Creampuff Revolution

Creampuff Detritus

It occurred to me as I reached for my coffee this morning and nearly sent the phone, my glasses, an open bottle of Advil and a CD on the loose from its protective case skittering across the floor that I am in dire need of some office organization.

My "office" is the dining room table. While I love its proximity to the goodies in the kitchen and excellent view of the front door (like Katr, I am on constant ninja-alert), I do not love its lack of drawers or other office-type amenities. I don't need much to make it more functional. Perhaps some kind of caddy, with a place for pens and USB keys and slots for a "to-do" pile and a "filing pile" and an "Old Fashioned Black Licorice Cigars with Authentic Look Red Glow Tip in Genuine Wood Look Cigar Case from Costco" pile (licorice cigars make me more productive. Also, butch. Are my black teeth turning you on?)

Right now, my "important papers management" system is best described as "Oh my fucking god, I TOTALLY just saw it yesterday, where is it?? Where is it?? Where the fuck is -- oh, here it is." No WONDER I never get anything done.

This morning, I finally snapped and went through it all. I found (mostly) paid bills, countless USB keys, pens I thought were lost forever, our marriage certificate and a teeny tiny string of plastic pearls. What the . . .

"What are these?" I asked, waving them at Katr.

"Hammy the Hamster's anal beads?"

"Yeah," she replied over the sound of me DYING over my own joke, "aren't those the beads you found before Christmas? The ones you thought looked like hamster anal beads and you saved them for the sole purpose of blogging about them?"

Oh. Yeah, that's right. I've had some hamster's anal beads on my desk for over a month because I wanted to take a picture of them. For you guys. Never say I don't love you.

Speaking of love, I'm back on the knitting. I'm still labouring through a tiny mystery project (so laborious! so tiny! so mysterious!) but I've also been knitting a lot of baby hats. I sent two off without documenting them (I'm hoping to get pictures back with actual babies in the hats) but since I was taking photos of Hammy's sex toys anyway, I thought I'd take a picture of this one before it wings its way east.

I hope the kid's head is at the upper limit of size.

Creampuff Thinks We Might Be Related

While Katr was away last week, I set up a command centre on our couch. I had two computers, the phone, all the remotes, various knitting projects and the dog within reach. While the set-up was certainly both convenient and delightful (well, to me - the dog doesn't love it with I pet her with my feet), it was far from ergonomically correct and as a result, the afternoon that Katr was arriving home, I became suddenly, and seriously, fucked up. 

My whole left side was just one giant muscle/nerve scream of unthinkable horror. I could barely move. I could barely sleep. Advil did NOTHING. Ditto, booze. I was moving around like Joan Cusack with the neck brace in Sixteen Candles.

The incredible searing pain I caused myself by SITTING ON THE COUCH TOO LONG got me thinking about how embarrassing it would be to explain this kind of ergonomic injury to anyone who actual did physical labour, like my great-grandmother, who plowed many a field in her day. And then I started thinking about ancestors in general and then I remembered, through my Robaxicet haze, that I had recently participated in a glossy, scientific ancestry project and that it might be time to check back for my test results! You know, before the morphine kicked in and I forgot my own name. 

Back in December, Katr and I each got this cool kit to test out from the DNA Ancestry Project. We got the kits for free, because Katr is a prominent blogger and I am her shameless hanger-on. The idea seemed to be that you submit a DNA sample for a test that would tell you about your geneological origins and which haplogroup you belonged to. And then, to get the results, you have to join an associated social networking site over at genebase.com. Once you get your DNA results, I guess they expect you to then hang out and swap Stone Age anecdotes with other members of your group. Ha ha - remember Grog? What a lardass! But man, could that bastard bring down a mastodon... 

I was very taken with this whole idea; being able to trace your maternal line back 50,000 years is not only scientifically cool but is also, to history nerds like me, a very romantic notion. I felt as though taking the test would launch me on an epic adventure of discovery, complete with wind-swept steppes, roving herds of mammoth and also, toilets and running water, because it's my fantasy and I don't like shitting in the woods. 

Eager to begin, Katr and I opened the test kits and started by swabbing the insides of our cheeks (just like on CSI!) I pretended Jorja Fox was doing mine. I casually asked her out on a date. Katr, swabbing next to me, said "It'll be hard for them to test your DNA if that swab gets lodged down your throat." I came back with a snappy retort that caused me to choke on my swab. 

We sealed our envelopes and sent off the swabs. And today, we checked our Genebase accounts for our results. Katr loved every minute of it. As for me, I got a prediction of which haplogroup I belong to (F), a chart of gene mutation numbers that I didn't really understand and some content on the origins and migration of the group:   

Haplogroup F   

Time: Emerged approx 50,000 years ago    
Place: Originated in Central Asia   

Facts

The woman who founded Haplogroup F lived approximately 50,000 years ago in Central Asia and represents one of the founding East Asian lineages. Descendents of the Haplogroup F migrated throughout Asia.   

Today, descendents of Haplogroup F can be found throughout Asia, including China, Korea and Japan and Southeast Asia, including aboriginal Taiwanese populations, Papua New Guinea, Indonesia, Polynesia, and Vietnam. 

So, according to the test, I'm of Asian descent. Which would explain my karate chop laugh and sumo wrestler-like physique. Of course, there's only a 36% chance I'm Asian. For more specific results, I have to take TWO MORE DNA TESTS. The cost of each test? $129. 

Ha!! WHAT?

That's it? I mean, amazing technology aside, that's all the info I get? A list of numbers and a blurb and an invitation to give them more money for more accurate results? Considering your average Joe ALREADY had to pay $129 for these initial results, I think that's assaholic. 

I have to say, when you encourage people to explore their geneological past, some of them are only interested in the science, sure. But I bet most people are looking for a little narrative too. I want a little Clan of the Cave Bear. I want a little 10,000 B.C.  $129 and no handjob from Jondalar? Nice try, Genebase. Nice try.

In other news, when I went looking for the Clan of the Cave Bear link, I discovered that author Jean M. Auel had penned another book in her "Ayla, the cave woman who invented modern medicine, animal domestication, the blowjob and possibly, in this next book, the wheel" series. Why had no one told me? Those were the historical fiction/hot sex books of my youth! The new book, The Shelters of Stone, costs $10 and a handjob from Jondalar is practically guaranteed. I think you can guess where my money will be going.

Creampuff's Dog - Delicate Flower or Evil Genius?

So Katr's off in Toronto at the moment, because she's going to be on CBC's Test the Nation Sunday night! Wooo! She, along with the lovely Lex, are on the "Bloggers" team and the topic is "Trivia". Kick some Flight Crew ass, ladies! Woooo!

I must confess, I'm glad it's Katr in the hot seat and not me - the only answer I ever know in Trivial Pursuit is "Mary Pickford". And sometimes I'll just holler out "Mary Pickford!" for the whole game. We, uh, don't play often.

I always miss Katr when she goes away, but she knows I also enjoy having some fan girl friends come by for a reading of my latest installment of Gina Torres/Katee Sackoff slash fiction quiet time, hanging out pantsless, eating crackers for dinner and staying up late knitting The Sock Neverending while watching racy costume dramas and humming my new favourite song at key moments in the action.

Of course, I can't go into FULL sloth mode while Katr's away anymore, because the dog refuses to walk herself and the fuzz insist on pants-wearing, at least below Hastings St. But this trip, for the first day at least, I did get an unexpected dog-walking reprieve. Because the dog was sick. Again.

The first time the Emmy Lou got sick was the night before Katr, Jaro and I were about to take her on a 9 hour drive through the mountains to the family Thanksgiving. As she's such a stoic pup and this was the first time she'd been ill, I totally freaked out. I was sure she'd been poisoned or felled by some dog plague. There were calls to the emergency vet and yes, yes, there were tears. Everyone we talked to told us it was probably just a stomach thing and to see how she was in the morning.

The next day she was extremely tired and feeble, but seemed to have recovered enough to sleep in the car all day. So off we went through the Rockies and by the next day, she back to her old self, eating fine and annoying giant elk in the national park.

The next time she got sick was the night before Katr and I left for Toronto for our big gay wedding. Totally the same thing she'd had the last time; the only thing the two incidents had in common was that we were obviously going on a trip and she might be left behind. Hmmm . . .

Naturally we began to wonder if our pooch, who's already known among our various dogsitters as "the Canine Queen of Passive Resistance", was actually making herself sick because she thought we were leaving. We wondered what it was that was tipping her off. Were we treating her differently? Was there a word or phrase she was picking up on? Obviously, the suitcases were a dead giveaway . . . or was it really just a coincidence?

This time, Katr deliberately saved packing until the last minute, but she was no match for Emmy Lou. Clearly sensing that change was nigh, the dog was sick by sundown and the poor thing spent the evening barfing on the one rug in the house (why not the hardwood, Emmy? WHY?) and staggering around like she needed a walker.

By the next morning, she was so worn out that all she wanted to do was whiz on the median and come back inside, thus leaving my day free for hookers and blow cozy reflection. Ha ha! Poor little dog. Yet for me, delightful.

Of course, the dog is neither fully a delicate flower OR an evil genius - I think she's probably just a delicate genius. A delicate fuzzy genius who hates being left behind. Of course, now that I've deked her out by staying home with her this time, I'll be very curious to further test our theory and see if she gets sick again in February, when Katr and I take off for our annual trip to Monterey, where the sea lions await. I know you are all looking forward to a new crop of my fascinating nature videos.

In the meantime, other dog owners, if you have any dog-management tips on this topic, please feel free to leave a comment below. Because I don't think my brother's suggestion that we feed the dog some canine cannibis treats is the best way to go.

P.S. After I posted this, I realized that it kind of looks like I deliberately took a picture of the dog being sick so I could mock her on my blog. Not true! The picture is actually from the fall. And she's just SLEEPY. Okay, thank you.

Creampuff to Dog: You Smell Like Gym Socks

I can't remember the last time Emmy Lou had a bath. She hates baths like I hate the "musical" oeuvre of Fergie. I usually give her a sluicing on our balcony, where there's a drain and few witnesses. Because I am lazy and because it's been cold and because she is a fuss pot who keeps clean like a cat, she's gone bathless for quite some time. But the corn chip smell of the dog became pretty overpowering recently, plus she's been shedding like crazy, so we decided we would try something new. A self-serve dog grooming place. Which I suspected was run by lesbians. Woooo!

In preparation for The Bath, Katr and I thought it would be good to make sure Emmy had an exceptionally long walk to tire her out. Katr had a client meeting near a good off-leash park, so we decided to drive over together, play in the park/have the meeting and then meet up after for grooming and errands.

The park, like all the parks here in rainy, rainy Vancouver, was a total swamp. But Emmy is unstoppable once she locates fowl to hassle and this park is cute duck paradise. So Emmy joyously chased the ducks and sniffed things while I attempted to locate some high ground before the mud sucked my shoes right off. And it was while I was descending one slope on my way to a higher one that I felt the ground move. And then I felt my ass hit the ground. And then I slid down the muddy hill on my ass and bumped into my dog.

Me: Uhnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn!!

Emmy: What's up, fattie?

I would like to point out that last week I saw some guy take a spill and I went over to see if he was okay. I was maybe 10 feet away from three people in the park who all had the pleasure of seeing me wipe the fuck out and no one so much as offered me a Kleenex. That's fine - I wasn't hurt and what were they going to DO anyway? - but I want you three to know that you make the Baby Jesus cry.

I struggled out of the mud and assessed the damage. It seemed that my jacket had taken the brunt of the mud and really only one of my pants legs were wet. I squelched over to a grove of rain-wet cedars and used their branches to scrape some of the mud off my hands while I considered my next move. Katr would probably still be in her meeting for an hour; maybe I would stand around and wait for my leg to dry for awhile, then Emmy and I could go sit in the car! Because I had the spare keys! Ha ha!

Pleased with my plan, I realized I'd lost track of the pooch. I finally located her rooting around in the underbrush at the bottom of another little hill. Mindful of my previous wipe out, I made my way cautiously towards her, inching carefully down the hill. Then I slipped on the mud and fell on my ass.

Me: Uhnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn!! Fuck fuck!! Uhnnnnnnn!!!

Emmy (to other dogs): We're not here together.

This time my coat hiked up to my waist so that the muddy water I was sitting in had full access to my private areas. It wasted no time getting intimate with my nethers. Then it started to rain.

The "sitting in the car for 45 minutes or longer" plan seemed less good now, in light of my sopping wet, muddy lower half. And the dog was starting to remember how she never actually gets her mouth on a duck. But I didn't want Katr to have to leave her client meeting. So the dog and I walked the 45 minutes home, dripping mud and meeting the stares of passer-by with a glare that said "Yes?? Can I help you, FUCKO?" It's hard to walk belligerently in wet pants - hard, but not impossible.

I was determined that my slip-nanigans wouldn't put an end to our dog-bathing scheme, so once I'd showered and changed, Katr came home to pick us up and we were off to the dog-grooming place. Emmy Lou was excited to be back in the car - I was excited for her to not smell of gym socks. Things were lookin' good as we walked into the shop full of clean, happy dogs.

As it was our first time there, and because, frankly, I was on the verge of losing my shit completely, I was kind of hoping that the dog-grooming place would be run by nice, helpful lesbians, like at our vet's office. Lesbians who would take care of us. Instead, they were "here's the hose, good luck with that" lesbians whose lack of helpfulness was astounding in the face of Emmy Lou screaming like the Wicked Witch of the West and scrabbling desperately to get out of the tub every two seconds while I held her down and lathered her up. I spent as much time prying her little paws off the edge of the tub as I did actually washing her. 

Me, like I'm talking to a toddler: Emmy, if you jump out of the tub with the cord around your neck you could hang yourself.

Unhelpful lesbian (as I drench my shirt holding  the dog down with my whole upper body): Oh, did I not show you where the aprons are?

Emmy: OMFG!! Why are you DOING this to MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE?? AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!! It BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURNS!!!

Unhelpful lesbian: You should use a LOT more shampoo.

So basically, I paid $20 to torture my dog for half an hour when I can do it at home in half the time for free. Needless to say, we will not be returning to the dog-grooming place. Unless Emmy gets some Ativan and they get one of these.

Les resolutions de Creampuff - edition 2008

I know! It's already January 5th! It seems like I've blown the "procrastinate less/blog more" resolutions already this month, but I'll have you know that I have spent the last six days endlessly converting hundreds of posts from Textile2 to HTML and then reformatting them in order that they may be ready for the launch of the new onedegree.ca, the internet marketing blog we took over last year. It's taken six days to do one year's worth of posts and I've got two years to go and it's sucking my will to live.

But I am taking a break! Ha ha! Because if I wait too long, New Year's resolution time will be over - unless I wait for Chinese New Year. Which I seriously considered.

I love New Year's resolutions. I love reading yours - I love crafting my own - I basically love the idea that a "new year" equals a "new opportunity" to "suck less". I was pleased to note, when I checked last year's New Year's post, that I did manage to make good on several of my resolutions - I learned to knit socks against all odds, Flippy showed me how to make my blog searchable, we acquired a dog who forces me to exercise every day and while my various wages couldn't accurately be described as "livable", they do pay the rent. Also, I floss like it's going out of style, mainly because we don't have a dentist here yet.

Speaking of "becauses", 2007 was delightful in myriad ways, but it was also a fabulous year for excuses. FABULOUS. Living in Toronto for two months, adopting a dog, getting gay married - I had so many wonderful reasons to put things off! Like, for instance, learning to drive.

Hahahahaaaaa! I know! STILL!

I'm not going to bore you with why, because who cares? Suffice to say that, as part of my "embrace the new!" initiative, this WILL be the year that I actually do some driving. So...

1. Learn to drive. This means I will:

• Get my learner's license again 
• Take a driver training course
• Memorize our gay marriage vows so that I can recite them to Katr as I careen down the street with her in the passenger seat, white-knuckled and screaming.

Will I be able to take the road test before the gay divorce comes through? History will decide! Or perhaps Katr's lawyer.

2. Locate some health care professionals.

The dog has a vet, but we don't have a doctor or a dentist. Or a hairdresser, for that matter - we've lived here for a year and we both still get our hair cut IN TORONTO.

3. Finish my play.

Heeeeeeeeeeeeey - It doesn't seem to be writing itself. I realize that while it's still in an "unfinished state", it is PERFECT and brilliant in my mind. Once I declare it "finished", then it will be judged by others who do not love it as I do and that will blow. But you know - sometimes things blow! And no one will die if this blows. So I need to get the fuck over it and finish it. Preferably before we have to give up the fabulous printer we're "testing".

4. Knit Padu's sweater.

I promised Padu a sweater for his birthday. Last year. Hahahaaaaa!

5. Be greener.

We do plenty of environmentally conscious things around the house and beyond - buying carbon offsets for the car and air travel, using re-usable bags at the grocery store, signing up with greendimes.com, running the car off the dog's gas, recycling my hilarious jokes - but I confess that there are times that I can't face scrubbing out the peanut butter jar and just toss it instead of recycling it. There - I said it! So this year I'm going to suck it and wash those jars out.

6. 10000 steps!

When I first starting walking the dog, I nearly expired. Seriously - going from almost completely sedentary to walking for 2+ hours a day nearly did me in. But I have come to love my daily outings with Emmy Lou. Now that I can walk briskly for well over an hour without shitting twice and dying, I think it's time for a kicky pedometer and some really good headphones, so that I can keep track of our ambulatory progress and listen to Prince. I look forward to hitting the seawall fatly and startling passerby with my strange hidden clicking and sudden, off-key singing. Huzzah!

Okay, so those are the most specific of my goals for 2008 - I think if I can pull these off, it could be a banner year! Maybe I could KNIT the banner! And attach it to the back of the car while driving it! And then get pulled over by the fuzz!

Creampuff's New Year Nostalgia

It's New Year's Eve and it seems there's a lot of pressure to "have plans". You know what I say? I say "plans" are for the weak! I say fuck "plans" right in the ear!

I am ambivalent towards all occasions that require me to "do something special" - New Year's, my birthday, Arbor Day, etc. Some years, I go all out and have some big shindig. Other years, I stay home, kick my roommate out and clean my closet. This year is a "closet-cleaning" year for us, which is doing nothing for our agoraphobic hermit image. But it occurred to me earlier, while I was out walking the dog, that I think it was 10 years ago tonight that I hosted the funnest New Year's Eve party ever at my parents' house. The memories started flooding back as I stood outside, watching my dog sniff bush. I got a little misty, friends. Here's what I remember:

• My parents were out of town. Woooooo! I know, I know - the films of our youth tell us that parents out of town = wild, out of control, call the police party!!! Drunken brawls! Pizza on the turntable! Couples having pre-marital sexual relations in your parents' room!! Wooooo! Yeah - it wasn't that kind of party. Because all my friends were respectful nerds who would never spill shit on my mother's couch.  It was a respectful nerd party.  A houseful of respectful nerds and some drop-in respectful nerds. Damn, I love those respectful nerds.
  
• At the beginning of the night, El Nino had provided a balmy temperature of +12 degrees. Over the course of the 7 hour party, the temperature dropped to -25 degrees. Smokers went from light sweaters to wearing two winter coats at once. It was epic.
  
• I was planning to move back to Toronto after New Year's and had decided I needed a new look. Over the course of the party, Caha cut my hair and then Padu dyed it red. Alcohol WAS involved, yet strangely, the look was very fetching. At least according to the photographic evidence.
  
• My friend Kawa had brought her . . . friend? Boyfriend? We'll call him Balistair. We all kinda knew Balistair from high school, but after 4 years of university education, Balistair had become kind of a pompous shit slice. "Oh, give him a break," Kajo said to me, "he's not a bad guy." "Whatever," I said to her, "Guys like him make me gayer. Pass me the Big Bear Malt Liquor."
  
• Juwi, a novice smoker, had to come in from the porch several times due to the increasingly frigid temperatures. "What a time for El Nino to forsake me!"
  
• After a few beers, my brother decided that because it was so cold, it would be best if he and his friends smoked their cigars in my parents' car. With the windows up.
  
• After hearing me use the word "dykey", Balistair proceeded to bore us all to tears by pompously talking about the whole notion of "reclaiming" words, like "bitch" or "dyke". My brother says to Balistair "I want to reclaim the word 'slut'. I feel it's really being misused." Balistair took him seriously and try to debate the merits of the word "slut." He asked my brother a question that contained the word "hermeneutic". My brother replied "I'm sorry, what? I couldn't hear you over the sound of me scratching my nuts."

Balistair: What I said was -

Jaro: Unnnnnnnnnnnnngaaaaaaaaaaah.

• Jeba had brought her new boyfriend with her to the festivities. Ultimately, the relationship didn't work out, but in the first blush of love, this guy was apparently a demon in the sack. After hearing about his sexual exploits in detail, Caha and Chezza tried to find ways to work the word "oral" into every subsequent conversation. The Big Bear Malt Liquor squirted out my nose. NERDS.
  
• At one point in the evening, Kawa came into the living room to ask if there was any more milk. (It was a WILD party. Shut up!)

Balistair: My mother says 'milk' funny. She calls it 'meeeeelk'.

Jaro: Your mother is a SLUT.

• The next morning, we had to pick my parents up from the airport in the car Jaro and his friends had smoked stogies in. Fearful of my mother's sensitive schnozz, Jaro took the cigar-scented car to Bubbles Car Wash to get the cigar smell shampooed out of it. It cost him over $100. The shampoo wasn't dry by the time we had to go pick my parents up, so we sat on plastic bags on the seats with the windows rolled down in -30 Celsius on the highway, trailing a plume of toxic orange peel stench behind us. Jealous?

I know - tame, right? But it was this wild, joyful evening, all of us teetering on the edge of our lives to come and really, really celebrating being happy, passionate dorks together. Plus, several people (including Balistair - sigh) slept over and in the morning, there were waffles! Wonderful, wonderful waffles.

I think that, in the face of all the live-changing events of the last year, 2007 has been heavy on nostalgia - nostalgia for everything from books I've read a hundred times to hometown parties of yore where I'd known everyone there since we were all 12. It's been comforting to cling to the familiar, but I have to admit that in doing so, I have successfully bored myself. I think that 2008 will have to be a year of appreciating the past, but not living in it. It's time to embrace the new! Embrace the new!!