Tuesday, December 6, 2016

The Lost Halloween Confession


Derek brought Halloween Candy home prior to Halloween because it was on sale at Aldi and he thought he might as well pick some up in case we needed it.  We never do.  No-one Halloween's here in Australia anyway, and then with the whole clown thingy, parents were terrified to let their kids out … especially if they were dressed as clowns.

I actually think that is brilliant, wish I had thought of it when my kids were going out.  We could have stopped the whole Halloween nonsense and saved a heck of a lot of money for both candy and dental bills in the process.  We were too busy hugging clowns and making clown dolls and thinking they were cute and the fun part of going to the circus when we should have been terrorizing everyone with them.

Just another missed opportunity from my youth to add to the scrap book my great aunt is keeping on me, in case God forgets anything.

The kids used to come out on the street here but the people at the end of our dead end street are so mean and nasty to everybody that the kids just decided, for their own safety, to create a 10 house radius around them.  And those people aren't even dressed as clowns.  Go figure.  Do you think they vet the people who end up living at the dead part of a dead end street?  I only ask because the people on our street seem to have really taken on the spirit of "dead-end" in all they do.  It is crazy to see how people, small children and animals who walk down the street seem to hit this invisible wall just when they get close to the dead end houses, and then turn and walk away.  Some even run.  

Tuesday, November 15, 2016

I Prefer Bees


Queensland has a butterfly swarm going on right now.  Millions of butterflies are in the skies as those from further west are heading our way in search of food. 

Every time I step outside it literally feels like I am stuck in one of those over the top, entitlement obsessed weddings where the bride and groom are not allowed to move without there being an entourage of people to move the dress, a harp and stringed instruments to background the whole thing, and butterflies or doves being released.


One could argue that a swarm of millions of butterflies is much nicer than a swarm of bees.  I would argue that at least with a swarm of bees death is a real possibility.  This has been going on for days.  I constantly have people telling me there is something in my teeth and I have to remove a butterfly wing  or even a leg or arm …

Butterflies like bright shiny things - like those teeth you paid thousands of dollars for so they would be bright and shiny.  Is it wrong to envy people with dentures?  You can always put them in your pocket until the swarming is over.

I lie in my pool and look up and there are layers upon layers of butterflies going up forever in the sky.  I worry about things like, what if they all suddenly forget how to fly and come hurtling down on me?  I could drown in butterflies.  And what if some of them aren't dead when they hit me and are still squirming around …. ewww …. pretty does not take away the ewww factor of far too many legs and things trying to crawl up on the life raft named me, to save themselves from drowning.  

Real life is not like the movies.  In the movies, the beautiful princess (currently being played by "me" in this real life version) would be swirling and dancing and suddenly the air would be alive with sparkling, twinkling butterflies and it would all be for her and so pretty and magical.   In real life, I have a couple of butterflies lodged up my nose because I tried to walk three steps out my back door and I was afraid I might not be able to breathe so I turned too quickly.  Imagine if I had done a full swirl?  I would be dead.  There was no twinkling and sparkling going on.  I swear I could hear the butterflies mocking me.

I ran for the house, ripped open the fridge door and grabbed my epi pen and stabbed my thigh with it.  I don't know that I am allergic to butterflies and I don't really care, I just wanted to go to sleep while they tried to pull those things out of my nose. 

The local newspaper is all excited at the opportunities for people to snap some awesome pics.  They want us to "send them in" so we can have a fun competition and see everyone's talent.  Butterfly pictures are nice … as a "one of."  After day 10 it is like, "here is a picture of a butterfly on a flower," … "oh look, and here is another one of a butterfly on a flower" … "but hey, look at this one … it's a butterfly … on a flower."  I had a pile of dead butterflies forked that I took a picture of and wanted to send in but hubby said that was not in keeping with the "spirit" of the local paper.  I would like to jam a couple butterflies up their nose and see how pretty they think they are then.    As I said … bees, death …  definitely a better scenario.

I was getting desperate.

I put out the candles that are meant to repel mosquitoes, then I added the designer aroma candles from the good drawer.  I was saving those for a special day - probably when I died and someone else finally opened the drawer and found rancid designer candles and threw them out.  That is special, right?  Then I added some twigs that had fallen from the tree.  I was on a mission.  I figured I could explain to hubby later why we no longer had a coffee table or the book case in the office.  Butterflies like shiny things.  They dance in the light.  Fire makes light.  The bigger the fire, the more light, the more tragic butterfly deaths.  I was running around the yard screaming to them to just head to the light.


I got some tickets from the local council for excessive noise, creating terror and for having a fire without a license.  I think I raised the heat in our yard from 38 to 380.  I damaged all the flowers, grass and trees but hey, you will be happy to know … the butterflies are fine … still swarming …

And now they are mating.  Butterfly sex … everywhere.

Before everyone cries me a river about how delicate and beautiful butterflies are, may I point out that every fluttering little delicate butterfly was once a fat, wiggly, icky caterpillar and now they are flying … all over the sky and  having sex and there is no one child policy for butterflies so come next year we are going to be drowning in caterpillars.  I am sorry … no amount of pretty can erase that picture from my mind.

SKIN:  New Faces - Kendra [Summer] Black
BODY PARTS:  SLink FEMALE (Av.Enhance) Hands and Feet
LASHES:  Hush - Lashes - Lush
EYES:  Egozy.Eyes (Turquoize)
MAKE-UP:  *elymode* makeup - Gluttony shadows - caramel
[Hush] Lipcolor - Natural - Gloss (cocoa)
HAIR:  Besom *Milk* Oriental Buns
SHOES:  :::ChicChica::: Kat Night

Saturday, November 5, 2016

A Lemon Twist

mm23 2

The thing is, life has gotten incredibly busy.  Some days I feel it is a miracle I managed to get dressed.  In fact that day was a miracle.  I celebrated it just before bed and I was about to get back in my pjays.   Hubby and I high fived one another while we were brushing our teeth.  He said "waaa-t-ggooo-bawb" which, when you take away the toothpaste foam and the open mouth was, "way to go babe." 

It would be ok if it were the great things that were keeping us busy but nope, not the case.  Just lots and lots of lemons.  And when you have lemons, you always have those friends that go, " just change your perspective and stop being such a negative Nelly."  Why couldn't it be a Negative Nancy?  Or maybe a Negative Natalie?  I know some Natalie's and Nancy's and they are pretty much non-demon like.  Have I mentioned how much I hate "Nelly?"  And I mean "Nelly" anyone.  All "Nelly's" are cows.  They just are.

Wednesday, October 19, 2016

I Has Several Tents.


I love wearing these sort of clothes where there is all this extra material.  There are arm holes and maybe leg holes, some place for the neck, tons of drapey material … and you just wing it.

I especially like that you end up with a new permeation of it every time you get dressed.  It can go from a dress to pants to a scarf even, if you are really pressed for time.  It is really cool how that all comes together.  I would, however, like to caution you that some things can really not translate as well as you think they can.  Vintage can be a knife's blade in fashion.  A model can strut down a faded dress with a torn sweater down the runway and it is really cool.  Even wearing a table cloth for a fashion magazine, if there are enough cabbage roses and gauze, can look incredible.  Try wearing a tea towel your great grandma crocheted as a top to school and even you admit it was not that fashionable by the time you hit the 6 month of your detention served sitting with the minister as he reads you the Bible, and talks to you about being a precious rose and how you only blossom and share your sweet perfume and your two special buds with your husband on your wedding night.

Thursday, October 13, 2016

We All Have Baggage.


I like watching people get their luggage at the airport.   It was not a past time by choice but one foisted on me because no matter where we go, my luggage is guaranteed to be one of the last ones unpacked from the plane.

Everyone shoves and pushes and runs to get off the plane.  You risk your life, standing before the seat belt sign is switched off, fighting off the older and disabled to be able to take the aisle position so you can stand with your heavy bags for the hour before they get docked and open the door and the 582 people ahead of you get off the plane.  Then you run and push and get to the walkways that move before other passengers do.  You actually WALK on the moving walk-way because you want to get out.  You push in front of other people in every line-up and make it to the luggage ramp.

And then you wait.  And while you wait, everyone you shoved and pushed joins you.  Even the handicapped people get there.  And then the luggage starts to drop … and like I said, mine is always last.  Yay me. 

I always think the time around the luggage ramps is special.  You get to eyeball all your fellow passengers.  The man who insisted on stretching his legs out pushing your feet from where you wanted to place them on the floor beneath your own seat up and under the seat in front of you, which is special because in order for them to do they have to be pancaked and crammed under a steel bar.  Now that dude has to stand beside me and deal with my death stare.   Ask my children how that went for them.  They actually used to have couple more brothers and sisters.  Few people survive the death stare.

Saturday, October 1, 2016

It's All About the Butter Cream.


Some women worry that they might not look as good as everyone else. 

They spend hours buying the right dress and primping and preening before the mirror. They have been waxed and shellacked, kneaded and sculpted, cut and dried, fluffed and puffed, lipsticked and powdered ....

I saw a woman once all made up like that and she went to the restaurant and was seated next to the fireplace.  She melted. 

Really when you think about it ... how you look is really about the paint job. We women are like those tacky lawn gnomes all white and plain - handed out to be painted in senior ceramics 101, we are undecorated Christmas trees, we are cakes without icing.

I gave  my girls the whole motherly "you are a flower" talk.   Patting you on the hand is not a teenage non-verbal confirmation that you have been heard.  So I gave her the whole practical "how to" list complete with warnings the drew on every movie, newspaper heading and campfire horror story I had ever read.  I finished with explaining to her that she was not a blank canvas, but a garden gnome and she was in a really tough pottery class and if she did not paint that damn gnome better than anyone else and get an "A," and win a scholarship to Rocket Science school, she would never have even worry about whether she was the fittest gazelle and could fight off the entire lion pack.  No-one would be coming for her.  I think I got everything.  She looked at me in horror. 

Wednesday, September 28, 2016

Everyone is Someone's Imaginary Friend.


Imaginary friends have always been part of our family. My brother was this guy Anthony's imaginary friend for years.  We called the whole thing off when Anthony was carted off in a straight jacket because he opened the closet and found my brother hiding behind the vacuum cleaner.  I told my brother he was too real, and completely sucked at being invisible.  Anthony could not believe he wasn't imaginary.  It destroyed him.   He felt so cheated and unspecial knowing that we could all see him.  I tried to cheer him up by telling him we didn't want to see him and that if he wanted I would take my brother out into the woods and hide him better so that no-one would ever find him.  It was too late.  You can't unsee those damn live bodies.  They are littered everywhere we go.

I told my brother he sucked at being invisible and he should probably just move far away to save the family the profound shame we all felt now that he had failed.

Friday, September 23, 2016

I Have No Choice.


I could see a pet bat. 

I would like to accidently let it out and I would sit in a lawn chair moved over right to the edge of the property line, with my "Music to Clog By" turned up full blast.  I would eat chocolates and sip champagne and watch the neighbours try to run away from it, batting at it with their hands and screaming.  Then, when it would finally latch onto one of their necks I would look up and try to call it home.  I would say  "Murgenheimer  Muuuuurgenheeeeeiiiiimer.  Come here Murgeheimer.  Stop bothering the neighbours now."   But of course, my bat would not come. 

Partly because I would have trained it to ignore me but mainly because it's name would not be "Mergenheimer."

Friday, September 16, 2016

Angels Among Us


I saw an angel once. 

His name was Bill and he lived in a box under the overpass near the car dealership.

I didn't know he was an angel at first.  I met him one day when I was running away from home.  I stopped to eat one of my sandwiches and he was just sitting there, next to the town grain elevator, watching me.  So, I offered him the other half of the sandwich.

He asked what I was doing and I told him I was running away from home.  He didn't believe me, he said, " . . . you aren't running, your legs aren't even moving."  I realized he was right.  I was sitting there eating a sandwich.  He knew stuff like that.  He said I wasn't really committed to the whole running away thing and I should save myself for the right time.   He said it really forceful, like it was a commandment.   And when I turned my head, a whole field was on fire.  Moses only had a burning bush, this dude had a whole field.  I got goose bumps.

Monday, September 5, 2016

It's A Whole Freaking Rainbow Out There


For the longest time when I was growing up I thought I was magical.

It wasn't just about thinking I could fly, or that Santa was real, or there actually were fairies that drank out of the bluebells at night while we slept . . . I believed I had gifted sight.

I saw colour.

If you consider TV's were black and white, I could not believe that was how everyone else saw the world.  I could see colour.  It made me really sad for the rest of mankind.  So I spent most of the years between 3 - 8 weeping for them.  I realized colours, for them, was just names written on Crayola's.  They could pick up "yellow" for the sun and "blue" for the sky but it was all just grey and rainy.

Friday, August 19, 2016

Pretty Much Like Albino Garden Gnomes.


Some women worry that they might not look as good as everyone else. 

They spend hours buying the right dress and primping and preening before the mirror. They have been waxed and shellacked, kneaded and sculpted, cut and dried, fluffed and puffed, lipsticked and powdered ....

Really when you think about it ... how you look is really about the paint job. We women are like those tacky lawn gnomes all white and plain - handed out to be painted in senior ceramics 101.  We are undecorated Christmas trees, we are cakes without frosting . . .  until our Avon order comes in.  Then we can be anyone … especially if we have You Tube and we watch some prepubescent boy show us how to do it.  Today I am a Meerkat.   (It is all in the strokes you use on the eyebrows and then contour the nose).

Wednesday, August 10, 2016

I Can't Find My Panties, Do I Have Alzheimer's?


I feel cheated.  I never went to a party where a bunch of girls sat around in beautiful lingerie all evening, looking like models.

Why didn't I have any model girlfriends?

Why weren't there any model girlfriends at my school?

Why wasn't I a model?

I had underwear.  It did what underwear was supposed to.  Sometimes, at Christmas mostly, I got some  shiny synthetic underwear that had a hint of lace or a bow sewn on them somewhere.  Each pantie had a different day of the week embroidered on it.  I don't ever remember worrying about whether I was wearing "Monday" or whether I grabbed "Wednesday" by mistake.  Is this maybe the reason why my life is such a mess?  Was I meant to wear the right days.  Was it a magical ritual that would have made me popular?  I have to know.  FOR THE LOVE OF GOD SOMEONE ANSWER ME.  Did it matter?  I can't remember it mattering.  Do you think this is the onset of Alzheimers?  I think forgetting your underwear is one of the signs.  I think I read that in one of those click sites where they list the 5 warning symptoms that you are dying but I can't remember for sure and I KNOW that not remembering things was on there.

Unless I am not remembering properly.

Saturday, August 6, 2016

Keeping It Real


I tried to sue my grandparents for all the angst they created in me growing up. 

Telling a child it is "raining cats and dogs," and then yelling at me about needing to put on my rain gear before I could go outside was traumatizing.  First of all, it made me highly nervous because I could never ever seem to get my gear on fast enough.  Secondly, it created a life-long issue with rubber boots.  I am not quite sure what the issue is but if I say that I have one, it is plausible and it keeps me from having to shop for them or from ever having to put on a pair again considering on the farm, there were no cute little shiny yellow ducky rubber boots, or even shiny red ones.  That is for city kids.  Farm kids get standard mud green/gray, dual purpose boots meant for both rain and cleaning out the barn.

Monday, August 1, 2016

Trauma Bay 37924E. I Was There, With A Horse.

bbbia 2a 

There I was, even in my viewer, with a leg tucked under an arm, my clothes floating larger than life, and a head  . . . somewhere.   My breasts, with holes where the nipples used to be and my pelvic area, fully rezzed and disturbingly near an equally disassembled but with more provocative bits rezzed man.  "Hotstud 347." 

Evidently the other 346 Hotstuds could not make it.

Second Life, where you get to play out all your fantasies.  Except this was never part of any fantasy, ever.

Saturday, July 16, 2016

Etsy Can Trigger PTSD if You Don't Shop Responsibly.


Back in the Seventies, some people used to try to move out of the city to the country and set up little "hobby farms."

I think they tried to raise "hobby horses" and have lots of little girls they liked to name "Holly." Everyone was saying things like "There goes Holly Hobby on her Hobby Horse. She lives on a Hobby Farm." She always wore a gingham dress and a big prairie pioneer burka sunhat so you could never see her face.   And then some ladies started quilting her. It was all pretty genuine and innocent until some dude came up with "Deck the Halls with Boughs of Holly ...." and then it got kind of messy.

Tuesday, July 12, 2016



I had a Grade 2 teacher who taught us spelling.  She was talking about words that look alike but are different and she put up "dessert" and "desert."  Then she told us that we would always know how to spell them properly if we remembered that there were two "s's" in "dessert" because everyone loves a second serving of "dessert" but you would never ask for a second serving of a "desert."

I had so many questions, I mean after I managed to get over the WTF phase of the whole exchange.  I wondered if she knew that "bosom" only has one "s" when we have two of them??  "Balls" has two "l's."  We were heading for the seventies and women were strapping on their bras and going to Girl Guides and learning how to start fires.  There were wars to be fought and if she knew something that these women needed to know, she should have shared.

I learned a lot that day.

Tuesday, July 5, 2016

Teleporting, Will You Live To Talk About It?


I was out walking around today in places where I was not supposed to be.  Am I the only one who loves when you click on the link in a designers profile only to end up on private land where some disembodied something types you a message that you have 4 nanoseconds to get off the private land?  Like, how does a designer fail to notice that her store is no longer where it was last night when she logged off and why wouldn't she consider that a small little detail that might be important to share with her customers? 

Advertising 101.  Store owning for Dummies.  Let people know where your store is.  Have someone stand at the door and hug people when they come in.  Give them a sticker. 

Don't move the store and hire some hit guy from the mob to take out what might be your last customer just because they clicked on a link YOU provided.

And what is with this 4 nanoseconds. 

Friday, July 1, 2016

Stop Feeding Me Cough Medicine!!


I think nerdy kids carry grudges. 

They don't just grow up to be rocket scientists and heads of international labs and finding cures for cancer.  It is not enough that they earn a truckload of money more than the loser football star and the cheerleader who both ended up living in a trailer park and practicing variables of alcohol and drug insertion (some needle play possibly included).   Nope, these dudes and dudettes are exacting revenge.

Once there was a time when all medicine was a powder that had to be mixed in water and swallowed.  Or, it came in a brown bottle and had to be forced down the patients unwilling throat.  I know, the people out there trolling the internet to pick nits out of every sentence are already busy typing away, "how do I know the throats were unwilling?"  I will tell you.  Because the human attached to said throat has arms and legs that are flailing around, smacking outwardly at the other person trying to pour the medicine down it and then the teeth of that same human are clenched and possibly trying to bite people and then the mouth and tongue are spitting the medicine out.  THAT is an unwilling throat.  Duh.

But now, we have capsules and coated pills that slide easily down the throat without any taste transference and we have happy throats that are swallowing and co-operating with the healing process.  These methods have been with us for quite some time, brought on by a huge movement when the kids that were spoon-fed cod liver oil grew up and made money and gained power and position and lobbied government and killed a few people to make sure that they put that crap in a freaking capsule and stop trying to kill children in order to make them healthy.

Saturday, June 25, 2016

I Wail And I Gnash and Still the Dogs Howl.

tik tok 1 

THIS is a really sad day for me and not just because one of those crazy adult colouring ladies escaped with her felt pens and doodled all over Blissy … but with awesome technique … I would like to point out.  I  mean, if she were to post it in on one of those Facebook colouring groups, she would get soooo many "likes" and "loves" and maybe even some weeping.  IF they have added that emotion yet.  You know, the Italian mother kind of weeping when they child decides to become a priest or a nun or something.

It is a sad day because of the dogs next door which are howling in sorrow and sadness.  Don't argue with me.  I have recently found out I speak animal . ..  and I don't even whisper when I do it.  I figure those whisperers are just a bunch of fakes, afraid to speak out loud, because it is easier to smudge over a mistake in whisper talk than it is in real, loud talk.

You can shout out "chicken shits" right here if you like.  It will probably help you get through the rest of this post if you release some of the tension.

Sunday, June 19, 2016

It Could Be Bigger Than "Old Yeller."


There were abandoned farms and businesses all over the prairies.  City kids had playgrounds and community centres and sports complexes … we had old barns and abandoned buildings.

The first thing you did when you found an old building, was move in and stake your claim on the new club house.  Someone should do some serious investigative study on the correlation between farms kids and their old abandoned buildings and bike gangs and their club houses.  A lot of the same dynamics were definitely at play.  The places were dark, there were tables and chairs made out of old boxes and equipment, there were club insignia on the wall and the members sat around and drank.  In our case it was pretty much Fanta pop when we could get it, the occasional coke, and a lot of Kool-aide.  Someone was the leader and the rest of us were followers.  We weren't happy about it, but we were there none the less.  It beat talking to the cows.

Also we did not have hookers even though Donna Peterson did grow up to be a hooker.  In Grade 4 she had not yet chosen a career path and still hoped to one day grow up and work the french fry station at the famous Peter's Drive-In.  Even if she had identified herself as a hooker at that age, trust me, none of the boys would have known what to do with her anyway.

Monday, June 13, 2016

It's A Desert Out There.


I feel my sanity slipping away.  It is either that or I have become more objective in my self-observations.  I have no idea why, when I turn on the light and it does not work, I flick the switch off and on several times as if there is a possibility that I have done it wrong or that maybe if I do it in a certain way, the light will come on.  I like to think I am an enthusiastic optimist and refuse to surrender to "no can do" in any form.

Ya, let's go with that.

The most annoying thing though, is that the voice inside my head that is laughing at me, is that of my mother's.   When did I record that, to carry with me through the rest of my life?  When I packed my things to leave home, who put the tape recorder in??

Sunday, June 5, 2016

We Aim To Serve and Protect.


I did a drive along with some cops once as part of a community awareness.

I can't help it if the cop's perspective of the incident was all caught up in the legal documents that said it was court ordered, in the hopes of helping me change my ways before it was too late.  I have my own perspective and it is my story and I am choosing happier meanings and outcomes so that I will not be all bogged down with negativity that makes me have cancer because I hold negative energy in my body.

Neither do I want to be the butt of those feel good posters that say get rid of the people who always bring you down with their sad stories.  So I just close my eyes tight and click my heels and imagine unicorns and rainbows and sparkles and you would be amazed what an awesome life I now have.

Tuesday, May 31, 2016

All Hail Evolvement and the Unencumbered Breast.


Recently there has been a lot of arguing about the validity of bras.  Some are suggesting they are unhealthy for women because they restrict the lymph nodes and cause congestion which can cause some other serious health problems.  Others say that we are all just a bunch of stupid prudes and we should grow the heck up already.  One man has even done a study to show bras cause more droopage and nipple displacement than going braless does.

Of course, the lingerie makers, lead by a very angry, heavily armed bunch of angels and their fearless leader Victoria the Boulder Holder, are contesting all the ideas and insist they will never give up and are prepared to fight to the death.

I have a million questions:

1.  I wonder if the newly enhanced silicone army will be as enticed to enlarge their breasts if there is no longer any packaging to display said boobilage?  Sometimes a present looks much prettier all wrapped up with ribbons and bows than once it is opened.   Is a boob anything without the packaging?  Consider perfume in your pondering.  What IS perfume without the pretty bottle?

2.  What will we fixate on if we breasts lose their mystique? We can't go back and reinvent the wheel.  Does anything say mommy to men more than a breast?  And if we don't have it wrapped up in some kind of shrine . . . how special can it be?

Friday, May 13, 2016

Resting Bitch Face - My Story.


Resting Bitch Face, let's discuss.

I used to get yelled at all the time for not smiling more.  I was a kid of the seventies, living in a world where there was war and discord.  Women were burning their underwear just trying to get people to care about the fact that they were pissed about not getting the same opportunities as men.  People were having sex in the parks, with everyone else.  People were doing drugs.  People traded in their souls for Rock and Roll.  Elvis was hip swivelling and people were looking. 

I didn't do drugs.  I was not having sex.  I was not burning anyone's underwear.  I would have been happy to have a bra, I certainly was not going to burn it when I got it.  I was never into Elvis.  I was a straight A student who went to church every Sunday and sang in the choir.  And the tragedy was, according to my grandparents, I needed to smile more. 

Or I was probably going to hell.

It was a wonder they did not call for an exorcist.

Tuesday, May 10, 2016

Bright and Bold.


Awhile ago I posted a pic on social media of a fabulous group of older ladies dressed in an explosion of colours and patterns and styles.  Loved it.

I was surprised at the reaction it evoked.  Along with many who felt as I did, there were those who thought it clownish, a joke, and a tasteless display unbecoming for older women to adopt.  Someone remarked that older people are invisible no matter what they wear. 

I put my glasses on.

Friday, May 6, 2016

Travel Broadens the Mind.


I used to drive the little lawn mowing tractor around the farm and pretend I was in Paris, riding a scooter through the busy streets.

I would shout out "bonne journée" to the cows as I drove by and they would moo at me all judgemental like.  I could tell they were mocking me and saying, "THAT's not a scooter and YOU are no fashion model."  I would shout back, "jambes hamburger!" (hamburger legs!)

No-one cared back then that kids got bullied by cows.

Sunday, May 1, 2016

I Prefer Stumps.


You know living near the beach in a freaking hot country brings its own kind of problems.  (You may need to get a hanky for this one, or have a friend there to hold you while you weep.)

In Canada, we worry about things like, "if you don't put enough socks on when you go outside, you could lose all your toes to frostbite."  Then you end up with stumps and you walk funny.  People always blamed the cowboy boots and riding horses for the funny way cowboys walk, but the truth is they didn't listen to their moms, lost their toes to frostbite and now have stumps to walk on.  You try walking in Cowboy boots with stumps and see how funny you look.  (Please feel free to give a big shout out to moms here and the fact they do, indeed, know it all and should be obeyed.  Not MY mom necessarily, but me .. as a mom…)

Monday, April 25, 2016

Timeless Fashion.


Sometimes our moms made us wear pants underneath our dresses when we went to school because none of them wanted to ever have to go to the church weekly "quilting lunch kits for underprivileged kids" mornings and be the woman whose daughter froze to death in the middle of the prairies one winter because you sent her to school with bare legs.  The stigma of that was almost as bad as if you were the one quilter who could not make your stitches all the same size.  They made those women wear a scarlet letter.  Frozen daughters was frowned upon and some of those ladies were power frowners.

I still have nightmares.

Wednesday, April 20, 2016

Time Out - At The Beach.


It has been a bad week, what can I say?  You know there is the bad type of week where you recognize you are having a bad time and you need help, and so you stop and take yourself to the beach and spend some time walking along it, getting everything into perspective?   And you breathe in and out, deep breaths, and the world suddenly falls into perspective again and this rainbow cone of beautiful light suddenly envelopes you and unicorns appear and angels sing? You come back from those recoveries not only able to cope with the crap in your life but you can "ommm" your way through rush hour traffic or numerous herds of cows all over the road.  You can take the most hateful teenager and crochet homilies and life lessons into their brains in between the swear words they are hurling at you until you are both sitting down and eating homemade cookies and drinking milk and the teen apologizes, tells you they love you and that you are the best mom ever.  You even use your quiet inside voice with your aging mother when she tells you, again - the over and over type of again - that you look like you have put on weight and you should have married the minister's son. 

Saturday, April 16, 2016

Do You Feel What I Feel?


I have to ask, when people say things like "look great, feel even better" regarding second life clothes they bought from marketplace … what does that mean?  I have visions of people sitting there, putting the dress on their avi and then stroking their computer screen.    Do they know that computer screens are not like those books we had as kids … scratch and sniff?  I guess it doesn't stop people from trying.

Wednesday, April 6, 2016

High Definition.

hot pink 3a

I never got the whole deal with trolls.  I thought they were butt ugly and their arms didn't even bend.  Barbie bent.  I was into bending.  Blame it on Romper Room - " . . . Bend and stretch, reach for the sky …."

When you are raised in the wilds of the prairies of Canada, you learn things about life.  Like road kill.  I know stuff about road kill that no-one should know.  I learned that things that no longer bend . . . are probably dead.

We weren't allowed to undress in daylight.  Once when my brother got in trouble for masturbating I suggested it was so dark when we had to get undressed how the hell else would we be able to find "it" unless we searched for "it" with our hands. . . and then . . . If you have OCD or something . . . reaching for "it" repeatedly would not mean necessarily that you were going to hell . . . would it?

Tuesday, April 5, 2016

The Tail End of Life

red horse 1 

Despite some of you playing the new fun internet game of "guess how this picture ties in with what Biss is writing about," this is not a blog post detailing how I am a horses ass . . . at least not intentionally.  If I do my job well today I am hoping you will join with me in saying my neighbour is one.

I am pretty sure I am awesome.  I mean I like hanging out with me.  What's not to love about me?

Even if none of that is true, I kind of appreciate that most days I am allowed to seep in my delusions, without any interruptions from some bratty kid/brother/adult who is telling on you or telling you what you should be doing and how if you keep doing "that" you are going to end up just like your Aunt Judy.  (note:  NEVER interrupt the parent telling you that by insisting that you actually admire Aunt Judy, and she seems to be a lot more balanced and happy than the person lecturing you does.  Some enlightenment tidbits are best kept to yourself.  They are stardust sprinkles just for you!)

Friday, April 1, 2016

These Aren't Bees But ...


Hubby likes to make sure that he gets really natural foods.  We used to get our honey from the markets and a little stall complete with a woman wearing a bee costume, with black and yellow signage and a  declaration signed by some 1000 bees, authenticating that they have picked her picture out of a 12 face line-up as the woman who had indeed, stolen their honey.    She had bandages all over her body with penned wording and arrows stating "bee stings" and she had pollen on the end of her nose ... well we all hoped to God it was pollen, and we assumed, but no-one ever actually authenticated it.

She swore her honey was raw and natural.

I bought her Kool-Aid.   I totally was into it.  And I enjoyed her honey.

Wednesday, March 30, 2016

I See Dragons.

SEE 2 

I always thought fog was this really cool special effects that life sometimes gave us as kids, so we could play scary games and imagine monsters unseen, just beyond the trees where the fog obliterated our view.  It felt brave to wander off, wooden sword drawn, ready to do battle with dragons or demons ... Or my brother.

Turns out it is a scientific, nature thing.

I hate how they ruined all the childhood magic by making us learn science and insisting we did not have magical powers and that it is silly to be afraid of dragons.

I may have been awarded an "A" for putting down the answers the teachers wanted to hear, but I never let them take my soul.  I held on to my magic, AND dragons.

Sunday, March 13, 2016

It's A Real Bummer!

saving drama for the llamas 1 

I really enjoy watching women and their skirts.

You have the women of the code who wear the skirt exactly as it was intended, and then the ones that break all the rules. You have the girls who go through school with the skirt not a smidge above the school guidelines and the hem their moms sewed in, and then the ones that roll it up as far as they possibly can, risking a bit of a tummy roll over the benefits of showing some thigh. These fearless women take on life full on. They are not afraid to roll the skirt up, hike it up over their breasts and call it a dress . . . whatever it takes.

There was a mom of one of the girls at school whose article of clothing was always slipping off her boobs. And it was not because they were tiny, oh no! These were massive watermelon orbs who had worn down the enthusiastic, taut muscles of youth until they were holding on to the weighted melons with their fingernails only, screaming with pain. Even her knees whimpered in pain from the constant bashing they took from the hanging watermelons. I was never sure if she thought she was sexy or whether she was incredibly dumb and did not realize that a skirt almost always goes with some kind of a top. I do know that babies who were born during that time grew up with a profound sense of disappointment in their mothers. Us older kids grew up traumatized from the view of things one would rather not, SHOULD never have to, see.

Grandma said it was not polite to stare or to say anything.

Tuesday, February 16, 2016

February 15th, Get A Life You Romantic Delusional Idiot You - Day

Feb15 1

Guess what comes after Valentine's Day?

A whole bunch of NOT Valentine's Day.  

You can wrap up your hope chest in tissue paper and put it away for another year, this years Valentine's Day, not unlike the recent End of the Earth Barbeque or the Rapture Quilting Bee, was a big non event.

Prince Charming was a no show.

Face it, once the glow is off  that chocolate looks disgusting, no matter how bright and shiny the wrappings they put it in.  Not only is the smoke machine turned off,  there is always a big freaking bowl of disappointment cooking on the stove in place of your usual oatmeal.  It is best served cold, just to make sure you choke on every spoonful.

February 15th has always sucked.  It is the day you realize that your brother got 432 Valentines and you only got 3.  Two of them didn't have any name on them and said, "from your secret friend" written in the same handwriting used on the other one you got that said "from Mrs. Blackwell."  You check the gift box everyone was given from school, supposed to be full of treats that everyone's mother made for the party and realize that several of your cookies already had bites taken, and most of them looked like they were the practice run before the mom got into the real groove of Martha Steward cookie decorating.  A closer look at the Valentine the teacher gave you leads you to realize she actually forgot all about you and cut your "Valentine" out of the picture on the front of the book.  One of the legs of the little lamb is missing and there is a price tag half peeled off.

Monday, February 15, 2016

Knick Knack, Kitty Kat, Looking Back.

kitty cat bag 1

A few years ago a friend stopped over and we ended up sitting in my office talking.  BIG mistake.   I happened to leave Second Life on the screen while we talked and to be honest, I wasn't even sure where I was.  But, as luck would have it, up popped the one thing you never want your feminist friends to ever see.. . a Gorean "couple."

There they were in all their "I-am-your-long haired-over muscled-bare chested-master-kneel-and-worship-me-half naked-while-you-wash the floor-and-practice-the-fruits-of-your- Gorean-masters degree-in kneeling-while-thrusting-breasts-out-poses." 

My friend was like "OMG what is THAT?" (helps if you do this voice in a shocked I-just-stepped-in-dog-doo doo type of scream while holding a cup of coffee that is now half in the cup and the rest on you, the floor, me, and the computer keyboard.  Oh, and if you are a stickler for realism ... really scream and then swear a lot here (in a very attractive female's voice of course).  Get your co-workers involved and play different roles.  Find out who can scream the best or has the highest tolerance for burning hot coffee on their bare skin. 

This is a highly interactive 3D blog after all.

Sunday, February 14, 2016

When Blue is Really Yellow.

true blue 1

My brother should have been diagnosed with ADHD.  He only half listened to what people were saying and so usually ended up with half the instructions before he started things.

He missed that it was supposed to be a yellow buttercup flower that you held under your chin and if you could see yellow, it meant that you liked butter.  It seemed pretty stupid to me, why not just ask the person if you needed to know that?  Who walks up and gives someone bread and then whips out a yellow buttercup and wrestles the person so you can put the flower under their neck?

Evidently people in the world do it enough that the practice gets handed down from generation to generation.  I think it probably would be pretty irrefutable evidence that television is not as dangerous as being left to our own devices.

Why isn't someone solving that one instead of heading straight for world peace?  Find a way to genetically stop the whole hereditary process of sharing lame, irrelevant practices like the buttercup thing and then try world peace.  Who knows what valuable things you might learn that could help the process?  It might even hold the key to curing cancer along the way.

Monday, February 8, 2016

Mixing Movies, Mountains and Metaphors


I was touched with the magic of The Sound of Music and that beautiful opening scene of her in the mountains, twirling, dancing, running ... singing ... to the whole universe.  "The Hills are Alive . . . .   It was like someone had hit the eject button on life and I was free falling and all the sense of what was and wasn't proper went out the window because I was out the window and I could die at any moment and no-one ever tells someone ejected from a plane what they should and shouldn't do as they hurtle through the air towards the ground.

I completely embraced the idea that life was exactly like that.  We were all ejected from our moms and we were free falling and we should damn well sing on the mountain tops and do whatever else we wanted and when we wanted because we were all going to die anyway.

Wednesday, January 27, 2016

Global Warming

global warming 1

We were allowed to buy a fish bowl and two fish once.

My brother got a black angel fish and named him "Vlad the Impaler," and I got a little fairy like something fish with long fins.  I called her "Fluffy."

My brother's fish was all over the place, jerky movements, up, down, never content.  I am pretty sure he was a street fish and coming off of meth, or blow, or something like that.  He was antisocial and his family never called, ever . . . not even once.   My brother said he was a warrior and he was looking for other fish he could kill, rip their heads off, and impale on a spear.  He warned me that Fluffy didn't stand a chance, it was just a matter of time.   

Monday, January 25, 2016

Life is a Race to The Finish Line.


You know when you are a kid and walking down the hall at school and then someone comes up and you realize is walking beside  you?  And then you speed up a little, and they speed up to keep up with you, and you speed up and pull ahead, then they are beside you again and you both look at each other and it is on!  He passes you, and you catch up, elbow him and move out front and finally you quite pretending to walk and break into a full neck run, at precisely the same second and before you know it, without a single word spoken between you, you are both heading for the finish line at the end of the hall, leaping over other students in your path, bursting through armfuls of books and NEEEEEEDING the win!   

How come there is no-one ever there to give you the first place ribbon?  That take a lot of skill and effort, and let's face it . . . someone could have died.

Copy Cat. Copy Cat.


Ever since I joined Second Life, issues of copyright have been argued.  In the beginning it seemed to centre on people who had their work stolen and reproduced to sell in SL.  You had people who had their  whole SL for free off the backs of designers and artists who spent hours working on something so they could make a few Lindens.  I don't think anyone saw any grey with those arguments.

I am not a designer so I know nothing about the process and if I come across as being disrespectful to the talent or the hard work of the process then I have really missed the mark because I have nothing but respect and appreciation for anyone who makes the effort.  It is because I do not know all that is involved that it becomes muddy for me.

Thursday, January 21, 2016

Magical Moments


We went to visit some people once.  I don't know why.  If you knew someone years ago and never stayed in touch, I don't get why people think it is a good thing to renew things.  Like maybe the people were doing you a favour and keeping Uncle Herman from eating another one of their good friends?  Maybe the people never liked you in the first place and they are just too polite to tell you that "no, they really have no interest in seeing you again."  Maybe they only are having you over because they can't remember who you are and have you confused with someone they actually like.  Or maybe, they forgot all about you  and they hate to miss out on an opportunity to rub it in someone's face that they hit the big times.

Oh ya I know, maybe they really missed you too and are dying to have you come over. 

Get real, and stop reading my blogs ok?

Tuesday, January 19, 2016

Left Out In The Cold


Living in a cold climate has lots of advantages.

When you are doing the big family dinner and you run out of fridge space - just open the door and voila - more fridge and even freezer space.  You never waste time waiting 3 hours for a cake to cool down so you can frost it.  You just have to be sure that you have someone stand guard against the crows, the magpies, foxes, coyotes, dogs, cats, skunks, mice, deer, wandering neighbours and the abominable snowman.

You always have extra ice - just make sure it is not yellow - unless the punch is lacking flavour or someone swallowed a jelly fish.  (It can ease the pain.)

Friday, January 15, 2016

A Hole in One, or Two . . .


Holes in the pants as fashion.  

I tried that with nylons.  The first time I got a run in my nylons, my grandmother looked down at my legs and gasped so loud everyone turned to see what the problem was.  She was an expert at making it look like it was me by scolding me to be quiet.  She pointed at the hole in my nylons in complete disgust.  I tried to argue that this is what happens when you have to scoot down an old wooden bench in church.  Why is that no-one walks to where they want to sit and then sit down?  What is the point of sitting down at the end and scooting along  like complete idiots?  And why was she yelling at me, take it up with the janitor who hadn't polished the damn things enough to keep all the little bits and pieces shellacked into place.

Tuesday, January 12, 2016

All's Well That Ends Well.

sis 3a

When you move to a small town community, women don't tend to dress up much. 

Well, actually, compared to the many times they appear to roll out of bed and onto the floor, discover some rumpled clothes under the bed, pry off what food can be pried off, attempt to wear something that might not even be theirs,  tear a few strategic holes to make it fit . . . They do sometimes put more effort into it.

Friday, January 8, 2016

I Was Hip And Aware Once.

shadow dancing 1

The whole sheep look was big when I hit my teens.

We were not into neat wool or coloured and reconstructed wool made into cable knit moose cardigans or curling sweaters.  We wanted the sheep with the  "just got out of bed look."  We were all about the natural back in the day, which of course completely explains tie dyed clothes, destroying really pristine jeans and making them look weathered and torn, and of course drugs.  But they were drugs we got from the health food store of drugs . . . not some big chain of careless drug dealers who probably mistreated the chemicals and plants and forced slave labour to get them into cute little baggies.  Our drugs had no added preservatives or colourings and were grown in virgin soil in the mountains by monks that chanted and meditated while they worked and who washed their hands in yaks milk before they even got started.  

Just so we are clear that we were responsible drug users.

Thursday, January 7, 2016

The Reason for The Season and Why You Thought I Died.

vw 3
I escaped over the past few months.  I slipped off the restraints and ran naked into the night.

Ok that sounds a lot more poetic than it actually was.  I packed and drove to the airport.  Then I came back, only I had a bunch of shit to do and ya ... Christmas . . .

Anyway I am sure many of you are lying on your death beds waiting for some word that I have returned so consider yourself worded.  I have returned.