Creampuff Revolution

Anne? Still? Ha ha! YES.

One more day, Anne-haters, and the Anne Made Me Gay hysteria will be over! But in case you're an Anne LOVER in Toronto, we're close to selling out. I would advise you to get your tickets NOW. Woooo!

Creampuff in the Star!

We got a really great write-up in the Toronto Star for Anne Made Me Gay today - thanks, Bruce!

I'm particularly pleased that Bruce left out that thing I said about there being a fine line between fandom and fetish and the long, awkward silence that followed. Because I come off like a crazy enough Anne-stalker as it is.

In other news, I touched a man today who was the First Assistant Director on the original Anne of Green Gables mini-series. That's right - I touched someone who's touched Megan Follows!! I nearly fainted with delight.

He seemed used to it.

I also touched his dog.

I promise the full story at some future date.

Creampuff so Crafty

Just a quick update - I'm knee-deep in gingham and hot glue. Jealous?

Creampuff Lowering the Tone

The hotel I'm at right now has a personal oxygen canister in the minibar. Yeah, that's right - in case I need to suck more wind. The only thing stopping me from stealing the personal oxygen canister and wandering around Toronto taking hits off it is the $56.95 charge I will incur by removing it from my room. FOILED!

More later. Swiss Chalet is here, delivering my Festive Special. It's the most wonderful time of the year!

Creampuff Banned From Charleson Park

Remember the time last year I took the dog to Charleson Park in the rain and I fell on my ass twice and got mud in private areas?

This time I kind of belly-flopped on my front and then nearly lost my shoes in the squelch.

Fortunately, my cellphone was unaffected.

When Katr came to pick me up, she informed me that I am no longer allowed to go to this park during the wet season.

I have to say, I took my faceplant with great good humour, despite the fact that my shoes are ruined. Once again, there were several witnesses to my slapstick tumble, yet no word of concern. I felt the irony of this keenly a little later, when I came across a woman crying near the duck pond while her dog frolicked. I asked her if she was okay and she kind of looked at my muddy front and waved me off, as if to say: "I don't want to talk to anyone who sharts at the park. But thanks."

One does what one can.

Creampuff Blames the Dog

I knew my runners needed replacing. But no shoe should die like these did. On a cold hill, on a warm day, while my feet were in them.

Anne of Green Gables Turned Me Gay

If you're in Toronto and you're looking for a queer, down-there sort of thrill next Saturday night, I hope you'll consider joining me for the event outlined below! And if I badgered you about this already on Facebook, I'm sorry. And I'm also sorry to those of you I'm about to email this to. But it's going to be a great night - and I just heard that we've added an aerialist to the show. I KNOW - ANNE IN THE AIR!! And if that doesn't get you there, the poster should.

Buddies In Bad Times Theatre presents
ANNE MADE ME GAY
WHEN KINDRED SPIRITS GET NAKED
CURATED BY MOYNAN KING AND ROSEMARY ROWE
SAT NOV 29
DOORS 8PM, SHOW 8:30PM
TICKETS $15 AVAILABLE IN ADVANCE
Box Office 416-975-8555 artsexy.ca

Do you get weak in the knees at the sight of gingham?

Do you have an attraction to red-heads that you've never fully explored?

Did Anne and her devotion to her bosom friends turn you gay?

Anne Made Me Gay - When Kindred Spirits Get Naked is the 100th  anniversary celebration of Canada's favourite red-headed orphan - Buddies-style.

Enjoy an evening of song, recitation, literary exploration and hot girl-on-girl action featuring Evalyn Parry, Rosemary Rowe, Kate Trgovac, Mariko Tamaki & Lindy Zucker, Kym Bird, Nathalie Claude, Dayna McLeod, Juana Awad, Rose Cullis, Renee Olbert, Liz Pounsett and many more!

So...Let's get you out of that tight corset.

Join us for a night of corsets, currant wine and more gossip around the punchbowl than a Ladies Aid Society bazaar.

Creampuff Not Nuts About This Poetry

I discovered, in the course of research today, that a woman named Sharon McCartney wrote a book of poetry called The Love Song of Laura Ingalls Wilder.

The poems are mainly written from the point of view of things Laura Ingalls Wilder grew up with - objects, outfits... tools. The butter churn pens an ode; Ma's green delaine dress sighs a sonnet. And one of the poems is by Pa's penis. It's called Pa's Penis.

I like poetry. And lord knows I loves me some Laura Ingalls Wilder. And I've been known to speculate about hidden parts of the Ingalls day-to-day existence. But ... no. Just...no.

Now, Pa's Steaming Pile, I can get behind.

Creampuff Wonders If There's a Hot Doctor in the House

The strangest damn thing started happening to me at the beginning of this week. Every now and then, when I put my right foot down, the area of my foot between the ball and the heel feels wet. Like I'm stepping on a wet carpet or my foot has whizzed itself.

The first time it happened, it was in the study, where the washing machine flooded the floor and soaked through the rugs a few months ago. I felt a sudden, terrifying chill through my socked foot. Surprisingly, I did not hassle Katr with my subsequent freak out and opted to feel around the floor with my hands for awhile before deciding it was a false alarm.

"Huh," I thought, when the carpet seemed dry, "I guess my foot ...whizzed itself. Or maybe my sock got wet on the bath mat before. Huh."

Then yesterday, wearing different socks, it happened again. And today, again - phantom wet foot.

I started to get really nervous about this whole foot situation. What if phantom wet foot is like smelling burnt toast and I'm going to have a seizure? I checked with Dr. Google and learned a lot about seizure auras, trench foot and foot fetishes before surrendering to a gleeful hour of watching YouTube clips of Dr. Kerry Weaver's first, doomed lesbian romance on ER.

I forgot about my foot. Until I took the dog out for her evening stroll.

Are you ready to be TOTALLY CREEPED OUT?? Read on.

Tonight, just as I got on the elevator with the dog, I felt wet foot again. And then, there it was - a notice in the elevator that one of the building's sump pumps was malfunctioning and that all of the storage lockers on Parking Level 3 (where all our stuff is stored) were in danger of flooding.

I know. MY FOOT CAN TELL THE FUTURE.

I managed to save our artificial Christmas tree and Katr's big box of ornaments, so you can all exhale. Everything else down there is in Rubbermaid bins, just in case. So far, the storage area seems pretty dry - but if my wet foot is any indication, that place could go at any second.

Life with a prophetic foot can be a challenge. With great power comes great responsibility. How will I learn to read its signs? Should I get a wacky sidekick with a divining appendage of their own (not a penis - too easy - maybe an itchy ball). And, most importantly, when will my right foot get its own show??

Further bulletins as my foot warrants.

Creampuffs Live on the Edge

I remember in First Year Acting at York our instructor made us keep a journal in which we were meant to record our answer to the following daily question:

What was my risk today?

HAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!! Oh, theatre school - the four year wank fest of life. GOD, I loved it!

At first, I took this assignment very seriously. What WAS my risk today? It was first year university and I went to a school where I knew no one - as a shy nerd, risks came thick and fast at the beginning of the term.

Was my risk trying to make friends with someone new?  Asking the scary Pasta Pronto employee to please not ash in my linguini?  Wearing my Disney Villains t-shirt without knowing if the other students would know I was being ironic?

It all seemed very dire. But as the term progressed, my risk taking also progressed - in a creative sense. While the first month or so had entries like:

"My risk today was waving hello at Michelle, even though we only talked for a minute yesterday. She smiled and waved back and it made my day. Somehow, in the course of waving, I managed to scratch the inside of my nostril really hard [this is true - I still have no idea how this happened but I had a nose-blood stain on the cuff of my jacket for years later] and my nose just started gushing blood. It was really cathartic."

by the end of the term, my journal went more like:

"My risk today was walking down the stairs at Winters College without holding the railing. There were some dicey moments, but I got down okay."

or

"My risk today was that the date on my milk was April 4 but today is the 6th. I drank it anyway. Now the whole dorm is saying that their risk today is going into the bathroom after I've just been in there."

For a guy who now makes his living in funny t.v. commercials, my acting teacher didn't really have a sense of humour. I believe I got a C+. That's right - I WAS ROBBED.

After a weekend of extreme theatre nerdishness, I've been reminiscing about my university experience and specifically the "risk" exercise. I decided I should start cataloguing my daily risks.

I took a few risks yesterday - I applied for a couple of Fringes, let the dog paw at the bushes even though the bitchy Park Services guy was working 20 feet away and - and this is the BIG one - waited until we were on the last roll of toilet paper before going to the Costco for more.

I know! It's like non-stop action over here! Taking risks is fun! In fact, I'm already planning my risk for tomorrow - wearing my new jeans WITHOUT WASHING THEM FIRST. Stay tuned!

You can get in on this action too, people. What was your risk today?