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Wednesday, March 25, 2015

Knock Knock. Who's There?

archer 1

Don't you love it when you are bored out of your gourd and just when you think there is absolutely nothing going to happen, there is a knock at the door and it is unexpected guests?  I mean there is all that anticipation of wondering who it is when you go to the door - did you forget you ordered something?  Did someone send you flowers?  Have the children finally come out of their comas, remembered where you live and have come for a visit ... sooo many possibilities.  And then you open the door and it is those cute little people that show up to tell you that Jesus loves you or that you are going to hell if you don't love Jesus give them money.

archer 2

The hell warners are like the emergency warning system for bad weather except they have more wrinkles usually, speak in a sterner voice and aren't very helpful with what you are supposed to do with the information once they tell you.


" That is all."

"Have a nice day."

Today, this really cute little old man and lady came by and I was so excited to have some play mates.  Isn't that nice that they drive up in a whole van load of them and they get out and go knocking on the doors until someone lets them in?  Talk about Jesus in action, taking the church out into the neighbourhood and making a difference in your communities.

Anyway, John and Alice were already saying "thank you, have a nice day," and walking off before I even got out, "yes, of course I would love to hear your special message, won't you come in?"  I had to run after them and bellow.  I only bellow when the situation merits it.  On the prairies, raised by grandparents, you learn manners.  No random bellowing . . . EVER!. 

I bellowed.  "John.  Alice.  THIS is your lucky day.  Come onnnnnnnn down!"

They stopped, turned, looked at me, looked at each other, and got their walkers all tangled up in each other trying to get back to the door.  John won.  He gace Alice a wicked elbow and she ended up in the gutter, picking the gravel out of her teeth.  I am pretty sure there was a Jesus competition going on and the prize must have been something awesome like a cross stitched book marker with a bible verse on it.

I asked John if he needed me to sign anything to verify he made it through the door first.  He shook his head and I felt like such a idiot.  Of course God already knew. 

Once we got all settled John began, "Our message today is that Jesus loves you."

"SHUT UP!!  Are you serious?  No.  No he doesn't.  Really?"  I was gobsmacked.

Alice was nodding.   "Yes, Jesus loves you." 

"Does the bible tell you so?"

They were both nodding.

"No serious, how do you know?  What did he say about me?"

"No, Jesus didn't talk about you.  He didn't say your name or anything.  Jesus doesn't talk like that.  He just loves everyone."  Alice was beaming ... like a sunbeam. 

"So this is not a "hey Aria, you are special" kind of message.  This is "hey Aria, you are just the same as everyone else, no big whoop kind of message.   Like Jesus loves you.  Big deal."

I was feeling pretty disheartened.  I actually considered slapping the cookies out of their hands and suing them for making me more depressed.

"No, it is a big deal.   Jesus loves you and you should know."

"Why?  Does knowing get me some special prize?  Does he only help those who know he loves them?"

"Of course not, he loves everyone the same."

So Jesus loved me yesterday even though I did not know, and he loves me today now that I do know, but it is all the same.  He doesn't love me more today than yesterday?"


"Well yesterday sucked.  So does today actually.  So you are basically here today to tell me that my life sucking is exactly what Jesus wants for me because he loves me and there is nothing I can do about it?  Does this actually work for you?  Or for Jesus for that matter?  I mean normally  a good sales pitch is, sign up with us and you get 2 extra movies a month, or here have a tablet of a set of steak knives or something.  You guys are trying to sell, life sucks, you suck, and that is what you get and hey Jesus loves you?  ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME?"

archer 3

John was pretty sure he could hear the van honking for them and he got up to help Alice out. 

I  asked if I could have some of their literature or something.  I wanted to give them my name and find out what time they had service but we were right in the middle of a miracle and  there was no time.  People lose their minds when miracles happen.  I rose from my chair to see what was the matter when what to wondering eyes should appear . . . Alice and John were about to disappear.   Alice and John had ditched their walkers in the rose bushes and were running, unaided, for the van that was already pulling away from the curb when they hurled themselves into the open door and everyone sped out of sight.

I know that people don't believe in miracles anymore but there was a miracle on my street, in my yard, today ... Because Jesus loves me.  John and Alice told me so.

SKIN: ryuukou verl caramel
HAIR:  MADesigns HAIR ~ GERTRUDE ~ Black
EYES:  Egozy.Eyes Enigmatic Collection
TEETH:  [:T:] Parted lips
NAIL POLISH: [Bamboo] Nails - Berry Blue
DRESS: SAS - Valeska HUD Dress for FFL
JACKET:  ** DIRAM ** GIFT - BLAKE Blazer - White
JEWELLERY:  Donna Flora LUMIERE necklace
SHOES:  Ever An' Angel Doodle Smexy Pumps- Teal
BAG:  *{Junbug}* Princess Clutch in Pearl
POSES:  Ma Vie

Sunday, March 22, 2015

OOPS I Did It Again.

autumn rose 1

I get all these invitations from men to join Non-English speaking groups and causes.  THESE are the men that want to date/marry me and declare they are in love with me, even when I point out the picture they are looking at is an avatar.  In the interest of complete disclosure, they should note  that not even Barbie is 9 foot tall and has a 3 inch waist.  But the heart wants what the heart wants.  At least I think it is their heart that wants it.

autumn rose 2

See Ken being anatomically ambiguous, member deficient, penis-less  has left so many of us women without a real sense of what the romance is all about.  We are still thinking pink and tuile and a prince that is an arm accessory that just comes out of box when the scene requires it.  We are waiting for our Barbie  Motorhomes and Dream Homes because everyone knows Ken is pointless if those aren't there.   We were all perfectly happy hanging out with Midge.  

No-one ever shopped for a Ken to just hang out in your apartment, eat all your cheese and leave his dirty underwear everywhere.   Even Mattel talks about the dress, the motor home and the last little aside is ... "Oh ya, and you can add a Ken too.  It is kind of like watching the whole show on a fabulous vacuum you can buy and right when they think you are about to walk away from the TV they throw is a set of Ginsu steak knives.  No-one really wants or needs the steak knives but hey, a vacuum AND a set of steak knives.  Ok.  That is how we were taught about men.  You get all the great stuff and they throw in an ambiguously sexually defined Ken.  How did that prepare us for life?   How many of you screamed the first time you saw peen and wanted to know "WHAT THE HELL IS THAT???"  THAT is the results of Mattel playing with our minds and creating unrealistic illusions about what Ken men and life is all about.

How were any of us supposed to be prepared for life?

Ya so anyway the groups etc.  Men already have so much to make up for and then they show up declaring their love and they are looking at a picture of Bliss.  OK, but even Bliss is pretty much my personality.

How can anyone spend a nanosecond with me and not know that I am not the "sit in the back quietly, nodding my head once in awhile" kind of person?   I need my words.  I need a loud voice.  I need to be talking/typing ALLLL the time.  I can't move those puppets fast enough to act out my every thought and comment.  I am not an angel or something ( see video with evidence of the abilityof angels to move magically and swiftly - study picture of me and then picture of angel - NOT the same person).

Please, if you are going to invite me to join a group please take the time to look at my profile and see that I cannot speak your language.  I am language challenged.  I only speak english, some french, and swear words.  I have lots of tones ... but actual other languages ... No.   I suck.  

My Barbie lived in a white trailer park.  She has significant limits.

Hey where are you going?

autumn rose 3

Can we still date?

Or is that a deal breaker?


I said too much again, didn't I??

SKIN:  [LoveMe Skins] Jessica Skin - Bronze @SKIN Fair 2015
HANDS and FEET:  SLink
HAIR:  .:EMO-tions:. * ROBIN * naturals
EYES:  Egozy.Eyes Enigmatic Collection  Brown
NAILS:  [Bamboo] Nails - Spring Peach
EARRINGS:  {me.}Trioh Earrings - GOLD
DRESS:  *LpD* - *Lidia* Dress Sand 2 Versions
SHOES:  ieQED skuld.cage.flat.tan
BAG:  *LpD* - *Gladys* Bag Orange
POSES:  Del May Poses

Thursday, March 19, 2015

I Wanted a Budgie.

road kill 1

I wanted a budgie. 

I think I wanted one because they came in pretty colours . . .  but also . . .  because they were not cows.  I had kind of had my fill of cows.  Dairy will do that to you.

road kill 2

Have I ever told you how much I resent the hell out of the fact that when I was growing up no-one talked about being lactose intolerant or needing gluten free everything?  That is right.  We did not have cell phones, You Tube OR any of the nifty medical conditions.  That shit is awesome.  I guarantee some girl locked away somewhere in the deep farm land of Saskatchewan came up with that stuff.  If I had heard of it, I would have read up, become the best lactose intolerant, gluton reactionariest, poster child that ever lived.  I would have got me a note from the doctor excusing me from all things farm and caught the first one horse pony out of there.

But I didn't have options.  I was stuck.  

So I wanted a budgie.

They brought me home a bird in a cage.  It was kind of little.  It was a sort of neon yellow and green strangely resembling the colour of Kool Aid crystals AND it was bald.  They told me it had issues because it was not loved enough as an egg and I could heal it with my love and care.

Well get the marshmallows and chocolate out, it was like a torch with gasoline on my fire.  I was big time into loving everything.  I actually WAS the poster child for flower children.  We were like hippies except we wore flowers in our hair before we smoked them and we never bothered wearing bras that eventually needed to be burned, they just got in the way of, and delayed, the loving.  I wanted to heal the world.  I was part of the movement of wanting to "teach the world to sing in perfect harmony" which got downgraded to just wanting to "buy the world a coke and keep them company."

I loved and cared for my budgie even though it was uglier than all get out and grew too big for the cage.  Turned out the yellow and green WAS Kool Aid powder and my budgie was mud black. "Fluffy" never ever grew a single feather out of its bald head no matter how much I loved him.

Then one day my brother was tanning down by the creek and he started screaming.  Fluffy was trying to peck out his eyes.  THAT was when I realized, Fluffy was not a budgie at all.   He was a vulture!   I went turbo hysterical that I had been lied to.   My grandparents had no idea what I was talking about.  WHICH lie was a referring to?    Turns out my family made a practice of lying to me about all kinds of things.  They said it was no big deal and I suspect they put valium in my oatmeal again, just to keep me calm and make sure I got on the bus every morning to go to school and not spill the beans on why my brother's face had all those peck marks all over it.   

I think that was the only month that my report card did not say that I talked too much and tended to interrupt the class with my plans to take over the world.

However, a few weeks later when a couple of cows were found gutted behind the barn and one of the farm hands swore he saw Fluffy flying off with a cow leg in its mouth, Fluffy mysteriously disappeared while I was at school one day. 

My brother pointed out to me that Fluffy he had probably answered the call of the wild and returned back to his natural environment which would not include a made over Barbie Motor Home with a Lace Canopy bed. He did his whole cycle of life speech. 

road kill 3

Some say growing up on the farm exposes you to the realities of life that city kids miss out on.  Some say it is an ideal way of life.  I just know that my brother and I were blessed to learn many important life lessons from the nature and animals around us.  My brother was right, animals had a natural environment that we, as humans, should learn to respect and not try to make them into our dolls and keep them in gilded cages.  

It was a really tender moment between us.  I hugged him and pointed out that Fluffy was buried behind the barn, where my grandparents had also buried his pet goat that did not run away like they said it had.  The truth was, that in the cycle of farm life, the cows were much more valuable than a vulture and they could not 
/would not allow for their precious cows to be taken out.  I also pointed out that both the cows AND the vulture were more important to them than he was, being as they did not kill Fluffy after he tried to disembowel him.   I gave him some alone time to let that sink in.

I know there are city kids everywhere reading this story and cursing their families for not moving to the farm. Farm kids ... the luckiest darned kids ever.

Oh, and cows are precious.

SKIN:  *REDGRAVE* Paper Skin --Trinity-
HAIR:  MINA - Ashton - Ombres 1.0
HANDS and FEET:  SLink
EYES:  IKON Kaleido Eyes - Oil
NOSE RING:  ~Tantalum~ Jawaher Hearts Nose Chains*
NAILS:  The Black Fair 2013 - GIFT! (*C - Nails RR black)  Chandelle
TOP:  // SEUL \\  Cotton Mock Turtleneck - Onyx  @ UBER
SKIRT:  // SEUL \\ Fringe Mini - Onyx  @ UBER
SHOES:  [whatever] Lithium - black
POSES:  Del May Poses  Beast,  Broken Trapeze, Castaway 1
LOCATION:  Zerkalo District

Monday, March 16, 2015

It's All About Getting Healthy.

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For some reason we had the television on the other night when we were eating dinner.  I think we are both getting old and we forgot.  Also, when there are no kids home to boss around, you can do whatever you want to.  You can do that because it is your house.  AND, you are the boss.  So we were watching television and eating.  A  commercial came on about a nifty new machine that could turn your vegetables into pasta!


I am not kidding.

interlude 1

And the commercial goes on to show how easy it is and how a zucchini put in one end comes out the other end looking just like regular pasta except it is green, has NO gluten, AND it is much healthier for you. 

I had to make my husband get off his chair - he was standing on it and screaming, he was that excited.

Then they tell you that you can take those pasta-look-alike vegetables and put ... wait for it ... PASTA sauce on them and wow ... you will not believe that they taste kinda like pasta except they are not pale pasty white, they have no gluten, and they are much healthier for you.

Then they back that up by saying "recent research has proven that vegetables are healthy for you, much more healthy than all that pasta we eat." I had to pull my husband back from the TV screen where his nose was pressed so hard up against it that I was afraid he would pass out from not being able to breathe.  

I have no idea why that thought suddenly concerned me or why I felt the need to intervene with nature.

JUST PAY THEM some money for the machine, more money for tax, and even more money to ship it, and they will send you the fantastic magical pasta machine that changes ordinary boring vegetables into pretend pasta that everyone, except the announcer, cannot tell the difference between the two.  Send more money and they will send you watered down pasta sauce at 3 times the price of the less watered down pasta sauce you can pick up in your local supermarket.  Please disregard that the supermarket  jars are  prettier  and the ingredients are government regulated and probably even have some actual vegetables which can counteract all the chemicals in the pasta sauce they are trying to sell you.  In fairness, not once did they claim that the pasta sauce was healthy or nutritious.  They never declared it to be chemical free.  The never declared it to have passed any nuclear or bubonic plague testing.

Oh and you can't eat pretty.  Nutritious, healthy food must, by mother nature law, be sensibly plain and wholesome looking.  Sexy and pretty requires drugs and alcohol, diet pills and equipment that are sold on their own specialty channel later on at night.  Then you have to find an even later channel that sells the things to dress up pretty and sexy and play with it.  I am telling you, machines that make your vegetables look like pasta is the gate way drug here to maxing out your credit card and living a life of complete misery.

The commercial ended.  We resumed our places at the table.  I reached over and shredded my hubby's vegetables, in a flurry of fork and knife action,  went over to the cupboard, got out a jar of spaghetti sauce and dumped it over his plate.

interlude 3

My husband sat there with his mouth open and asked me, "what the heck?" 

"They used to call me "Edwina Forkhands" in school.  I can shred anything with a fork.  All you ever had to do was ask if you needed your food disguised in other shapes.  I also do meat origami if you are interested.  Think of the money I just saved you.  Eat your fake pasta.  It is getting cold."

That was the last night we ever watched TV during dinner time again.   We thought we just made up all the stuff we told the kids about mind control and how bad television is for you.  Turns out it was all completely true and we are lucky to still be alive.

You are such lucky people that I am a survivor and do not give up easily.

SKIN:  AKERUKA Meg V2 skin
HAIR:  !lamb. Tha (Mesh)
FEET:  SLink
EYES:  IKON Kaleido Eyes - Oil
BAG:  *LpD* - *Jane* Bag Brown
SHOES:  Bishes Inc ~ Fringe Heels Black
EARRINGS:  {Indyra} DeLourdes
JUMPSUIT:  Ricielli Mesh - Papi Jumpsuit/nude
POSES:  Epiphany