Creampuff Revolution

Creampuff Destiny Fulfilled

I've been feeling kind of listless lately. Unmotivated. Laissez-faire, if you will. It took me a while to assess situation but what I finally realized was this: last week, my destiny on this earth was fulfilled and now I just don't know what the fuck to do with myself.

As some of you may recall, I did a piece called The Dirty Dozen at Hysteria a few years back where I "created a character" who had a doughnut fetish. "Her" ultimate sexual fantasy was to swim naked in a pool of warm, sugary Krispy Kreme doughnuts and rub those soft, pillowy lard wads ALL OVER. The "character", Mary-Pat, talked about how starting a new fetish is a challenge but that she founded the "glazer" community so that doughnut fetishists would know that they are not alone. Many people confessed their secret doughnut desires to me that night and I was honoured. And a little "hungry" for doughnuts.

In the three years since that piece, other than occasionally being referred to as "doughnut girl" by drag queens, very little has come of my doughnut fetish "performance". Until last week.

Through channels that may forever remain murky, I was contacted a couple of weeks ago by a film student at the Vancouver Film School who said:

I am making a documentary about doughnuts and I am interested to know if you would be interviewed. We have on board a doughnut philosopher and a doughnut poet and I think you would complete our film very well.

It would involve a brief interview, probaby take about 1 hour in all. We would  love if you were in character for the interview. We are trying to prove with our film that doughnuts can, and will, save the world. What do you say?

What do I SAY??

I met with the director a couple of days before the shoot. He was a very soft-spoken and intense young man who encouraged me to get to the emotional core of the character and warned me that he might ask her some very personal questions about her sexual relationship with doughnuts. I believe I blushed. What the doughnuts and I do is private. He assured me that he was not there to exploit me in any way. He was very compelling. Also, I was pretty sure he'd show up with doughnuts. I was right.

He brought doughnuts.

And a bunch of other guys.

And a lot of equipment.

The dog was very curious.

And ended up overseeing the whole endeavour.

I'm not going to lie to you. Talking on camera about the sexual thrill my "character" derives from rubbing herself with warm doughnuts was a pretty intense experience. Being completely real and sincere about it was even more intense, as you all know how much I fucking love to laugh at my own jokes. But in the end, we all managed to get through it with grace and dignity (except for the part where I compared soft doughnuts to boobs and made that classy two-handed honking motion) and I cannot wait to see this thing. CANNOT WAIT.

When it was all over, we had a snack.

And then they were gone.

I made them leave me the doughnuts.

So that's it. I was in a documentary about how doughnuts can, and will, save the world. Where do you go from there? WHERE??

Back to YouTube, I guess . . .

Creampuff Gets Great Deal on Crap

Between the hot summer and walking this dog and my gig as the lead singer of The Chafetains, I found myself in dire need of new summer duds. So this weekend, my love and I hied ourselves to North Vancouver, to take advantage of a summer sale at the fat girl store.

We should definitely have eaten first.

I don't think I've ever seen a sale that gi-huge-gic at the fat girl store. I could barely handle the bounty of t-shirts, capri pants (Syd's favourite) and bathing suits, some of which were even in my size. Bright colours! Slimming mirrors! Consumer frenzy! I tried on and rejected countless things before amassing a pile of fabric you could make a circus tent out of. This alone should have warned of the horrors to come.

It wasn't until I got home and started actually wearing the clothes in public that I realized THEY WERE AWFUL. Cheap-looking, unflattering, shapeless. Comfortable, sure, but ASS. And purple? Forget-me-not blue? TEAL? It's like a clown shat.

It's as if I've filled my closet with nothing but candy coloured capri hospital scrubs. And somehow, no matter what combination of colours I put on, it looks like I'd let my patients dress me. My blind patients. My blind patients who want to get back at me for taking their temperature rectally.

Even the dog seems embarassed to be seen with me. I'm considering telling people that she's a service dog, because then maybe they'll cut me some slack over my attire. Because clearly I have needs that are special.

Also, Katr and I managed to buy the exact same bathing suit without realizing it. Yeah, that's right. Matching creampuff swimsuits. Keep your eye out for us in Tofino at the end of the month, where we'll be shooting our major motion picture Tweedledum & Tweedledee Hit the Beach Fatly.

Goddammit.

Top Ten Signs Creampuff's Dog Might be a Lesbian

Yes, yes, I lied and Padu was right. It's been two whole weeks and all I got is more about the dog.

10. She prefers ladies. 

In the elevator, on the street, in the hobo park; Emmy is an equal opportunity sniffer, but when it comes to being stroked, she prefers the touch of a woman. Preferably a woman who's been smoking pot and eating cheezies. I.e. every woman in Vancouver.

9. She won't play with balls.

8. She enjoys an "alternative sexual lifestyle".

And by that I mean she licks herself a lot. Then she looks at us as if to say "Jealous?"

7. She likes cats.

Well - she likes cats in the sense that she'd like to get her mouth on a cat.

6. She is a fan of power tools.

Katr and I decided that keeping our important business information in a canvas bag hanging off the back of the office closet was probably not going to cut it when the tax man cameth. So we bought a couple of filing cabinets last weekend. These "cabinets" (or, as I came to refer to them, "wheeled shitboxes") were not pre-assembled. The instructions indicated that a drill was not required. These instructions LIED and before long I begged Katr to fetch me the power drill (because getting up to get it myself was unthinkable). At first, Emmy feared the drill, but as I continued to work away, she became very interested in it, to the point where I had to stop her from licking it. She then proceeded to sniff or get her tongue on every other tool I was using before sitting down beside me to supervise the construction.

5. She wants to wear my sandals.

Emmy Lou can't fucking wait to get outside and she knows that my sandals are somehow involved. What she hasn't seemed to figure out yet is that if SHE is wearing my sandals, we are not actually going out. Tough break, kid.

4. Her favourite dog is very butch.

There's another shar pei in the building named Niki. If Niki was a person, she would lead the Dykes on Bikes part of the Pride parade. She's gruff and stocky and has no interest in playing with Emmy and Emmy CANNOT GET ENOUGH OF NIKI. I keep telling her "Emmy - those babes seem really attractive when you're young, but as you get older, their emotional unavailability will wear you down until your heart is not so much broken as eroded down to a sad, sad little heart nubbin." And then I tell her "Emmy! Get your face out of Niki's crotch while she's peeing!" 

3.  She won't play with bones.

2.  Like Ani DiFranco, she doesn't want to be a "pretty girl."

I was nervous about clipping Emmy's nails myself and she definitely needed a bath, so last week, I decided to take Emmy to the groomer. When the groomer called me to come pick her up, I could hear Emmy crying piteously in the background. "She no likee the bath, eh?" I said to the groomer as I collected my frantic pooch. "No," said the groomer, "she sure didn't. Maybe don't bring her again." Emmy was pissed at me for the rest of the day - but she was also very soft.

1. She can't get enough bush.

During the day, Emmy Lou's bush obsession is pretty easily dealt with, but at night she often manages to deke me out and get her face in some bush before I can stop her. I don't know what she's seeing in there  - a rodent? Crocs? An Ellen DeGeneres box set? - but she needs to get her mouth on it INSTANTLY. If I catch her early enough, I can successfully maneuvre her away, but there are other times when she launches herself into the bushes like a fuzzy rocket and I am left on the sidelines, pleading for her to crawl out and totally certain that she's going to be sprayed by an irate, bush-dwelling urban skunk.  So if you're hanging out in the Science World park at 11 p.m., the panicked creampuff yelling "Jesus Christ, Emmy Lou! No bush for you!" is me.