Slippery Slope

Today at Costco I realized I'm in dangerous territory. Not Costco, though THAT MANY Kit Kats is plenty dangerous, as are those ginormous bags of Kettle Chips.

No, I realized, while considering whether or not I should buy a metric ton of Kashi, discussing this with myself, out loud, that I love talking to myself. More than with other people.

To be fair, I rarely talk to other people anymore. I talk to myself way more than I do other people. And I'm OK with that. I like it. I am an excellent conversationalist. I know just what to say and when to say it - even HOW to say it. I'm such a good listener, too. I really HEAR me.

Even more dangerous, I don't care if people overhear my me-me conversations. Join us! We're having a stimulating conversation about bags of flash-frozen chicken! And pork. That is a LOT of pork, but that's good pork. And we can freeze it. Do they have cupcakes? I really want a cupcake - not a giant fat sponge muffin and definitely not 12 giant fat sponges. Nope, no cupcakes. Should we go? Are we done? I think so. Let's go.

New Cat Diet - Day 7

Captain's Cat Food Log, Day 7:

The Natives are restless... but in a more-active-than-usual, not-as-sloth-like way. We've switched them to an all-canned food diet - no more kibble.

So far, no complaints, though they still don't speak English, so how would we know?

We do know there's been no more cat puke since making the switch and we've also noticed they're not constantly visiting the water dish like they just got off a long bus ride from Arkansas.

As of last night, one native in particular was up at all hours playing Raccoon. This could be an unfortunate side-effect (for us) of having more energy and being more cat-like than sloth-like. On the plus side, Raccoon Boy needs to burn off some pudge, so, good for him, bad for my beauty sleep.

Why put everyone through this experiment? I was tired of cleaning up cat puke (not hairballs, just puke) and worried about why one of our cats kept doing it, no matter how I fed him or the quality of the food, which is always the best I can find.

After reading countless cat food labels I kept wondering, would a cat naturally hunt down barley or boil up a pot of rice? I would love to see my cats trying to cook rice.

I did some digging and found information about cats developing diabetes or pre-diabetes, possibly caused by the excess carbohydrates in typical dry food formulas. I wondered if Ninja's puking and repeated trips to the water bowl could be signs of serious trouble. He was getting up repeatedly throughout the day to get a drink.

Neo, the Bowling Ball, aka Raccoon Boy, needs to lose a few pounds but reduced-calorie kibble has more carbs, less protein, and has never worked to help him slim down.

I'd always thought kibble would help keep their teeth healthy, but after watching them inhale the bits and rarely chew them, that theory wasn't holding up. Every time Ninja puked up his kibble it was mostly un-chewed bits that could go right back into the bag.

So, I started reading Do Cats Hear With Their Feet by Jake Page. He includes some of the same info I'd found online (and much more - great book). Cats are designed to eat meat, not carbs. Also, very important - they need to get their hydration from their food, not the water dish.

His book mentions a website, catinfo.org, full of nutrition and feeding info for cats, written by a veterinarian. Another book he recommends for good nutrition info is Your Cat: Simple New Secrets to a Longer, Stronger Life.

Since we made the switch, Ninja hasn't gotten sick and isn't constantly visiting the water cooler - very encouraging signs. Litter box output all looks normal - no change in the size of clumps, no diarrhea. They still sleep a lot, but now they're up & playing in the early afternoon - not out cold from breakfast until dinner time. I'm also hoping to see the dandruff clear up, something the boy cats have had for years.

Some folks worry that too much protein is hard on their kidneys, but what I'm reading cites the lack of hydration as the main problem leading to kidney stones or kidney failure. If they're designed to eat meat and only meat, I suspect their kidneys are designed to manage that properly.

I'm not ready to start grinding up tubs of raw chicken just yet, so I'm using the canned food I've fed them for years - Wellness. It's pretty good quality though still has some ash in it, which I really don't like.

Catinfo.org mentions a couple of options - Feline's Pride and Nature's Variety - they're expensive. Wellness has come out with a new canned formula - Core - that has more protein & less starch.

Overall, all signs point to this working out well, unless they're all up and playing throughout the night, then they might be getting canned-food dinners with valium dust sprinkled on top.

Coast Crapital Senseless & Lame

I've never hated a bank as much as I hate this piece of shit Canadian "bank." The people are nice enough, but they cannot make a working website to save their hockey-lovin lives.

Sure, maybe I just need to eat lunch and stop yelling PIECE OF SHIT! at my laptop screen - take a moment to calm down, but where's the fun in that!? PIECE OF SHIT! PIECE OF SHIT! PIECE OF SHIT!!!

I try to log in, it appears as if I'm logging in, then the screen refreshes and evidently I have NOT logged in. I'm trying to pay a bill. I would like to pay the bill. But I CANNOT pay the goddamn bill because this PIECE OF SHIT website will not allow me to pay the bill.

This is the banking website that has their online "representative" fucking around at her desk with a man in a gorilla suit behind her. It should be no surprise that their website doesn't work. It's a PIECE OF SHIT.

Yes, my cookies are enabled. Yes, I'm using the highest level of encryption and all that garbage. Other banking sites work fine. It's just THIS ONE that was built by Canadian geese. I would not recommend using Canadian geese to build your website.

Also, why in the world would I want to join this bank on Facebook? Why in the HELL would I follow them on Twitter? Are you fucking KIDDING me? You're a BANK!

How about you try being a BANK instead of fucking around on Facebook and Twitter? Has it ever crossed your mind that maybe you should focus on BEING A BANK? A BANK WITH A WORKING WEBSITE? Take a minute and think it over.

Meanwhile, I'll be using ANOTHER BANK for BANKING business. Take your time, send some tweets, fill out the 50 Things About Coast Crapital. Here, I'll get you started:

1. Were you named after anyone?
Not someone, but some*thing* - crap, as in the slang term for feces. Because we're supposedly near the "coast," we got super clever and called ourselves Coast Crapital. We're called a savings & loan, but we don't want our customers to be able to access their money too easily. We've taken care of that by having just one branch every 400km and we built a website that looks like a website but it's really just a series of linked JPGs.

2. When was the last time you cried?
Is that a human behavior?

3. Do you like your handwriting?
I like everything I do, even if it infuriates our customers and makes our bank look incredibly stupid and inept. Hells yes.

4. What is your favorite lunch meat?
Bologna.

5. If you weren't a bank would you be friends with you?
Not a bank - that's funny. LMAO.

If I could get my hands around your asinine online rep's throat, I'd squeeze and squeeze and squeeze until my money popped out of her eyes and into my lap where I could use it to pay that damn bill. I hate you so much right now.

Update: I sent them an email telling them about the problem and this is the response I received:

Thank you for your Account Product Support inquiry.

This is a technical issue that can likely be fixed. Please call our technical support at 1.877.33.7736.

Even their support system is manned by geese. Awesome.


Update #2: I replied to let them know they'd left out a digit in their tech support number and how much that bolstered my confidence. I also told them I wouldn't be using their online services anymore. Their reply:

Our website does work and if you are having technical problems with it the I would suggest phoning our technical support line. I do apologize about leaving the digit out last time. [can you hear the whiny "it *does* work!"? - hilarious.]

I told them thanks but no thanks. Isn't it neat when a company argues with you about their broken crap? I recommended their developers do a little testing to see what they could find without me spending any more of my time on the problem.

Someone else replied again - it's been a different person every time - to politely ask me to contact their tech support folks. Third time's a charm - no more argument in that message. Someone over there took the Customer Service Basics seminar. I won't respond this time - I've had enough fun for today.

No Clock for Old Women

Last night we watched the second-to-last Battlestar CanaGalactica/Galactacouver, zooming right through it on DVR by skipping all the commercials.

When it was over, David saw that No Country For Old Men was about to start on a movie channel. Without taking a break, we went from cold & bleak outer space to hot & dusty west Texas. I hadn't seen the movie and was sucked right in. I don't remember the last time I was so captivated by a movie.

When it ended, I glanced at the clock on the cable box. It read 12:10. You might be thinking, So??? Well, let me tell you. Last I remembered, it was about 8 o'clock and we'd just finished eating. I thought it might be about 9:30, maybe 10, but after midnight!? How did that happen?

I was robbed of two whole hours of my night! By the Cohen brothers! By a guy with a spectacular salad bowl Prince Valiant haircut and a shotgun with a silencer! Have you seen that gun!? It's fugging amazing!

Maybe not "robbed"... Not like the movies Tank Girl and Domino - outright time muggers that make you want to bludgeon their makers for having ever wasted all that film, or flog yourself for having wasted precious time watching such garbage.

It was jarring, is all, to go from feeling like it was still kinda early to BLAM - late. My internal clock was totally off and I was pissed. I need that clock to be right, since I hardly ever wear a watch anymore.

Still thinking about that movie today. "You can't stop what's comin'." "Believing it's all about you is just vanity." And now I want to talk just like Carla Jean and wear my cowboy boots everywhere. Evrawayer.

Sorry God

Hi God, you imaginary prankster, you. Just wanted to say sorry to you and your witnesses of Jehova (that's Jumpin Jehosaphat's cousin, right?).

I'm sure your witnesses are fine fellows, but I had to take care of important business in the bathroom. As my Nana used to say, "I had to see a man about a dog."

Imagine my surprise when on my way to the bathroom the doorbell rang not once, but TWICE. TWICE means someone very important is at the door, like the UPS man or a bedraggled Canada Postman with a package requiring signature - something I really want and can't wait to open.

Imagine my disappointment when I opened the door to your spokespeople who wanted to hand me cheerful-looking pamphlets sporting bright sunshiney flowers. You're going to have to do better than bright sunshiney flowers.

I'm looking for boxes of cookies, coffee, doughnuts, kittens, shoes, or even Avon products. Flowers aren't gonna cut it.

Hand me a box of kittens or doughnuts and I'll listen to your folks prattle on about anything as long as that box stays full. If a kitten or doughnut jumps out, you'd better have another one to take its place.

With a curt but cheerful "No thank you! Good day!" I shut and locked the door and made tracks to the loo. When I came out, a forlorn El Gato Retardo was sitting by the front door. I'd just shooed away his people.

Just like JWs, Ninja believes Armageddon is near - every morning and afternoon just before feeding time. He also will not celebrate his birthday. Because he is a big dumb cat and does not know his birthday.

Anyway, sorry for shutting down your peeps and carrying on with my day. Got lots to do - building a giant cross in the back yard, snorting coke, aborting fetuses and making all the family decisions. As you can see, I don't have time for chatting on the porch. Give my love to Jesus.

Tell It, Oprah!

I usually couldn't give a rat's ass what Oprah says or thinks about anything. I know, how un-American of me... I also won't read any book that makes her list. But I digress...

It was nice to see a snippet in the news about Oprah wanting to tell Rihanna that if he hits you once, he'll do it again. And again. And again. It's true, sister. I hope Oprah can reach her.

I don't like to talk about it, but I was once in one of those relationships. Thankfully I was never punched, choked or bitten, but he was working toward that.

It was emotional, verbal and psychological abuse that began slowly and over time escalated into shoving, pushing, physical threats, throwing things at me and breaking my belongings - lots of shit broken.

In the beginning it can be very subtle - giant red flags I now see with hindsight. At the time, you may not fully recognize it or don't want to believe it's happening. There's also the lame thought that you can change him. Needless to say, you can't. No one can, though I'm a big believer in traction. Six months in traction might do a lot to help someone reevaluate his life. If only.

That's another job I would enjoy. A oil-soaked Louisville slugger and a list of names. Available to start now. Anyway...

Over time, they can get inside your head well enough so that you lose the strength to leave. Your confidence and self-esteem erodes as the shame builds. You want to get out or cry for help, but the fear and shame is paralyzing. If you get caught talking to anyone about it, that will mean more pain. It also doesn't help if they spend all your money, leaving you financially unable to get out.

The situation is very sad, but one silver lining might be that people might better understand how common it is. Being rich or famous doesn't make anyone immune to domestic violence. More important, abuse isn't always just physical. If someone is trying to control another person in any way, it's wrong. No debate. What might seem harmless now won't be in the future.

Looking back, it's hard to say what might have helped me. I had to find my own way out when I could make it happen. If I had a ton of money and rich friends, I have to think I'd have been able to leave much sooner. At the same time, if I wasn't strong enough to do it, it may not have mattered. (Thankfully I had just enough money and a wonderful friend who was a lifesaver.)

Until Rihanna realizes on her own that he is nothing more than a poisonous parasite, there's not much anyone can do to help. At least she has the financial resources to get out whenever she's ready. I hope she gets there soon.

If anyone out there is wondering if you're in a healthy relationship, get help. Talk to your friends, read corny self-help books, go online, but most important, trust your gut. If that little voice is telling you something doesn't feel right, it isn't. Don't ignore it. You're not alone and many other women have been there.

There's lots of help out there (here?). For example:

• DA signs and symptoms
• Signs of Domestic Violence
  
• DV - Recognize the Patterns
  
• National DV Hotline
• Women's Aid UK
• Women's Shelter info & links on Wiki
• La Casa de las Madres SF

And if you like-a de Oprah, tune in on Thursday - the whole show will be about domestic violence.

Analyze This

Lots of weird dreams lately. Nothing I can remember too clearly, until this morning.

I distinctly remember watching my dream like it was a movie - a really bad B horror flick.

It's late at night on an empty, secluded beach, somewhere in Hawaii maybe. A young adult couple frolics down the beach, running, the man chasing the woman. The woman is topless and has a beautiful rack - really beautiful.

She and her boyfriend run down the beach laughing, having a great time. Then they go into what looks like an old government office building right on the beach, like an old DMV office - faded beige metal siding with old aluminum-framed windows. Not much furniture inside other than a couple of old metal desks left in the middle of the large, empty room. It's been empty for a very long time.

They run into the building and off to the right - he's still chasing her and she's laughing - great fun - good times. At this point I join the dream. Something's about to happen but I'm not sure what. I'm crouched in the entry foyer, below the inside windows. The couple can't see me and I can't warn them about what's inside, behind the wall on the left.

There's a light outside that shines into the windows, bright moonlight, maybe - I can see everything clearly. It's quiet now - I can't hear the young couple but they're oblivious. I turn to look at the thing I knew was coming - I can't see it - it's invisible - but the light shows me a shadow of its skeleton on the inside wall.

It's a T-Rex, silently creeping around the wall toward the happy young couple. Before they know what's upon them, it begins to tear them apart, blood splattering everywhere. There is still no sound, just sprays of blood all over the walls. The end.

I woke up and didn't feel at all frightened or disturbed. Just another day. It was time to feed the cats.

A Different Kind of Job

These are tough times for finding good jobs. It's tempting to look for a safe option, like tech writer or online producer, but what a great time to find your calling and do something you've always dreamed about, or something that needs to be done that no one else is doing.

I think I've found that job. Killing everyone and anyone who ever abuses or neglects an animal. No warnings, no trial, no jury - just me, a nice gun and a list of names.

Who pays for this service? Good question. The ASPCA? The government? Let's not worry about that for now. Regardless of where the money comes from, this is a job that pays for itself in a few ways.

Firstly, the sense of satisfaction we could all feel knowing these people and their genes are off the planet. Whew! Wouldn't that feel great?

Secondly, these people area huge waste of resources. If they can't properly look after an animal, there's no way they can be trusted to look after children or any other human, and they obviously have no respect for the planet, so why keep them around?

If they can't take care of an animal, they can't possibly be productive members of any community. They're useless morons, plain & simple. Some might say, "Oh, they didn't know that XYZ might be harmful..." Bullshit. Ignorant? Misinformed? Lazy? No excuse - you're dead.

Thirdly, just the threat alone of knowing you'll be shot and exterminated if you're ever caught doing anything untoward to an animal seems like it would be an effective deterrent and possibly prevent these things from happening in the first place.

Think of the money saved by having these idiots off the planet. You know they call in sick to work to stay home and watch Springer, so if they're working for you, you're getting shanked, and that's if they even have a job. They're probably living off the dole - your tax dollars at work. Why not put those tax dollars to work eradicating these pests?

I'm available to start now.

New Thing for February

...um... Medina's Coffee & Waffles is all I got. But new restaurants are easy. Especially restaurants serving coffee & waffles. I could eat that in my sleep. Sometimes I do.

There was one other thing - I tried walking two unruly great danes. I wanted to enjoy it, but it turned out to be a pain in the ass. Literally.

The younger dog, still sporting his danglies, needs a lot of work. When another dog ran up behind us on the trail, he flipped out and charged toward the dog, slamming me backwards down onto the trail. Like a dumbass, I tried to keep hold of him.

The other dane, a very sweet girl, took the biggest crap I've ever seen from a dog. Being a cold day, it was actually steaming. A giant, steaming crap just like you might see in a Ren & Stimpy cartoon. It was amazing. Trying to pick that thing up in a plastic bag without barfing was a real challenge. I was tempted to leave it on the trail, but it was so huge it would have spooked a horse.

I don't think I'll be walking them again. I mean, I could, and over time I know it would get better, but - call me chicken - I don't want to get caught up in some nasty situation should Mr. Danglies charge a dog and create a problem. But I said Yes and gave it the old college try.

BTW, who in his right mind doesn't spay/neuter a dog? Redonkulous.

Dronabinolidated Water

We figured it out - why we feel like we could sleep all day and put away enough carbs to fell a moose - Canada puts something in the water. They've gotta be pumping THC into the water supply. It's the only thing that makes sense.

When I first got here I had all sorts of projects I wanted to work on, energy to burn and wasn't eating my body weight in starch every day. Now? Now, I could build a mashed potato igloo, crawl inside and sleep until June, getting up only after I've eaten the entire thing to build another one. Though I doubt I'd actually get up or "build" anything, because that would require effort.

No wonder everyone is so mellow, the driving so terrible and there are fast food joints everywhere. Get it? See what I did there? Joints? I slay myself. Time for a nap.

Slacker Days

The only thing I accomplished while David was gone was a whole lotta ass-sitting.

I almost felt guilty at first, but then I realized how good it felt. I sat on my ass at home, then I sat on my ass in a movie theater all by myself. Turns out few people go to the movies at noon on a Monday.

My list of goals was ambitious and unfortunately, I only managed to achieve a few of them: wore sweats almost the entire time, did no dishes whatsoever and watched bad TV - The City! The City After Show! Jay is a total lying cheater!

Then there's the ginormous time suck that is the internet - Facebook, Flickr, blogs, news, but mostly Facebook... oh how I love that time vampire.

But today was fairly productive... I bought my tickets and in just over four weeks I'll be on my way to the sun-baked desert where I can damage my skin and float around in the lap pool.

A week later I get to drive up to the Bay Area, stopping at every In & Out along the way, where I will consume gallons of Peet's and eat plates and plates of molé chicken at La Piñata, washed down with buckets of Don Julio on the rocks. I'm so excited I could cry hot tears of sweet tequila.

When Hubby's Away

The wife watches live, Oscar red carpet coverage. David would spoon out his eyeballs if he were here. But he's not - he's on a business trip, leaving me alone and unsupervised in this foreign country.

He'll be gone for three days and two nights and here's a list of all the things I'm going to do while he's gone:

• Not cook a single thing.
• Eat an entire batch of chocolate chip cookie dough, because Miriam and Ted's cookies still have not arrived and I can't stand reading about all the taste test reviews without having any cookies stuffed in my mouth.
• Wear sweats the entire time.
• Watch the dishes pile up until late Tuesday afternoon and *maybe* do them before I leave to pick up David.
• Have waffles for dinner (which I won't have to make - got leftovers in the freezer).
• Watch CosmoTV, MTV, and other varieties of BadTV.
• Lift weights in my underwear.
• Dress the cats in doll clothes.
• Pile my clothes all over his side of the bed.
• Order a pizza and take off all the cheese and eat the crust (David hates when I do that, like I'm defacing a sacred object, but I don't eat dairy, so, it gets defaced. And de-cheesed.)
• Eat dinner at 4pm.
• Work on my Sawyer & Desmond Go Shirtless scripts.

I may not be able to get to everything, but I'm going to try my best. I really want to go back to Medina's to eat a hundred waffles, but that would mean putting on pants. That definitely presents a pickle.

Holy Brunch Batman

Medina's is gooooooooooooooood. So good.

We got there early and it was already packed, with people waiting inside and on the sidewalk.

Thankfully we didn't have to wait long and as soon as we sat down our lovely server, Emma, came by to get our coffee orders. Loved my americano - it was perfect.

The waffles are as good as we expected - great flavor, fluffy but substantial, and dipping a chunk of waffle in dark chocolate sauce is perfectly delicious. We could have eaten a dozen more and made that breakfast, but everything else on the menu sounded too good to miss.

My omelette du matin was fantastic and Emma was sweet enough to put together a custom plate for David, who isn't a fan of brussels sprouts or really anything green in his food.

It's a good thing they're downtown or else I'd be there every morning. Absolutement.

Good Day Sunshine

Today was a good day. Sunny, clear, and I dare say, almost warm. It's amazing when a kid from California can move to Vancouver and end up feeling like 45 degrees is comfortable.

Back in the Bay Area, if it was 45 degrees, even with bright sunshine, I'd be bundled up like an Eskimo and bitching a blue streak about being cold. Funny how a *real* winter with sub-freezing temperatures, snow, and dreary rain can help you change your perspective on weather.

But I'm nowhere near as hearty as the locals. Lots of folks out in just t-shirts walking around with refreshing frappuccinos. I still need hot coffee, a long-sleeved shirt and a jacket. Baby steps.

On top of the good weather, I'm also happy about a trip to the Bay Area in April. After feeling so far away for so long, I can't wait to get back to see friends and drink many gallons of Peet's. Before that, I'll squeeze in a little time down south to soak up the desert sun and make sure my parents haven't fallen and can't get up.

In the meantime, one more thing to be happy about - Café Medina downtown - a place we found last week and will try this weekend - coffee and European-style waffles. I'm saved.

Liquefaction

I'm gradually turning into mush. I think it's just my nose running from being out in the cold. It's my brains, slowly leaking out of my head.

This happened the last time I stopped working for a while - in 1988 when I first moved to San Francisco to attend SF State. I thought I'd want to focus 100% on school. I started losing my mind from the boredom.

On one hand, I love being at home and having SO MUCH TIME to procrastinate going to the store and avoid housework. On the other hand, I COULDN'T CARE LESS about going to the store or housework.

I'd rather watch terrible Sylvester Stallone movies (The Specialist, anyone?) than go grocery shopping or shove a vacuum back and forth.

(Side note, I'd never heard of The Specialist before seeing it on the cable guide the other day. It was wonderfully awful in so many ways, accelerating the rate of grey matter liquefaction.)

Today I did manage to go to the store - I ran out of distractions as well as eggs. I don't know why I keep getting to this point where it becomes a ginormous challenge to convince myself to go. It's that shutting down thing - everything becomes a hurdle.

Earlier this year I registered with a couple of talent agencies that specialize in background talent, thinking that would be a good way to get out of the house and meet new people. Break up the monotony.

Unfortunately, nothing's landed yet, and I have to wonder if it has something to do with the TERRIBLE photo they take, usually in a hallway outside the office with the very worst lighting, with the camera way too close so you get a great view of my chin and not much else.

Time for Plan B. Get the frick out of town. I'm planning a trip to visit the parents in the desert, then drive north to the Bay Area, then fly back from there. Not the cheapest boondoggle, but it sounds like a great way to shake off the mildew and clear my head.

I think I have to go. I can't take one more friendly chit-chat with the Save-On checker who, when I told her that all their organic go-gurt (goat yogurt) was expired, told me the woman who runs that department is out because her husband just died.

She's a serious health food expert. She had her husband eating much healthier, even with his bad heart, and last week he was doing the best ever. Then he just up and died. She's real upset.

I'm sorry Margie. That's very sad. I don't know what to do with that information. I thought you might want to know you're trying to sell old food.

With all the folks wearing green Save-On vests, is there NO ONE ELSE available to help with ONE AISLE of products when someone's spouse dies? Really?

The organic foods manager will be so pleased to know that while she's out dealing with the death of her husband, she's got no back up at work. Awesome.

Margie went on to tell me a lengthy story about trying a "health food wiener" one day and it made her sick. Said she was so sick she had to go home. Know what else makes her sick? Slim-Fast. She just doubles over with stomach pains.

Margie, that's a really interesting story. Can I borrow your box knife so I can slit my throat? It's going to make a big mess, so you might want to call someone up to the front. Thanks Margie.

Biding

It feels like we're marking time now... waiting for the end of winter, waiting for warmer days, waiting for the economy to improve, waiting for the invention of no-calorie doughnuts...

I'm waiting to get back home for a long-overdue visit and still waiting for the invention of a personal teleportation device.

In the meantime, we pass the time as we usually do - trying to figure out how many more cats we might be able to fit into the family.

When not working on that algorithm, I notice all sorts of things that irritate or confuse me.

For example, the Crest Pro-Health toothpaste I bought at Costco last month... The daytime toothpaste is in a lighter-colored tube than the nighttime tube, and that makes sense, but the paste is dark blue, whereas the nighttime toothpaste is white.

Wouldn't it make more sense for the daytime product to be in the lighter colored tube and white, and the nighttime product to be in the darker tube and a darker color?

Then there's the exploding soup commercial. No one on that team consulted with women while developing that campaign, or any women that clean their own kitchens.

I think it's an ad for soup crackers or maybe it really is for tiny bombs that make a bowl of soup explode into a gigantic mess. Whatever it is, I don't want it. Every time I see that commercial I wince at the amount of cleaning that product would require, so whatever it is, I'll never ever buy it.

Fascinating, isn't it, what's taking up space in my head these days? No, I know it isn't. It's all I've got at the moment.

The other day on Facebook I saw a friend's status update about meeting someone for coffee. It occurred to me how long it's been since I met anyone for coffee. What a lovely thing that would be. If only I had some friends here.

I'm not whining. It's my own fault for moving 900 miles away. I obviously didn't think this through. The longer I'm here and the more isolated I feel, the more I shut down.

It sucks to feel so far away from my life. This, being here, is not my life. It's a detour on the path back to life, back to reality... It's going to be an ongoing challenge to keep cracking the cocoon.

So, now I have to figure out what to do with my time while I'm here. A few ideas include: becoming fluent in Canadian, learning how to unload the dishwasher telekinetically, creating new dishes with fat back, and teaching Henry how to swear in French.

It's Not Just Me

It's not just me making fun of the cops - the locals do it too!

At the grocery store yesterday, the clerk rang me up while her coworker stood nearby, jabbering on about something that happened to her the day before, an injury or accident of some sort.

She said she thought about calling the cops, but she knew she'd be seeing them at dinner. The clerk said, "Where, Tim Hortons?"

I wasn't sure if she was joking, because we've seen many a Hortons packed at dinner time, but her coworker laughed and said "No! My family's house!" [Someone in her family is an RCMP.] Then I laughed right along with them, and that felt good.

"Did You Pray?"

Loved watching Captain Chesley Sullenberger on 60 Minutes last night. What an amazing guy.

Katie Couric still bugs me, maybe because CBS kept jamming her down our throats when she took over the evening news, or maybe it's her annoying use of "you all." I'm sure it's both.

Now, I'm no fan of religion - you could say I'm anti-religion. But if someone is religious, isn't that a personal issue? What people believe and the beliefs they practice seem like personal matters, unless of course your neighbors like to slaughter goats in their front yard every third Tuesday of the month.

It seems inappropriate to ever ask anyone if they pray, if they believe in god - anything on that subject. If someone wants to offer up that information, fine - as long as it's not at my front door or anywhere near me or my personal space - but is it necessary (or appropriate) to ever ask that in a television interview?

But ask she did, and Sully said, ""I would imagine somebody in back was taking care of that for me while I was flying the airplane." "My focus at that point was so intensely on the landing," he said. "I thought of nothing else.""

Thank you - thank you for being so focused on your job, because it clearly made all the difference. Pray? WTF would praying have done to accomplish that incredible feat? Has god had over 30 years' experience flying commercial aircraft?

He said he was sure he could do it. He obviously believed it and followed through.

I'm not anti-god or anti-spirituality - to each his own - again, unless the goat slaughter is really getting out of hand, and then you're going to have to leave the neighborhood. FWIW, I believe there are forces or energy at work beyond our understanding - I call it The Universe.

The Universe, I believe, is Mother Nature, it is what it is, it's energy, it's the search for balance, it's totally unbiased and not a human or celestial force or some entity that will "save" me if I just believe. I call The Universe a tricky bitch, because that's exactly how it/she seems sometimes.

When She plays a trick on you, the key is first believing in yourself, that no matter what trouble that bitch doles out, you'll come out on top. She won't help you, some imaginary god won't help you - you have to do it on your own and believe you can do it. Asking for help might help you help yourself, but you still have to believe you can do it.

All this to say, I'm glad Sully wasn't sitting in that cockpit praying. I'm glad he said that he wasn't, that he was focused on the job in front of him and nothing else. I'm sure everyone on board that plane, whatever their individual faiths might be, are also glad that he never gave god a single thought throughout all that madness.

I'm sure some will say that he was helped by passengers praying like hell, but I don't buy it. He believed he could do it, he did it, and that's why he's so awesome.

"No He Didn't!"

Last week blew chunks. Big giant chunks of blue whale. It wasn't the worst week, but it was far from the best.

First - boys, just a warning, I'm going to talk about lady parts. One of my ovaries may have exploded like a super nova. When I die, they'll find parts of it all over my insides. The coroner will say, "Wow, that must have been painful." Yes, yes it was. I'm no stranger to Middleschmertz, but this was more like middleschmOHMYGODMAKEITSTOP.

No idea what's going on, but I have to wonder if all the activity from the prior week - spending hours out & about on snowshoes and x-country skis - may have jostled things around enough so that once the ovulation started, parts that were already tired or tender became super upset with all the swelling and bursting that goes on with shoving an egg out into the world.

Because, you know, those little ovaries are only tethered by ligaments and if the owner of those ligaments is ridiculously out of shape, well, I'm just sayin. Probably not a good thing. At any rate, by Tuesday night I was on vicodin praying to the pharmaceutical gods for sweet relief.

That's as bad as it got - every day afterward was a little better until the pain was almost totally gone by Thursday night. Then the cops came.

We were enjoying 30 Rock when the doorbell rang. Because it was after 9pm, I wasn't about to answer it. We get frequent solicitors and I was annoyed that one would come by so late AND that we'd have to interrupt important television viewing. Then it rang again.

Irritated, I got up and answered the door asking, "Can I HELP you? It's after 9pm!" Oh, Hello RCMP... fuuuuuuuuuuuuck. With no trace of humor in her voice she asked if it was our dogs barking and causing a disturbance.

I explained that No, they're our neighbor's/landlord's dogs and she lives downstairs and why, was there anything wrong? She said a neighbor called about the noise.

We'd heard them barking but they weren't bothering us, so who's the spineless douchebag who can't come over and ask us to quiet them down?

She wouldn't tell me who called, but one of her partners - THREE of them came out to investigate DOGS - went directly across the street to the lady I like to call Mrs. Kravitz. They didn't chat with any other neighbors, just Gladys.

After telling Ms. RCMP that they weren't our dogs she asked to see my driver's license. I didn't realize you had to have a license to rent a flat. I got it, handed it to her, and she proceeded to write down all my info in her smart little notebook. She never asked for the dog owner's name or phone number. Just mine.

I did apologize to her for snapping when I opened the door, explaining about the solicitors. She didn't respond.

When they left, I came back inside and was SUPER tweaked about #1, the douchebag who called them in the first place and #2, that the RCMPs now have all MY information, information they have no business having. THEY AREN'T OUR DOGS. WOULDN'T YOU PREFER TO HAVE THE INFORMATION OF THE ACTUAL DOG OWNER?

David didn't understand why I was so annoyed. He meant well, but he made the egregious error of saying "Calm down..."

He's had no negative experiences with law enforcement. He thinks it's all fine & reasonable to have cops come to the door and ask you about dogs that aren't yours and copy down YOUR driver's license info into a cute little notebook.

I was on the verge of calming down until he said "calm down." Funny how that happens. When I relayed this riveting story to my good friend Mary, she said "No he didn't..." Yes, yes he did. And then I was seriously pissed.

I think boys, when confronted with an emotional female, immediately try to quell the uprising because they just don't know what else to do. I think it's terrifying for them to see a woman getting agitated.

But, long story longer, we worked it out and all is fine. I'm just glad that I'm no longer doubled-over in pain or trying to get an RCMP to act like a human instead of a Hortons-eating robot.

Senorita Misteriosa

This is a story about the adventure of a lifetime. It's also a story about the wondrous powers of the internet to connect people in ways they'd never have imagined. It's a story for our time.

After a quiet retirement spent mostly inside her intriguing package, Señorita Misteriosa is off on an international adventure to meet her Señor and see the sights of New York and Mexico.

Late last year I received an email from a woman named Carin, asking where she might find a Señorita Misteriosa to join her Señor Misterioso.

Carin and her Señor have been together for many years and have traveled the world together. Then Carin met her fiance...

They dreamed of a wedding in Mexico with both Señor and Señorita Misteriosos at their sides, but Señorita, being the enigma that she is, can only be found if she wants to be found.

We don't know much about Señorita, except that she speaks twelve languages and has diplomatic passports from eight of the smallest nations in the world.

In Brazil her photo is often kept framed on the top of television sets, and no one can explain why this is or where the photos came from.

Her mysterious glowing dress is rarely worn but when it is, world events change drastically and plants within 50 feet undergo accelerated growth. There are claims of healing properties from being near the dress when she is wearing it, and this will be the subject of a Ken Burns PBS documentary.

Despite all her mystery, she was finally found one day in my Flickr photostream, the result of a random photograph taken last summer while procrastinating work.

Carin emailed me to ask if it might be possible to send Señorita to meet her in New York, to join Senor atop their wedding cake in Mexico early this year.

I consulted with Señorita and of course she was happy to oblige. We packed her things and put her on the first express plane to New York where she'll meet her new friends Carin and Gabriel.

Señorita's private photographer will capture her adventure and I look forward to posting the rest of the story and her photos.