Creampuff Revolution

A Very Creampuff Hallowe'en

I believe that if I was to dress up for Hallowe'en this year, I would go as Cleopatra. And clasped to my bosom would be an asp wearing a t-shirt that says "Moving? Oh, that should only take a couple of hours."

What kind of rich and detailed state of denial was I in when I thought that:

a) I didn't have THAT much stuff to clear out of our condo on the day before the new owners took possession; and

b) I didn't need help to move?

Let me add a c) in here:

c) Did my random Google image search for "Cleopatra" really just turn up yet another hot picture of GINA TORRES?

d) Why won't she PHONE ME??

When Jeba, Premature Remover of the TV, offered to come by and help me out with packing, donating, discarding and moving my stuff to my new place on Sunday, I said breezily "Sure! That'd be great, if you have time." I was CASUAL about it, like it would be nice if she would come, but not CRUCIAL. HOLY FUCKING SHIT.

It's not like I left everything until the last day, you understand. I'd been slowly cleaning out different areas of the condo and awesome friends old and new had been coming by with vans and station wagons and cabs and gigantic trucks and taking away big furniture and kitchen stuff and hot "let's get it on" bedroom art like this:

 

Oddly, no one went for the "Perseverance" poster. Slackers.

So as I rolled off my air mattress on Sunday morning, I honestly thought that I had a pretty good handle on things. After two hours of continuous motion and a visit from Kism, who took a cartload of things away, I started to have misgivings. There was a lot of stuff here. And not just stuff I was thinking of trashing - stuff I wanted and/or needed. More stuff than I could reasonably get into a cab. More stuff than someone who's technically "already moved" should have. And then there was the storage locker.

I spent two arduous and painful days emptying the storage locker back in July and by the time I left, there were a couple of boxes of my childhood stuff and our camping gear (Ha ha. We camped together once two years ago and ended up spending the last night at a Holiday Inn. Ah, nature.) I knew the movers had taken the boxes and I was expecting the camping gear to still be there. I was chagrined to find that the camping gear had mated and given birth to a bunch of crap that had not previously been in the storage locker. I didn't react well. 

"It's not as bad as it looks," said Jeba, as I stared at the pile of detritus with an open mouth and trembling hands, "we'll just get the cart and take this all to the dumpster. Hey . . . are you keeping that Tiki torch?"

Jeba is one of those freakish people who actually enjoy moving. The woman moves at the drop of a hat. And if she's not moving, she'll be there when you do. She had spent Saturday helping her other friend Da(no last name) move and arrived at my house on Sunday ready for more. She immediately took stock of the situation and decided to book an Autoshare vehicle. Since I was clearly ready to set fire to everything in despair, she offered to take any sellable stuff to her place and put it up on Craig's List and then GIVE ME THE MONEY.  When I decided it would be better to donate everything, she knew which drive-thru drop-off Goodwill to go to and what their hours were on Sunday. It was like the Goddess sent me an angel. An angel who showed up with boxes, emptied my cupboards, packed things expertly, filled every square inch of the car like she was playing Tetris, belched alot and drove like a maniac. It was epic.

We finally finished emptying, donating and dropping my stuff at my new place at the not unreasonable hour of 7:30 p.m. Considering I started at 9 a.m., it could have been worse. As we walked back to Jeba's house after dropping off the car, she said "I think the Swiss Chalet is on you." I couldn't have agreed more.

Anyway . . . two days later, it's Hallowe'en. You long-time readers may recall that I dislike Hallowe'en and generally avoid getting involved. But since we sold our condo, I find myself staying at a house where I have access to the front door on Hallowe'en for the first time since I left my family home. I am also living in a neighbourhood where children reside. My roommate, Anto, is going to be out. There may be trick-or-treaters and I am in charge. I went out today and bought a lot of candy, but it's lookin' pretty good to me right now. Maybe I'll just turn the hose on the kids, gaze at that photo of Gina Torres as Cleopatra and keep these Reese's Peanut Butter Cups to myself.

A Creampuff Bereft

I can see, from the window of my room on the edge of de Nile, that the end of October is upon us. With the coming of the end of October comes the mass exodus of Katr and my furniture, which our friends Dapo, Jusm, Kism, Xath and Jeba paid for and then kindly and patiently let us keep until now so that a) we could "stage" our condo properly for sale and b) I had somewhere to sit, somewhere to sleep and something to watch this month while I was living here.

Jeba, who bought our TV, made arrangements to pick the TV up on Wednesday, which meant that the TV would be the first to go. This in itself is no big deal - I can watch DVDs on my laptop. But I have greatly enjoyed having the TV, for while we no longer have cable, I often had it on to keep me company at night, because I am a pussy and get scared when I am alone. 

Because Jeba was coming for the TV on Wednesday, I made a date with the TV for Tuesday night. I bought Smartfood and Dr. Pepper. I had a good knitting project to work on - very conducive to TV watching. I promised the TV that I would go and rent something fun for our last night together; a goofy romance, perhaps, or something with Gina Torres in it. I canceled other social engagements. I picked out a nice outfit.

Then, late on Monday night, as we were watching the TV she already has at her house, Jeba informed me that her friend Da(no last name) couldn't get the truck for Wednesday night.

So they would have to come for the TV early.

They would have to come on TUESDAY. The night of TV and my last date.

I have to say, I didn't react very well. "I had a DATE planned," I said pleadingly, "tomorrow night, that's . . . that's NOT ENOUGH TIME!"

"Well, I paid you for it in August," Jeba said, reasonably, "so who's really getting the bum's rush here?"

"MEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" I wailed unattractively, "MEEEEEEEEEEE!!"

"Okay, I'll see you tomorrow night," she said and then she smoked in my face 'til the cab came.

Okay, she didn't really smoke in my face. But if she HAD, that would have explained the tears.

And now, a brief photo essay of my last day with the TV.

The dawn dawned partly cloudy, which is good. As you can see, our living room is very bright, which makes it impossible to watch TV on sunny days. It's like the clouds KNEW. In the photo above, the TV is in repose. As you can see, it had a couple of DVD options to consider.

Firefly, with Gina Torres, was a very strong contender for the Last Day of TV festivities. Hi Gina. Call me.

But in the end, Season Two of Buffy won out. Can you see Angel on the DVD cover there? You might thing he's having a good look at Buffy's ta-ta's, but the reality is that his loving look is directed at  . . . the TV. "Let me work my taciturn magic on you one more time," he is saying. The TV trembled with desire as I popped the disc in. I cracked the Smartfood.

Here on the DVD menu, Willow, like Angel, too seemed to be gazing out of the TV with warm affection and her inimitable charm. The TV admired her sass and brains. By this time (Disc 2) I'd gotten into the scotch.

This is the couch where I sat during my Last Day of TV. Note the scarf I was knitting. It's the very first item I've ever knit for myself and I'm so glad the TV was there to see it. God, I don't even remember the Miss Vickie's. It was that emotional. Good thing I had that Kleenex.

The scarf couldn't take it anymore.

I heard it whispering its final goodbyes to the TV under the strident tones of the Buffy DVD menu "music". I let them have their moment. You know, except for the part where I photographed them without their knowledge.

It was an intense day. But for all my fussing, I'd have to say that I let the TV go with dignity and did not embarrass it in front of its new owner or its new owner's gay friend with a truck. And once the TV was gone, with a shudder and a sigh, all there was was this.

 

The end. Or perhaps . . . the beginning? History will decide.

7 Songs for Creampuff

Some long time back, greymatters over at Lobal Warming posted her 7 Songs I'm Into Right Now and "passive-aggressively" tagged some of her fans. The tagging was hilarious and masterfully done and I've been feeling the slight itch of the tag ever since. Although that might just be my new ginch. Or . . . no, it's gotta be the ginch.

I love music, but will occasionally go days without listening to it. And so I joked to greymatters that I'd rather do 7 Buffy or Northern Exposure episodes instead, since those are really what I'm groovin' on these days, what with the lack of cable and all.

But this summer when I was in Edmonton, I had the opportunity to pillage my parents' prodigious CD collection and relive the mixed tapes of my youth. And last night, Padu came over to reap the rewards of my pillaging. And it got me thinking about our friendship and our history of mixed tapes and the music we'd given each other and how our mixed tapes became the soundtrack of our lives when we were in different schools, in different cities, having life-shaping experiences, realizing we were both big homos, dancing alone in our rooms half a country apart and generally being wankerific.

Padu and I started making mixed tapes for each other 16 years ago, when we were 15. We hung out at the Edmonton Folk Festival's Celtic tent and after the Folk Fest ended, I made Padu a tape. And a grand tradition was born.

So here are the 7 Songs I Put on CD for Padu Last Night That Made Me Nostalgic but Also Made Me Wonder What the Hell We Were Thinking

Alasdair Mhic Cholla Ghasda - Capercaillie

This was the first song I put on the first tape I made Padu. The song is in Gaelic. We learned it phonetically so that we could sing it. Fuck off. We are nerds.

Big Chief - Zachary Richard

This was the first song on the second side of the first tape I made Padu. FUCK we loved this song. It's also . . . uh, racist, which I kind of didn't notice as a teen, because I was distracted by the amazing piano work and the hot trumpet solo (my boyfriend at the time played trumpet. He's gay now too.) A sample of the lyrics:

I'm going to down to get my squaw
Me think me start an Indian war

Uh . . . what?

Dives and Lazarus - June Tabor and The Oyster Band

It may surprise you to learn that I am not a religious person. But as a teen, I could NOT GET ENOUGH OF THIS CHRISTIAN ROCK SONG. Now I don't know June Tabor OR the Oyster Band's other work, but I don't think that either of them are Christian rockers. Anyone? But this song - about the Jesus.

This song contains the lyric:

There's a place for you in Hell
Sitting on a serpent's knee

Uh . . . what? What knees? This verse is followed up by Lazarus singing from heaven:

Hell is dark, Hell is deep
Hell is full of mice
It's a pity that any poor single soul
Should depart from the Saviour Christ

I don't know about you guys, but I feel that rhyming "mice" with "Christ" is WEAK. You couldn't have thrown a little Shakespearean "Hell is thicked ribbed ice" in there? Or taken a shot at gambling with "Hell is losing at dice"? Weird. But DAMN, that song is catchy. That much be how the Christians get ya.

Jesus - Hookahman

A genuinely religious song must needs be followed by a tongue-in-cheek religious song like Jesus, by Edmonton post-industrial-acoustic-grunge-folk-fusion-counterpunk band Hookahman. As with most of Hookahman's work (such as Mint Bum and Ghanja Farm), the real delight lies in the lyrics. The song's about a guy who was good and got to go to Heaven. And, uh, it's boring and he misses his evil friends. Also, his t.v. Boy, can I relate.

So here I am in heaven, get to lie around all day
Got no things I gotta do, got no bills to pay
Everything is clean up here, and nothing is grey
God's got a computer, and St. Peter's got a fax
There's warheads round the holy gates in case Satan attacks
And Hell is just a labour camp where the evil live in shacks
And everyone up here looks just a little too relaxed

For a comedy song, it's also rather mournful and touching, a long bus ride through a snowstorm kind of song. Padu and I remember it fondly.

It Is a Good Day to Die - Robbie Robertson and the Red River Ensemble, from Music for The Native Americans

Some of you keen-memory-havers might remember this as the song I used for Anus Buchli's wanky song project in 3rd year directing. I haven't heard this song for years 'cause I only had it on cassette and I couldn't even pillage it from my dad's collection this summer, because my brother made off with the CD when he went to university. So I downloaded it from iTunes last night. And fucking WEPT. Because of Anus Buchli? Partly.

Set The Prairie On Fire - Shawn Colvin

DAMN, Shawn Colvin! There is no sexier song. No, no - there is not. Talk about your music to bone to. Also, it's 7 minutes long, which lasts longer than the average guy. Or so I'm told.

Padu and I have what I believe is a fair exchange of unrequested or "surprise" songs we'll each think the other will like but which, in fact, SUCK to the other person. For example, he put Billy Joel's Allentown on my last mix. GAH. So last night, I put a couple of things he'd never heard on his mix and this was one of them:

Ocean of Tears - Ruthie Foster

Ruthie Foster - no lover of gospel, folk or blues fan should be without Ruthie Foster's Runaway Soul. Also, she's a big lez and her partner Cyd Cassone plays percussion on the album. My parents saw them at the Edmonton Folk Festival a couple of years back and my dad gave me the CD for Solstice. Because when it comes to lesbian musicians, no one sniffs 'em out like my dad. Except, perhaps, my brother.

Huh.

So there they are - 7 songs out of the 6 Nostalgia mix CDs Padu and I ended up burning. In the interests of full disclosure, I should also mention that we burned the Bangles' cover of Hazy Shade of Winter. Jealous?

Underground Creampuff

So my blogging's been woefully infrequent of late and I wonder why. I suppose it's because I've been spending a lot of quality internet-free time reading microfiche in the basement of the Toronto Reference library over the last two weeks and then this past week, the lovely Katr was in town for a couple of conferences. So my days have been largely computer-free and my nights have been . . . bizzizzay. If you know what I mean. And I think you do.

Anyway, my girlfriend has again jetted off to the other side of the country and I am weepy and disconsolate. Also, I have a meeting with my dramaturge tomorrow to report on my research progress, so I was going through my huge sheaf of notes tonight and found the following quotes and observations:

• "Matilda, in vulgar parlance, 'skedaddled'."
  
• "An unmarried man of intemperant habits." Sounds like my brother.
  
• "Both belonged to the class known as 'unfortunates'"/"A woman of abandoned character" - The Victorians were masters of euphemism and I feel that's a lost art. I would like to start hearing this kind of expression used in rap songs in place of "slut" or " ho ". How 'bout it, Ludacris?
  
• Toronto Total Abstinence League votes to tell the Toronto Soldiers Institute to cease supplying the soldiers with beer. Good luck with that, Toronto Total Abstinence League.
  
• Which of these two is the better advertisement?
  For clothes:
  
  "Parties wishing to have good fitting garments and at moderate prices would do well to call." 
  
  or, for dumb bells:
  
  "If You Want Excercise
  Buy a Pair of
  Dumb Bells"
  
• What the hell is a "skirt lifter"? Why are the American ones so popular? And why can't I stop sniggering every time I read an ad for "American Skirt Lifters"?
  
• "He loses all self-command and flies to the dangerous consolations afforded by that worst of heathen gods - Bacchus." Tell me about it.
  
• From the files of the Toronto Police Force: A woman went to the cops to have them arrest a guy who hadn't followed through on his promise to marry her. She brought a rope with her, in case the cops wanted to hang him right when they found him. Sounds like something my ex-girlfriend would do.
  
• May 18th, Yorkville: "In front of the Street Railway Station yesterday afternoon, the foot passengers were very much incommoded by a drunken man who lay sprawling right across the path. It was certainly a disgusting spectacle. What were the Yorkville authorities about?"
  
• Get Sperm Oil Cheap - GAH.
  
• May 25th, an article on the inquiry into "Lord Cardigan and the Balaclava Cavalry Charge". Who ordered that tactical move? General Mitten? Admiral Thick Socks? Commodore Hipster Doofus Gloves?
  
• Bernett's Cocoaine - 50 cents a half pint. Kills dandruff. SCORE!
  
• Took break from microfiche. Went to bathroom. Heard weird noise coming from sinkal area while in john. Came out and found woman scraping a carrot with a vegetable peeler. Not a euphemism. Actual carrot, actual peeler. Bold.

Ah, government funding. I hope that all you Ontarians feel that you got your taxpayer's worth right there.

In other news, all of you Torontonians can exhale - it was looking pretty dire, but it turns out I won't be crashing on your couches next month! I've managed to find furnished, cat-free accommodation with a friend of a friend. Since our mutual friend set us up, we're each hoping the other one's not a complete freak show. Will she think American skirt lifters are hilarious too? Or will she merely count the days until her Victorian-history-obsessed, yarn-fondling, long-distance-relationship-bemoaning lesbian roommate gets the hell out of her house? History will decide.

Creampuff Will Watch Your Kids

My friends Sapa and Chdu invited me over this weekend for a lovely dinner and a visit with Sapa's hilarious parents and Sapa and Chdu's year-old twin boys who are not named according to any of my suggestions. 

For many years, it was kind of a running joke among my friends that I didn't like kids. And so when a bunch of my friends started to have kids, I did nothing to change their opinions. I willingly attended pre-baby events and mailed knitted hats and visited pregnant friends on bed-rest and gave good gifts and excellent parenting advice but I never made empty promises of baby-sitting. And they never asked.

There was evidence that my reputation as a child-hater had successfully preceded me when I went over to my lovely friends Deye and Grmi's house to see them and their new addition. It was all quite civilized and there was definite cooing (mainly on my part and from a safe distance) but actual adult conversation took place. My friend Jugr had visited the week before. Over coffee days later, Jugr asked me if I'd played with the baby and I was like "Noooo . . . did you?" Apparently, known-baby-lover Jugr had been handed the baby immediately upon entering the house. I believe I shook hands with the baby. It was all going according to plan.

Twin mom Sapa is well aware of my kid aversion. It turns out that when you have twins, your "not-liking-kids" friend can suck it up.  Back when the babies were born, an exhausted Sapa asked if I would come over to help out one night when Chdu had to go out and she needed someone to help her tag team the babies until the night nurse came. It was a constant round of feeding, soothering, sterilizing the soothers after they were spit onto the floor and licked by the cat, changing and trying to charm the boys to sleep. I must say -those kids were tiny and wrinkly and cute and cuddly and Sweet Fancy Christ, WHY CAN'T YOU SLEEP IF I'M NOT JIGGLING YOU, BABIES?? WHY??

I was there for only five hours and I was so exhausted that I had to TAKE A DAY OFF the next day to recover. And I DON'T EVEN HAVE A JOB.

We all relived this story on Saturday night and there were many guffaws from Sapa's parents over my lack of baby-caring fortitude. I once again expressed my awe at the deep love Sapa and Chdu must have for their kids, because only that kind of love could give you the energy to handle the constant business of parenting. The awe continued on Saturday - there were four other adults there and baby-hater Roro still managed to end up holding a baby more than once. HOW DO YOU PEOPLE DO IT? Is it drugs?? 

After the kids were in bed, Sapa and I hung out in the kitchen, doing dishes and joking around about how bad I am with kids. I told her that I thought I might start a business where I offer to watch people's kids, but that's all I'll do. Watch them.  And then maybe report back on what happened to them at the end of the day.

It's funny because Sapa understands that it's not that I don't like kids. It's that I fear them. I fear their sudden changes of mood. I fear their constant loud noises and shrieking. I fear their geyser-like digestive issues. I fear their inability to communicate in a language I understand. But most of all, I fear saying the one thing that will screw them up for the rest of their lives, like "You were an accident" or "Chenille makes you look pasty" or "Clifford the Big Red Dog mauled that neighbour kid to death". It's not that I don't think your kids are wonderful, people. It's that I fear I will make them less wonderful by teaching them dirty jokes too young or feeding them whole bowls of maraschino cherries. So the question is, is my kid xenophobia a fear I should attempt to face? Or should I just continue to knit from afar and admire photos of your young? History will decide.

In any case, parents, including my own - I raise my morning glass of mimosa to you and salute your Herculean efforts. You are heroes in my eyes. And if you need me to watch your kids . . .

Crafty Creampuff

When Katr and I were packing up to move this summer, I came across my old wool scarf in a pile of winter garments. I've had this scarf for awhile; I think I got it on sale and it was okay. But it was quite worn and also smelled and so, because I knit now, I decided that I would knit myself a new scarf when the time came and I discarded Stinko McWoolly and gave it no further thought. Until this week.

Man. Monday I was out and about in my sandals with no socks on and 3 days later the icy wind was whipping my hair about so violently that I nearly lost an eye. The zipper on my wintery jacket is all fuckered up and so I have only my raincoat for protection. I knew myself to be desperately in need of scarfage. But all my current yarn is mystery knitting yarn and I have none to spare.

I outlined my predicament to my love over the phone last night. As she was fresh off a professional triumph and also delirious from lack of food, she warmly encouraged me to drop some coin at the yarn store. Oh, and I did. Jealous?

Of course, in my lust for yarn, I honestly, if conveniently, forgot that I DO have a scarf. My friend Jecr of Creampuff Gets Her Wings fame knit it for me in high school. It's a very fine scarf and it's been held hostage for its size and coziness by my mother in Edmonton these 8 years. But when I was home this summer doing the Fringe, I liberated it. And today - today, with my new camera, I finally took photos.

Jecr Scarf Photo Essay

As you can see, the scarf is very bright, which is important for scarves in Edmonton. In winter, you leave for and get home from school in the dark and the bright colours are essential to survival. Not only do they keep your spirits up, but they help you not get hit by Swervin' Mervin, the driver of the 54 Kaskitayo bus.

Panel 1: "Random" Words and Phrases

This panel sports the following words and/or phrases:

• Mole
• The same old story (some kind of U2 reference? Jecr?)
• A vacuum
• Inlet

I'm pretty sure that mole, a vacuum and inlet are all a) words we enjoyed and/or b) punchlines of Blackadder jokes.

Panel 2 & 3: Jecr's Favourite Actor

I think Jecr's obsession with Stephen Rea began when she saw him in The Crying Game. Between U2 and Stephen Rea, it's no wonder she ended up living in Ireland. Since she found the love of her life, has her passion for Stephen waned? He was pretty great in V for Vendetta. History will decide.

Panel 3, 4, 5 & 6: Roro's Favourite Actor

Yeah, I had a big thing for Kenneth Branagh after I saw his film Henry V when I was 14. A BIG thing. A thing so big it's embarassing to think too much about it. I had a scrapbook of magazine articles. I bought movie soundtracks I didn't like because his picture was on the cover. I learned huge parts of Henry V off by heart and murmured them fervently to myself in those times that try the soul. I read his autobiography Beginnings, which he wrote at the age of 28, reverently. I wrote him adulatory letters that I never sent. Once, when I was 16, his name and my name appeared, for completely unrelated reasons, in the same theatre column in the Edmonton Journal and I nearly passed out. I didn't mind that he had no lips and held him in the highest esteem. I know, I know - I am a dorkwad.

Panel 3 & 4: Before He Was "House" . . .

 

. . . Hugh Laurie was on my scarf. Jealous?

Panel 3, 4, 5 & 6: Roro's REAL Favourite Actor

It occurs to me know that for all my obsessive letter-writing and shrine-having, I wasn't actually in love with Kenneth Branagh.

I just wanted to play him on TV.

Because then I would get to shtupp Emma Thompson.

Panel 7: We Are Geeks

This last panel is entirely taken up with the following Blackadder quote: Never ask directions in Wales, Baldrick. I believe the follow-up is "You'll be cleaning spit out of your hair for a fortnight", but that's clearly too much to stitch onto a scarf.

I think we can all agree that Jecr's scarf is an heirloom. An heirloom that should be worn and probably be framed. Maybe when Katr and I find a more permanent home in Vancouver, we can finally get it under glass, where it belongs. Perhaps with some cunning lighting to bring out the duplicate stitch.

Now that I have bought that other yarn, however, I'll still be knitting myself a scarf, you know, for every day use. I don't want to, people. I HAVE to. Besides, I'll need a new scarf to go with my creampuff wedding dress:

Alert reader Kicl sent this gem to me this morning. She noted that with the creampuff dress,

"You can have your bride and eat her too. Er, I mean…never mind, you know what I mean."

Oh, Kicl - you're a doll. And I DO know what you mean. And your suggestion is delicious.

Creampuff Give Thanks, Starts Residency, Knits

It was Thanksgiving this past weekend in Canada and I'm just emerging now from my pie-induced fugue to comment on it.  My list of things to be thankful for last Thanksgiving still stands, with some noticeable additions.

1. The internet. With Katr and I apart this Thanksgiving and my nearby relatives going on adventures to Italy, I wasn't sure where the turkey would be coming from. Turns out it came from Lex, who is an incredible cook, a marvellous hostess and is extremely generous with the most incredible gravy known to woman.  What does "I need a private moment with this" gravy have to do with the internet? Well, like many of the other smart, hilarious, wise, insane, sick, sick people I have come to know over the past couple of years online, I met young Lex through blogging. And for that, I am deeply thankful.

As some of you may recall, I also met my lady love as she was cruising by me on the information superhighway and I was all sappy and thrilled a couple of weeks ago when two of my favourite bloggers, Winter (in Wales) and Andygrrl (in Arizona) declared their mutual affection. Sure they fell in love after meeting in person - but would they had MET in person if not for the mighty internet? WOULD THEY?? (Special to HB - those two might benefit from your Long Distance Lesbian Relationship Poetry Pack. I know I am.)

2. Knitting. A lot of people thought I was kidding when I said I wanted to learn to knit so that if I survived when the world exploded, my mad knitting skillz would keep me from being the first one eaten. But I wasn't kidding. And since my life might one day depend on my sticks and string abilities, I should spend as much time as I possibly can knitting, right? Obviously! Shopping for groceries and cleaning toilets is all well and good but it's not going to help you out when the RADIOACTIVE ZOMBIES ARE ON THEIR WAY. Or, you know, the Cylons.

I've got all kinds of secretive winter solstice and birthday gift related mystery knitting on the go right now, but here's the hat I made Mipa for her birthday. Yes, it was supposed to be pointy. And yes, that's Darth Tater. Jealous?

3. Government Funding. I got some earlier this year and this week marks the first of 16 non-consecutive weeks of being a playwright-in-residence. I spent several hours yesterday in the microfiche room at the Metro Toronto Reference Library reading the Daily Globe from 1863. Scintillating stuff. My favourite line so far? An ad for the Fun Almanac. Here it is:

             FUN FUN FUN!
      Fun Almanac for 1863
             Price 6 cents
No lover of fun should be without it

It was a simpler time.

Creampuff Returns to Big Smoke, Gets Hacking Cough

I'm back in Toronto! But my girlfriend is on the other side of the country! So I'm living alone! For at least a month and possibly more! Last night, I stayed up until 4:30 a.m. watching Northern Exposure ("It's not the thing you fling - it's the fling itself") and knitting!

As some of you may recall, I have terrible habits when I am left alone, be it by Katr or by roommates. But, while my instinct is to spend this entire month of solo time pants-less and Slurpee-sodden, I recognize that staying up until the crack of dawn knitting, pining for my girlfriend, scribbling play ideas, watching the special features on Firefly, pining for my girlfriend, then waking up at 11:00 a.m. in time for my real estate agent to take me to lunch is not a sustainable series of lifestyle choices. Or . . . is it?

We sold our condo back in September, but the new owners don't take possession until October 31st. Because we had the condo set up as if we were living in it during the showings, we still have furniture here and our real estate agent brought in a stager to help make the place show better. So when I got in here yesterday, it was like coming home . . . to Katr and Roro's House of Wicker and Rattan.

There are silver picture frames in the living room with pictures of people I don't know. There are a lot of candles and a glass jar of cotton balls in the bathroom. There's a framed poster of a gigantic wave crashing around a lighthouse right above our bed and you don't have to be Oprah to make the connection. The enveloping wetness of the sea. The sturdy uprightness of the lighthouse. The bed. "There will be some good boning here," is the message. Clearly, they bought it.

I must say, this stager did a very cunning job. But my FAVOURITE thing the stager did was reported to me last night by Padu. He came over here to pick up a package a few weeks ago and told me that when he was here, there was a copy of Fall on Your Knees on the bedside table in the master bedroom. Because, buyers, the people who live here are appreciators of fine Canadian lesbonic fiction. What's even better is that when I got here, the book was gone. Which means it wasn't my copy of Fall on Your Knees - she BROUGHT HER OWN STAGER-COPY IN HERSELF.

I'm a little concerned that I won't be able to live up to the image of togetherness and rattan appreciation that our almost-former condo is projecting. I felt kinda bad messing up the perfect balance of the office by dragging my tiny dresser into the bedroom so that I had somewhere to stash my ginch. The bed in the bedroom was propped up on wicker baskets to make it look like there was a bedframe - Padu and I removed the baskets and now the bed is on the floor and it's VERY "hippie flophouse".

There are pots and baskets hanging enticingly from our wall mount in the kitchen and I feel I should be cooking a gourmet meal; and then I remember that it will have to be a simple meal because, while I DO have every spice known to man and enough tea to entertain the entire lesbian population of the Western Hemisphere, we have no cutlery. Except for the plastic stuff I stole from Wendy's.

Fortunately, whenever I feel downhearted, there's the new "Perseverance" poster in the office reminding me that "Any dream worth having is a dream worth fighting for." And today - today I dream of eating with real spoons. I think I can make it happen, people. Wait, wait - I KNOW I can!

Creampuff Turns Pink For October

I feel like I spend all year being "breast aware", if you catch my meaning. In fact, Kelis' hit song "Milkshake" is playing as I type. But with September over, it's Breast Cancer Awareness month!

And so my blog is going Pink for October. Jealous? You can do it too! My better half has gone pink at home and has a great article on her professional blog on getting cause-marketing and non-profits to embrace social media. In response, I stole the badge she chose for her blog:

HA ha!

Seriously, though, my grandmother (code name: Beki) is a breast cancer survivor from way back and she's still goin' strong at 83. Having it in the family makes me extra eager to:

a) donate to and support breast cancer research and

b) fondle . . . uh, I mean perform self-examinations . . . frequently.

Support breast cancer research and feel a boob today. It could save someone's life! But, uh . . . make sure to ask first.