Creampuff Revolution

Olympic Spirit – A Vignette

One of the projects I’m working on right now involves following Canadian athletes’ blogs leading up to the Games. They usually post updates about their latest races or training or photos of themselves, doing their winter sportz – good times, pretty basic stuff. Or so I thought. See, until today, I have never checked out the comments on their posts.

This guy, Manual Osborne-Paradis, was recently named to the Canadian Alpine Ski Team, which is totally awesome! Congrats, Manny!

Here’s what his fans had to say:

Jealous? With support like this, can Olympic gold be far behind???? HISTORY WILL DECIDE!!

P.S. I farted five minutes ago.

Creampuff Will Be Wearing Pants for Vancouver 2010

This post is about the Vancouver 2010 Winter Olympics. If you are an Olympics-hater, I respect that! Maybe skip this one.

As most of you know, I am volunteering for the Vancouver 2010 Games. While my first three volunteer choices – luge track tester, Quatchi and on-ice-figure-skating-teddy-bear-retriever – were denied, I DID end up with a pretty cushy gig.

I’m working at the Olympic Family Hotel, where many of the International Olympic Committee members are staying. Some of the IOC members are actually royalty. And I’ll be meeting them … wearing this toque.

I’m still not sure what my exact job is – I could be working at the information booth telling people where the shitters are in both of Canada’s official languages or I could be outside telling people where they can park their bobsleds. I’m not too concerned about where I’ll end up, really – especially now that I’ve already faced the biggest source of my volunteer anxiety – the uniform. Specifically, whether or not it would fit. Even more specifically, whether the pants would fit.

My ass…is like the Rockies. Majestic, breath-taking, and it seems to go on forever. Few pants can hold her – none can tame her. And while I knew the Vancouver 2010 Volunteer Uniform came in several sizes, I was pretty concerned that “Earth Mother of Willendorf” wouldn’t be one of them.

I didn’t know what would happen if the uniform and I were incompatible. Would I be fired from my post? Would I have to sew two pairs of pants together to make hilarious tear-away pants? Or would I get to go pantsless at the greatest sporting event our country has ever hosted??

My moment of truth was last week when I went to collect my volunteer accreditation (I tried to smize in my photo but I just ended up looking bunged up – thanks for NOTHING, Tyra Banks) and my uniform.

They make you try on all of the uniform pieces before they give them to you and I was a little beady-eyed with fear by the time I got to the uniform collection area. When I walked into the changing hall, the Scottish man in charge looked me up and doon and said “Hi, I’m Dave. Do you want to try the ladies 2X or…?” and subtly gestured “HIGHER” with his thumb.

“No no,” I said, “I’m gonna need the man-sized pants, Dave. I’m gonna need the biggest pants you got.”

“Here you go then, dear,” he said as he handed me the man-bag of clothes and held the curtain back for me. I’m pretty sure I heard a “Good luck, lassie.” as he drew the curtain shut.

Shirt – fine. Sleeves too long, but fine. Vest – fine. Zips up and everything! Ooo, soft. So soft. Just want to rub myself all over…maybe at home. Jacket – fine. Sleeves too long again but that just gives me more room for snacks. And now…

I saved the pants for last. I held my breath and said a prayer as I pulled them on. I kept waiting for them to deny me, to grip at my thighs or make a horrified scream of protest as I drew them up over my goddess-like rear. But…no. I pulled them on. I did them up. I checked to make sure I had put the uniform pants on and had not just put my own pants on again by accident. They actually…fit. And they were really…comfortable. And they looked pretty…good.

My whoop of victory brought Dave ambling over to check if things were alright. “Dave,” I said, nearly weeping with delight, “I love these pants, Dave.”

“We all love the pants, lassie. We all love the pants.”

It was pretty awesome when I went to collect my man-sized pants down the hall. I was VERY excited to find pants that fit and more than happy to point out what size I needed, whereas the very sweet volunteer was all discreet about the actual size instead of shouting it out like she had for the three people ahead of me – like she was passing me a tampon at the office or something.

It kind of reminded me of the time I went to the pharmacy and loudly announced to the pharmacist that I had a rash and would like some kind of ointment. The pharmacist kept responding in hushed tones, like we were on a golf course watching Tiger Woods get it on with the 12th hole and I kept answering in a normal voice and he was so horrified. Oh, good times…

Anyway – the point is that the pants fit and they make a keen swiffing sound. Score!

Stay tuned for my next Vancouver 2010 Olympic volunteer post – things I have to remember not to say while on the job! Seriously…it’s in the handbook. It’s like THEY KNOW ME.

The Dogter Is In

I don’t know about you, but I get nervous around screaming people on the street.

I know from a number of incidents in Toronto that making eye contact basically invites a screaming crazy person to twist your nipples and take your wallet, so my usual modus operandi is complete and utter denial that the screaming is happening.

Our neighbourhood is rife with screaming people, but after three years, you start to get to know them – Angry Bob, Pissed-Off Denise, “I’ll Cut You” Mike – and you can tell when they’re just screaming for fun and when they’re really having a bad day and you steer clear when you need to. But every now and then, a new screamer appears on the scene and I immediately go into nipple protection mode.

So yesterday, I was standing at a stoplight with Emmy Lou when I started to hear this very angry woman about a block behind me. Man, she was angry. Shouting out obscenities, stomping down the sidewalk – really furious and unavoidably loud. She seemed to be moving pretty fast and I didn’t want to risk turning around and getting the nip twist, so I stood stock still and stared straight ahead, willing the light to change. But then the dog blew it.

Me: Be cool, dog. Be cool.

Emmy: What’s that noise?

Me: BE COOL, DOG.

Emmy: You HAVE to be hearing this. What IS that?

Despite my subtle attempts to keep her facing forward, the dog twisted around and stared right at the source of the screaming. Right behind me, I hear:

At least that FUCKING DOG is listening to me!! ‘Cause you sure as hell aren’t!!!! JESUS!

Naturally, I assumed she was talking to me. I held my breath. Then the light changed and the angry woman – with her silent, chastised male partner – brushed past me, crossed the street and continued their one-sided fight.

I watched as they stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and she continued to berate him. My nipples relaxed. I turned to Emmy Lou, who was now lovingly nuzzling some garbage on the curb.

Me: Good work. I think it’s nice she felt listened to.

Emmy: Yeah. Look, I have the wrapper here but the Filet ‘o Fish seems to be missing.

On my way home, I started to think about therapy dogs and how Emmy Lou could finally start giving back instead of laying around the house and gassing us. Sure, she would suck at letting children or the elderly pet her, but she might be a good listener. I mean, come on…

Who wouldn’t want to tell their deepest secrets to this face?

Thanks to my brother-in-law Drew for the picture, which I stole off his Facebook page.

Creampuff and Her Luge Suit Ready for 2010

I don’t know what it is about a new decade but as 2010 kicks off I feel like anything’s possible. Time to burnish the triumphs and slough off the failures of the Naughts and hurtle forward into a future we all hope will FINALLY include jet packs. I have my luge suit on and the sky’s the limit!

Of course, our internet’s not working right now, so it’s possible no one will ever read this.

I have to say that 2009 was a great year in many ways, but I’m still glad to see the back of it, particularly due to the high death rate. First we lost my uncle suddenly in August and then on December 27th, my grandma Bea passed as well.

Grandma was 87 and her final illness was relatively short, so you have to give it up for a long life well-lived.

I have a lot of great stories about my grandma Bea, but probably my favourite is when she met my grandpa Pat for the first time. They met at a dance. He told her his name was Michael O’Donnell – and she told him her name was Lee Gordon. Clearly they were meant to be together; but the fact that they’d given each other entirely fake names – like, not even close to their real names - the night they met made it extremely challenging for him to track her down. Lucky for their subsequent 7 children, 16 grandchildren and 8 great-grandchildren, he managed to find her. Way to go, Michael O’Donnell!

They were married for nearly 65 years and while Grandpa is handling the loss with his usual honesty and grace, I can’t imagine how lonely it must be to lose your partner of 65 years. So we are sending him lots of love.

The fam headed out to the frozen tundra of Calgary for the funeral on Wednesday and it was snowy and frosty and incredibly gorgeous. I had been pining for snow a little this time of year, as I am wont to do, so I have to thank Granny for that little taste of White Christmas. But, as one of my many aunts said when we got to the church, “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

I wasn’t keen on resolutions last year as I recall – in fact, I don’t think I made any on my blog at all – but after the death-fest that was 2009, I think my first resolution for 2010 is:

1. No death. Just…stop it, people.

2. Move. After 3.5 years of ambivalence, I think we’re finally starting to get the hang of Vancouver. But we’re STILL biznitching about our neighbourhood and how it’s not very neighbourhood-y and how I see a lot of penis in the neighbourhood because crackheads like to whip it out. So after the Olympics, we’re gonna be out of here faster than a crackhead’s wang! I hope.

3. Don’t learn to drive. Shhh – I’m trying reverse psychology. I’ll let you know how it turns out.

4. Finish Padu’s sweater and other outstanding knitting projects. I bought the yarn for Padu’s sweater in 2007 and started it in 2008. I finished the back around this time last year and I finished the front a couple of weeks ago. Just 2 sleeves and a collar to go. THIS IS THE YEAR! Also, I’d like to finish that poncho I started back in 2007. And the Embossed Leaves socks I started this summer.

5. Finish my stupid play that’s set in the Klondike. I finished a strong draft of my OTHER lesbonic historical fiction play earlier this year but only because the literary manager at the Shaw Festival said she’d read it (which reminds me, I haven’t heard back from her. HA ha! It’s been a few months…perhaps it’s time for some Happy New Year harassment). Anyway, I’ve been sitting on this half-finished Klondike thing for, like, three years. I think it might actually be a radio play, but I won’t know for sure unless I ACTUALLY FINISH IT. And I’d like to get it out of the way to make brain room for my latest brilliant idea which I’m convinced to SO brilliant that I can’t tell anyone else about it in case they steal it. All I’m going to say is plane crash, polar bears, Others and an impenetrable mythology that goes on for six crazy seasons. I KNOW! It’s going to be a winner. Shhhhhh.

I could go on, but that would cut down on my “reading your resolutions on your blog” time and no one wants that. I wish you all a healthy, frisky and fabulous 2010! Just keep your hands off my luge suit.