Creampuff Revolution

Creampuff and the Black and White Menace

I used to take our dog on slow, meandering strolls at night. Emmy Lou really comes alive when the sun goes down - the nose is working, the eyes aren't and she transforms into this stalking beast, intent on hunting down her prey. Fortunately, her prey is fleeter of foot and brain than Emmy Lou - often I will see her prey darting away several minutes before Emmy even catches the scent of the prey. Then she spends 20 minutes frantically sniffing every millimeter of grass the prey once stood on.  Our evening walks were full of whimsy and fun. Until...the skunk.

My neighbourhood is a curious mix of low rises, single family homes, big infill developments like ours and abandoned properties (including a huge, crumbling old house next door). We also live about a block from a ravine. Wildlife looking to make the leap to urban living would not find it difficult to move from the ravine to any of the available badger-squats on our street. And it would seem that the skunk has zeroed in on some prime real estate.

The first time I saw the skunk was in the alley at dusk. We locked eyes while Emmy was taking a whiz. The skunk started galloping towards me. I yanked Emmy away from the alley and we continued on our way. I was a little shaken but not too concerned.

"Huh," I thought, "I guess we shouldn't go in the alley at night."

About 10 minutes later, Emmy smelled the skunk and totally lost her mind, but by then the skunk was long gone.

The second time I saw the skunk was in different part of the alley, at dawn. We locked eyes while Emmy was nuzzling an empty tuna can. The skunk started galloping towards me. I dragged Emmy away from the tuna can and across the street. The skunk started making love to the tuna can. I hustled Emmy back to our house. I was a little disturbed because while it was early in the day, the sun was shining brightly.

"Huh," I thought, "That skunk is bold. I guess we shouldn't go near the alley at dawn."

We went a few days without seeing the skunk and I began to feel safe again. Clearly, the skunk was sticking to the rich, dumpster-filled environs of the alley and so long as we didn't invade its territory, we'd be fine.

The third time we saw the skunk was about 8 feet away from our front gate. Not in the alley. Not hiding in the bushes. Not skulking around the cedars. It was coming around the corner, walking like it owned the sidewalk, fully lit by the street lights. Emmy Lou lost her shit. The skunk  started galloping towards us. It was like a horror movie.

I manhandled Emmy through the front gate and slammed it behind us, fully aware that the skunk could easily come in under the gate. I wrestled the dog to the front door, then dropped my keys trying to open it. I finally managed to get us inside to safety, dragging a whiny, cheated dog behind me. She didn't speak to me for day. 

I started to talk to everyone about the skunk. My parents. My neighbours. The City of Vancouver. Anyone I saw with a dog. Everyone on Facebook.

I know that there are a lot of skunks in a lot of places and that my particular skunk is no different than any other urban skunk out there, except that he IS different because this skunk is living  in the abandoned house next door and is SPECIFICALLY OUT TO GET ME.

Everyone told me that I needed to relax, that the skunk was probably more scared of me than I was of it, that I should just start carrying around a giant SuperSoaker water gun (ha ha, very funny, Mom) and everything would be fine. 

Let me just clarify something here. I am not afraid of skunks. I saw many a skunk in Toronto when I used to take my 5:00 a.m. walks to the gym. But having a dog who would like to get her mouth on a skunk rachets up the peril for me. I KNOW THAT WE WILL NOT DIE IF WE GET SPRAYED. But it would be an enormous, stenchy hassle that I'm not interested in dealing with. 

The skunk's presence - and continued menace, including last week when it blocked our return to our own house, hissing and raising its tail at us while I pulled a windmilling Emmy Lou into the middle of the road to avoid attack - has severely curtailed our evening walk activities.

Now, when it starts to get dark, I turn the porch lights on. And when it's time for Emmy's last whiz of the day, we do not dawdle. I poke my head out of the gate to check for the black and white, then take the dog onto the boulevard, tersely ordering her to make while jumping at every scratching, rustling noise I hear. It's really great. 

Obviously, in the grand scheme of things, the skunk issue is in no way important - I know this. And I'm TRYING to be cool about it, I really am, except that I'm totally not cool about it. But I can't really do anything about it, unless I'm willing to illegally place a skunk trap full of Kentucky Fried Chicken on the private property next door and then pay someone to illegally go on to said private property to retrieve the skunk. 

I'm thinking about it, though. I'll keep you posted. Please leave your skunk stories in the comments.

 

Creampuff Perspective

Is it just me or does everything seem really fucking dire lately?

Earthquake, tsunami, revolution, de-evolution (that's for you, Wisconsin) - it's like every time we turn on anything electronic, we get the news that something else is really sucking. 

I don't have anything particularly deep to say about these things - I mean, do I ever? - and I'm not a religious person but do still believe that sending good vibes and also money can help, where appropriate. So you know...I'm trying to do that.

All this to say that really, in comparison with everything that's going elsewhere - people losing their lives, their loved ones, their homes - NOTHING IS ACTUALLY WRONG IN MY LIFE. And I need to remember that on days like today, when I'm super super furious about a particular project that, ultimately, does not actually matter.

Here are the questions I ask myself these days when I'm foaming-at-the-mouth frustrated:

1. Will anyone die? If not, just...just dial it down a notch.

2. Will I have to kill someone? Not "would I LIKE to?" but "will I HAVE to?" There's a difference, people.

3. Is that smell the dog? It's always the dog.

 After going through these questions, I find I'm still mad - BUT I feel like more of an ass complaining about it. PROGRESS!

I hope you are all well and that you have lovely weekends. I plan to spend the rest of the day dragging my recalcitrant dog through the rain, sending good vibes to the people of Japan and Libya, counting my many blessings and trying to get it up to put pants on. It's really the least I can do. We're having guests later.

Gluten-free Creampuff

First of all, apologies to anyone who came here thinking they'd find a recipe for gluten-free creampuffs. Please carry on with your Google search. You'll find no such recipes here. Move along.

So it's been several months since I gave up the gluten (among other things). It's actually been a less painful process than I imagined, mainly because now I only eat ice cream.

HAHAHAAA! Just kidding. I'm down to one ice cream meal per day.

I've made adjustments - switched to gluten free cereal, making my tuna melts in a bowl instead of on toast, crying more. I really only find it problematic when I'm out and need a quick snack. On a recent trip, I had a rice krispie treat for breakfast, because that's the only gluten-free thing they had (and I was happy to have it).

But the biggest adjustment I've had to make is letting go of hope that I would be able to fill the donut gap with reasonable facsimiles of same.

I like to bake. I was on the protein diet for years and have stomached many a pseudo-carb meal. But after six months of barfingly disappointing gluten-free home baking, I've come to understand that unless certain items are in the hands of master bakers (i.e. NOT ME) they will not taste good. 

Simply put, when you replace wheat flour with gluten free flour, there is...A TASTE. I do not like The Taste. And it's made worse because I have real problems managing my expectations about what things will taste like.

For example, if I make pancakes out of eggs, milk and almond meal (a protein-diet staple), I expect them to taste like almond-meal pancakes. If I make pancakes from a gluten-free pancake mix, I expect them to taste like regular pancakes, even though I know the mix is gluten-free. And then, when the pancakes taste like 10 kinds of ass with syrup on top, it's like getting kicked in the mouth AND the nuts. 

So I'm officially giving up trying to bake with gluten substitutes. That way lies heartache. Instead, I'm going to focus my baking efforts on items that don't call for flour in the first place. Like cheesecake. Sweet, sweet cheesecake.

But there are some gluten-free products that I actually enjoy and I thought I'd compile a list for the afflicted among you - or if you have glutard friends and you don't know how to feed them breakfast or dessert. You're welcome.

Mi-del gingersnaps: They actually taste pretty great - we used to get them before the gluten curtain fell - and they're not too bad as cheesecake crust, particularly when you mix them with almond or some other nut meal (but not hazelnuts for me, because apparently I can't have those).

Nature's Path gluten-free cereals. They're crunchy, corn/rice/amaranth-based goodness. And the Crunchy Maple Sunrise in particular is delightful.

Nature's Path wildberry gluten-free waffles. We actually used to get these before the gluten got me. They are very light but don't taste weird. But DON'T GET THE MESA SUNRISE WAFFLES. Or the Flax ones. Those ones taste like warm cardboard.

KinnickKinnick personal pizza crust. These are supposed to be "thin and crispy". I find they're actually little doughy for my taste but overall I enjoy them, because they mean I get to eat pizza.

KinnickKinnick graham cracker crumbs. These are effing great as cheesecake crust. Great texture, very firm and unless you eat a big mouthful of crust without cheesecake attached, you wouldn't be able to tell it's gluten-free. High praise indeed.

Red Mill cornbread mix. ONLY OKAY IF YOU ADD EXTRA CORN AND YOU TOAST IT WELL BEFORE EATING and slather it with margarine and dip it in your chili. Otherwise, you get "the taste".

Red Mill shortbread cookie mix. These taste only a little weird. But they are also very buttery. Consume with restraint if you don't want to end up in the ladies' shitter all ding dong night.

I have a Red Mill cinnamon raisin bread mix and brownie mix in my cupboard right now but am afraid to try them because I made some gluten-free Mercer lemon and ginger cookies last week with Red Mill gluten free flour and OH MY GOD THE TASTE! THE TASTE! Blarg.

In completely unrelated news, Katr and I were in the Vancouver Sun today - and not because we got arrested at a Justin Bieber concert. It's a serious news story about the big telcom companies in Canada trying to screw us over internet bandwith caps. Which is why we look so serious. Sign the petition! Fight the man!

No More Creampuffs for Creampuff

Well, it’s happened. I’ve become one of those annoying people who “can’t eat things”.

I knew this day was coming. My brother and my mom both have moderate to severe food sensitivities around many delicious foods, such as wheat, dairy and anything else that tastes good. They appear to still be living rich, full lives but I’m not buying it.

I assumed that one day, I too would be struck down and was waiting for that slow transition to take place at a leisurely pace over the next several years. But instead, it happened over a couple of weeks! HA ha!

My downward spiral started about a month ago when my stomach, working overtime due to stress, Advil and caffeine, just kind of got pissed and decided to fuck me up for life.

I started to notice that about once a day, depending on the meal, I would have increasingly crazy nausea. At first, it was just an uncomfortable stomach ache but as the days went on, it became “sweaty, shaky handed, I need to lie down and moan about my life” nausea, culminating in one horrible, horrible day I spent doubled over barfing nectarines.

I called my brother, who’s a doctor. Well, a PhD in Poli Sci, so…same thing. I described my symptoms and he spoke to me knowledgeably about the likely causes of my newfound inability to eat food I like and what I should do going forward to avoid feeling like I’d been eaten by a wolf and shit off a cliff.

I’m not going to lie to you. I didn’t not handle it well. In fact, I may have shed a few tears when he said “But hey! You can still have rice!”

I hate rice.

After a few days of eating nothing but chicken broth and bananas, the nausea cleared and I was in a whole new world. A world of total fucking shittiness.

The weird list of things I can’t eat includes:

• Wheat (or anything with gluten, which is almost everything good in the world)
• Caffeine
• Sugar
• Alcohol
• Milk chocolate
• Nuts
• Zucchini
• Tomatoes
• Nectarines
• Citrus fruit
• Certain spicy foods yet to be fully determined but definitely everything delicious from the Thai place

Fortunately, I can still sneak a little dairy in there, so I’m not putting that on the list. YET. And all is not TOTALLY lost. I can still eat Swiss Chalet. But that doesn’t stop me from being excessively sorry for myself whenever I see anyone eating a muffin.

Stay tuned for part II of this whiny rant, where I will talk about how fake things that are substitutes for real things taste like 10 kinds of ass.

In other news, it appears Bloglines is shutting down on October 1st. Why do you care? Well, because Bloglines powers my blogroll! So if you’re here on October 1st and you notice the link to your blog is gone, don’t take it personal! I’m trying to figure out a blogroll alternative!

A Morning in the Life of Creampuff’s Wife

Katr’s morning:

5:53 a.m. Gets up.

5:55 a.m. Checks in with east coast clients via email.

6:00 a.m. Phone call with east coast clients.

6:02 a.m. Industriously works on PowerPoint presentation

6:15 a.m. Comes back into bedroom where I am still in bed

6:17 a.m. Asks me to hand her personal grooming item

6:17:32 a.m. Meets unusual resistance

6:17:38 a.m. Nicely asks what is wrong

6:25 a.m. Sincerely apologizes for her poor behaviour…IN MY DREAMS LAST NIGHT

6:26 a.m. Brings blubbering spouse glass of ice water

6:26:30 a.m. Says comforting things

6:30 a.m. Goes back to work

My morning:

5:53 a.m. Wake up feeling annoyed

5:54 a.m. Notice that Katr is getting up

5:55 a.m. Make the decision the “guard the bed” in case ninjas are about

6:00 a.m. Hear Katr on phone, suddenly remember why upset

6:00:30 a.m. to 6:15 a.m. Seethe over dream in which Katr has wronged me

6:17 a.m. Act like pouty child when Katr asks for innocuous favour

6:18 a.m. to 6:24:59 a.m. J’ACCUSE!!

6:25 a.m. to 6:29:59 Rage diffused by caring spouse

6:30 a.m. Make coffee

Dear Katr – you are forgiven. Also, YOU CAN NEVER LEAVE ME.

Creampuff's So Vain (She Bets You Think This Post Is About Her)

I do not think of myself as a person who is vain. My approach to my appearance is basically "try not to look like an idiot". Bra UNDER my shirt? Pants on? Unibrow dealt with? I'm ready to meet the queen.

In my old age, however, I realize that I am becoming a little more conscious of my appearance. Three things in particular stand out in recent memory.

1. Hair: I finally broke down and purchased a straight iron because I couldn't stand how frizzy my rapidly greying hippie hair was getting in the moist environs of Vancouver.

2. Visage: I accidentally bought a moisturizer that has "a hint of sheer foundation" in it. I don't wear foundation - ever - but I also don't like to waste things, so I decided to give it a try. The first time I put it on, I felt like Al Jolson. But I have come to appreciate the bronzy glow it gives my skin, not to mention how it covers up the occasionally excessive ruddiness of my complexion.

3. The Dog.

Say what you will about my own physical appearance - there is no denying that our dog Emmy Lou is a very healthy and well-cared-for canine specimen.

Plump wrinkles, resplendent jowls, glossy coat, firm little hamhocks...on days when I feel like 10 kinds of ass, Emmy Lou's fawn coloured fur makes me look good. I am regularly complimented on the beauty or cuteness of my dog and I have come to expect these compliments, the way Pamela Anderson expects drunken fans to motorboat her boobs.

And then came...last week.

About twice a year, Emmy Lou goes through a massive shedding period, where every time I brush her it's like I'm shearing a bitchy sheep and every time we pet her, piles of fur end up on the floor at our feet.

Usually the shedding does little to diminish Emmy's natural beauty - it only diminishes the efficacy of our vacuum cleaner.

But out on our walk one day last week, after a period of hard brushing, I noticed these.

DIVOTS.

 

Me: OMG, Emmy Lou! Are those DIVOTS??

Emmy: What?

I know it's dumb. The dog is shedding. Some of her fur came out and now she has a couple of bald patches. Who cares, right?

ME.

Immediately after the divots appeared, strangers' usual exclamations of  "Oh, your dog is so cute!" changed to "Oh, your dog is...what happened to her coat? Was she in a fight?" Then they would give me a look. A look that said "I didn't know Michael Vick disguised himself as a fat white girl in Vancouver."

Being regarded with suspicion by Richie Rich Boomersomethings and hobos alike for a week now has taken its toll on creampuff moral. I have become extremely defensive about Emmy Lou's divots.  "SHE'S SHEDDING" I'll say to anyone who even vaguely looks in our direction, "It's a NATURAL PART OF LIFE."

In an effort to reduce the divots, I've brushed the shit out of this dog. I gave her a bath, which she hated. And while the hair is starting to grow back, it's still pretty clear that there are big chunks of fur missing and that I must be a terrible person.

It's clear to me now that I'm being punished for my dog vanity. And I suppose that after two years of using my dog to make myself look good, I'm due for a little humbling. I'm not quite ready to give up yet though - in fact, this very weekend I think I figured out how to distract people from her blemishes until the fur grows back in. How?? Well...I'm training her to become THE FLASH. Behold!

Creampuff Reads It Again

I went to the Vancouver Fringe yesterday with an old friend, Meha ("old" in the "I have known her for several years" sense, not "elderly") and we got to talking about books. Strangely, we were both reading historical fiction books, but while Meha was reading new and exciting books, I was forced to admit I was actually re-reading books I've already read. Pope Joan, Life Mask, Creation - an historical fiction greatest hits, if you will. Which doesn't seem like that big a deal, but I've already read these books several times and it's a little embarrassing.

I think it's partly that I enjoy the familiar and fear change, but also partly because of shit like this:

Pillars of the Earth by Ken Follett There were many interesting things about this book and from a historical research perspective, it was super, super cool. But there was a lot of rape (haha - not my fave) and the good guys in the book basically get kicked in the nards OVER and OVER until the last four pages or so. And it's, like, an 800 page book. Thanks, Ken.

The Other Queen by Phillippa Gregory It takes a great author to make you wonder if a story you already know - in this case, the story of Mary, Queen of Scots - might end differently. But of course it doesn't end differently because it's history and really, you're just watching Mary, Queen of Scots, pull one dipshit move after another and ruining the life of the one character who's got her shit together. Smooth move, Queen of Scots.

The Thrall's Tale by Judith Lindbergh I bought this book because there were three chicks on the cover and I thought it might be a Norse girl-power kind of deal. It wasn't. The main character gets all raped and stuff and then the daughter she has is all evil and screws everyone over. Basically, everyone gets kicked right in the box. Vikings!

I'm not saying that I won't read books where bad things happen to good people. That would be stupid. But I'm certainly drawn to books where adversity is overcome - where there is redemption of some kind - where despair does not actually win - where people manage to get their shit together and move on. Life-affirming books, shall we say.

So I'm looking for some new books. Obviously I enjoy a little historical fiction and, as some of you may know, I'm a gay and like things that are gay. But I'm happy to read non-gay, non-historical books! So please - PLEASE - leave the name of your latest favourite book in the comments and help a creampuff out. Because once I'm finished this latest round, it's back to Anne of Green Gables again and we all know where that leads.

Claimed by the Sea

I'm back from my uncle's funeral and it was everything I thought it would be: tremendously sad, unspeakably hilarious and ultimately uplifting.

It was so great to hear everyone's funny, touching stories about him and to meet so many of the people who loved him and we all of us laughed like crazy and wept like little girls and drank a little and got a little loud and talked about how great the memorial service was and planned all of our own funerals.

I'm going to have to take some notes later to remember what specific kind of sausage one of my aunts would like at her wake and which of my 16 cousins would like an open casket and a large fake mustache.

All in all, it was pretty sweet and I'm so glad I got to be there with my family.

Also, no one else has died in the interim so...SCORE!

After all the festivities and a long journey there and back, it was also pretty sweet to remember that hey! We're on vacation! At the end of it all, I got rejoin Katr and our pooch at the beach cabin we'd rented for 10 days!

I'd say we had four main expectations when we booked the cabin:

1. That the house would be modern and comfortable.

2. That we'd be close to town so that we could go exploring.

3. That I could let the dog run free on the beach for hours at a time, like doggy BayWatch.

4. We could swim.

For 99% of humans, all of these expectations would be met by this cabin. For fatties with a fussy dog, however...

Well, the cabin is beautiful - it looks like it's out of a magazine and it's right on the water. There's a big kitchen that's a delight to cook in, a well-appointed bathroom, a comfortable living room area, a TV & DVD and wifi. Basically, it's exactly as advertised and looks just like the pictures.

What the pictures don't show you is that:

1. Our dog is a princess whose tender city-dog paws can barely handle the rocky shore, to the point where she refuses to leave the yard around the house.

2. The beach is rocky - the closer you get to the water, the bigger the rocks. These rocks shift under your feet and make it difficult to walk. But when the tide is low, you can brave a few meters of rocks and then walk along the sand! Except I can't, because if you are a heavy person, you will sink into the sand up to your mid-thighs and get stuck there, bleating for help as your useless dog scampers up towards some neighbour's lawn. If you can free yourself by falling forward and clawing your way to the safety of the rocks, you may survive. If you can't, you will be claimed by the inexorable advance of the sea.

3. There were a lot of steep, oddly slanted stairs to get down from the car to the cabin. We didn't know this ahead of time and we packed like we were headed to the Yukon. We were both sure we were having heart attacks by the time we'd brought all of our stuff down to the cabin. And then the idea of going up the stairs again to LEAVE the house to drive around or go grocery shopping seemed like an insurmountable task. I KNOW THAT THIS IS JUST US. And that we are pussies. So zip it.

So as it turns out, it's awesome that the cabin itself is so lovely, because we're spending all of our time essentially trapped in here. Eschewing pants. "Relaxing". If you know what I mean. And I think that you do.

Creampuff Unsure How the Karma Points Were Awarded

Back in Toronto, Katr and I lived dangerously near a 7-11. I'm not going to lie to you - I spent a lot of time at that same 7-11, rocketing towards adult onset diabetes with my frequent Slurpee consumption.

One time, I paid for a Slurpee with a $10 bill and the clerk, who was new and nervous, gave me change for a $20. I was all "Oops! Only gave you a $10!" and handed the extra money back.

It was like I had handed her the fucking Hope Diamond. This woman LOST IT - she COULDN'T BELIEVE I had given her the extra change back. She was practically in tears, falling all over herself to thank me for not just taking off with the spoils of her innocent mistake. She came out from behind the counter to HUG me. And every time I went in there after that, she would remind me that she remembered that I had given that money back and she would tell the story to anyone else who was there.

It was pretty hilarious how smug I felt, considering I was essentially being congratulated for not being a selfish, possibly criminal, douche for 5 whole seconds of my life.

Was the clerk's reaction ridiculously over the top? Sure. But I have to say that my experience with the 7-11 clerk has certainly encouraged me to continue my honest ways in retail situations.

So last week I was shopping in another convenience store with another new, nervous but friendly clerk. I bought some snacks, a magazine and a book and the total only came to $16, which seemed kind of low. I checked my receipt on the way out and sure enough, she hadn't charged me for the book.

I hesitated. I like free books. But I remembered how good it felt to be honest and also thought that it would be nice to help out this young person who was clearly new to the workforce and also, I'd forgotten to buy gum.

So I headed back into the store and said "Hey there! You forgot to charge me for this book!" and waited for the adulation to pour down upon me.

When no adulation was forthcoming, I downgraded my expectations to a "thank you!" from the clerk. I didn't get that either. But I did get "Oh. Okay. Here."

She acted like I was kind of bugging her by coming back.To PAY FOR MY BOOK. Like she was doing me this big favour by charging me for the book I could have had for free. No "thank you" - no "sorry" even.

Huh.

I came away kind of confused. Going in, I thought I was adding a few more karma points to my coffer. On the way out, I thought maybe I was paying OUT karma points. Like I OWED the universe $19.99 and I'd finally cleared my debt. Or maybe it was just the universe balancing things out after the 7-11 clerk treated me like I was Warren Buffet for six whole months. I ... don't know how these things work. What do you guys think?

The book I bought - The Quality of Mercy by Faye Kellerman (which is kind of Alanis Morissette ironic, really) - is pretty good so far, by the way. Certainly worth paying for - although the author seems to have a personal hate-on for fat people which is perhaps striking only to me, a person who is fat.

The book is just filled with descriptions of fat, nasty, stinky, fat villains who are nasty, stinky, fat, disgusting, evil, greasy, saggy, stinky, constantly eating like pigs, taking big dumps, fat fat fatty fat fat. I was like "Lady, I get it. They're fat. Move on." But otherwise, pretty interesting stuff.

Creampuff Blurt

Alright. I give up. I was totally waiting to blog again until I had downloaded the pictures of my eventual birthday cake from my camera onto the 12 year old PC I'm still using because my laptop's still in the shop. But I've tried and 12 year old PC has declined to receive my photos, so here I am, on a Sunday evening, verging on hysteria, full of Cadbury Caramilk mini-eggs, freaking out about a series of VERY FIRST WORLD PROBLEMS and now totally upset that I can't show you how my ice cream cake from Dairy Queen had "Happy Birthday, Dingus" on it.

Scene.