Creampuff Revolution

Creampuff Gets the Big Squeeze

My left boob has been hurting.

Generally it was only for a few days around a particular point in my lady cycle and Dr. Google said that was normal, so I didn't really pay it much attention.

But then a few months ago, it started hurting all the damn time. I changed bras...I tried sleeping more on the right...it got a LOT of love and attention but it still hurt.

I couldn't feel anything in there but, even though Dr. Google said that "breast pain is mysterious and unknowable but probably not anything serious" (I paraphrase), I started to get concerned.

Concerned enough that the next time I was at my local walk-in clinic getting a prescription refilled, I asked the brusque, no eye contact doctor what I should do about it.

Dr. Brusque: "Well, you'll have to have someone examine your breast."

Me: "Someone like...A DOCTOR?"

Dr. Brusque: "Well, your family doctor."

Me: "I come to the walk-in clinic for a reason, man."

Dr. Brusque, not doing a good job of concealing his horror at having to manhandle my funbags: "Okay, put this gown on, I'll be right back."

What followed was the kind of groping we all experienced from our gay Grade 10 boyfriends in high school (no? just me? okay.) - curious, squeezing a little too damn hard, no eye contact, latex gloves, then he left without saying anything.

Dr. Brusque referred me to the Breast Clinic at a nearby hospital. 

Dr. Z, the hospital doctor, was lovely and it was a delight to be groped by such a professional.  "I don't feel anything in there," she said, "and breast pain doesn't usually indicate cancer. But you could have a small cyst that is causing the pain, so why don't we schedule you for an ultrasound?"

At this point, I was willing to take her smart, kind, boob doctor word that things were okay in my chestal region, but since I had escalated things this far - and since we live in Canada - I said sure.

I go out and wait in the waiting room for my ultrasound appointment and the reception with the loud carrying voice comes out and says loudly "We're going to book you for a mammogram instead because an ultrasound isn't useful for finding your problem, okay? Here's your appointment."

Huh. Okay then.

A week later, I return to hang out with my peeps in Radiology. After changing into my fetching blue gown, the mammogram technician came to usher me into the dark, humming room.

The technician was a very sweet, gentle young woman who spoke to me soothingly as she would to a skittish horse while she literally put my tits in a vise. It did hurt a little bit as my boob pancaked out but the main discomfort was the claustrophobic feeling of having your boobs stuck in a machine. I did appreciate the "instant release" action that took place once the photo was taken. One down, one to go.

In the middle of my right boob imaging, things got weird.

Technician: "Buuuurge."

Me: "What?"

Technician: "Ah...buuuuuuurge."

Me: "WHAT IS IT?"

Instant release. 

Technician: "Well..."

At this point, I had made my topless way around the back of the equipment so that I could see what she was staring that. There was a huge white mass on my right breast. I nearly passed out.

Me: "What is that?"

Technician: "We should probably do that one again, okay?"

Me: "OKAY BECAUSE WHAT IS IT"

We did righty again and this time, no white mass.

Me: "What the hell?"

Technician: "That's why I wanted to do it again. Your skin must have gotten bunched up the first time and it looked like a mass. Good thing I did it again or the doctor would have made you come back for another go!"

Me: "Heh heh, yeah, GOOD THING"

I put my shirt back on and went back up to the doctor's office, only to discover that she wouldn't be in until the following week. I made my appointment and then treated myself to a mocha for my troubles. It was delicious.

A week later, I returned to see Dr. Z. to get the results of what I hoped was a clear mammogram.

Dr. Z (sighing): "So hi." 

Me: "WHAT"

Dr. Z: "Well, I told them that I wanted you to have an ULTRASOUND, not a mammogram, but someone at the front desk took it upon themselves to send you for a mammogram instead, which isn't as useful in finding small masses in young breasts like yours."

Me, flattered by "young breasts": "Oh."

Dr. Z: "Yeah, so the mammogram was fine but not useful in this context. I'm sorry."

Me, still flattered: "No problem."

Dr. Z: "I still want to do that ultrasound, so we'll get you set up with an appointment, okay?"

Sadly, there was no groping. Then the loud receptionist yelled the time of my ultrasound appointment at me across the waiting room and I left. Mocha followed.

A week later, I was back in Radiology, getting ready for a fourth stranger to feel me up.

Fortunately, I look ravishing in blue.

The ultrasound technician was just as sweet as the mammogram technician. She squirted hot lube all over my boob and got right to it. I could see my boob on the monitor, like you do when someone's getting an ultrasound of their baby. I asked her if I could have a print-out of my boob, you know, to share on Facebook, and she laughed but DID NOT OBLIGE ME.

After slip-sliding all over my breast and underarm area, she gave me a towel and a smile.

"When are you seeing the doctor again?" she asked. I told her it wouldn't be for another couple of weeks. "Well," she said, "you shouldn't have to wait two weeks to know that I didn't see anything here."

I thought for a second that she was making a "Whatever happens in Radiology stays in Radiology" joke but then I realized that she was delivering very comforting news, for which I thanked her profusely.

Two weeks later - this whole process started in June and just finished up last week - I had my last appointment with Dr. Z. We chatted about gardening as she felt up my tomatoes and advised me that the girls were a-okay. Thanks to a few lifestyle changes this year, they might just be taking their time adjusting. "But it's always good to check with a professional if you're concerned, " she said, so that I didn't feel like an idiot. And that was that.

On the way home - BIGGEST MOCHA EVER.

TL;DR My boob was hurting but everything's fine.

Creampuff Prey

Friday morning, I walked into our office to give Katr her first cup of coffee. After demanding my usual coffee delivery payment (one kiss and/or butt fondling), I glanced over at my desk and something seemed ... off. Monitor? Check. Laptop stand? Check. Waaaaaaait a minute.

"Where is my computer?"

Holy motherfucking shit. My MacBook Pro was gone.

Missing: my laptop. New on the scene: the window screen.

Once we stopped hyperventilating and clutching at each other for comfort, we assessed the situation. After taking it all in, it was pretty obvious what had happened. Here is why and how my laptop - and only my laptop - got stolen out of our office.

• Our condo is a semi-ground, semi-garden level suite.


• The blinds on our windows that face the street (east windows) are usually open - anyone walking by can see my laptop on my desk.


• The area behind the openable windows in our office (south windows) is pretty shielded from the street by bushy cedar trees, giving a potential laptop-stealing turd some cover.


• My laptop was on a stand, making it even easier to access via the window.


• The screened window was open - because it is tiny and covered by a screen and no human could fit through there. But you know what can fit? A HUMAN ARM. An arm attached to a turd who used a dirty wooden stake to push out the screen.


• We were out all afternoon on Thursday and didn't come into the office again Friday morning.


• Emmy was not home to collar the perp.

Perp's POE (point of entry).

Katr called the Vancouver Police Department non-emergency number. Then she logged into her Prey anti-theft software account to report my laptop missing, because she bought the Pro plan a few months ago, even thought I thought she was crazy.

Nabaztag is saw the whole thing. But he ain't talking.

I took pictures of the crime scene and felt like I was on CSI: Fucked. Then, never one to let laptop theft get in the way of my vanity, I hustled to put some mascara on, in case the VPD sent over a cute lady cop. They did. We'll call her "Officer Bristine".

Perp's POE - outside view.

Officer Bristine had a gun, a flashlight and a professional yet kind demeanour. She quickly disabused us of the notion that the myriad muddy smudges around the window were usable prints and told us that we would be surprised how many tiny spaces thieves could fit into, because many thieves are skinny. She took our statements, logged Katr's ID, got the laptop's serial number, listened to us talk hopefully about the effectiveness of Prey and advised us to keep our windows closed when we went out.

She also told us that it was fairly unlikely the laptop would be recovered and made sure to give us the case number so that we could give it to our insurance company.

Ballsack.

Perp stood on the gravel under the window. No footprints.

As I wiped the perp's smudge prints away from around the window and snapped the slightly bent screen back into place, I tried to remember that it could have been SO MUCH WORSE. He/she could have actually broken a window and made off with all of our electronics, not just my laptop. He/she could have taken my laptop and then whizzed through the window. And although my laptop was gone, my data wasn't. Because my wife knows I'm a knob, she'd set me up with a hard drive that continually backs up my computer - and that hard drive was not taken.

Still, it felt like a real kick in the box - karmically and financially. Because laptops are not fucking free.

Perp's sunglasses, which I picked up with a chopstick and put in a freezer bag for "evidence". Glasses are just the right size for a fuckface.

Unfortunately, work had to keep happening, so Katr and I decided we'd better just suck it, shell out for a new computer ASAP and deal with the credit card bill later. Since I got the new one last time, we decided Katr would get a new laptop and I would take her old one. We made an appointment at the Apple Genius Bar for 10 a.m. on Saturday. 

There may have been some crying at different points throughout the day.

We had dinner plans Friday night, which was awesome, because when someone busts into your house and steals your shit, you need some queers and a motherfucking G&T. We locked all our windows and had an excellent night out. Emmy did a great job of warding off any further thieving turd-incursions. 

Like a hawk.

When I got home, I enjoyed the following email from my loving mother:

"I'm been thinking of you today and sending good thoughts and love and the sincere hope that they catch the slimy little cocksucker who stole your computer and imposed on your sense of security!
Love
Mom"

And then we went to bed around 11 p.m.

At 1:30 a.m., we woke up to Katr's cellphone ringing. The number was blocked, so she didn't answer. Then our home phone rang. I rocketed out of bed full of white hot fury. WHO was CALLING??

It was the Vancouver Police Department. 

Police: "I have good news for you! We have your laptop."

Me: "You are KIDDING me."

Police: "Nope. Someone just turned it in. I'm sorry to call so late, but it was either call you now or wait until Monday to get it back to you."

Me: "No, no...now is good! So good! What happened?"

Police: "Well, I guess this 15 year old kid bought the laptop from some guy at the Skytrain for $250. And he took it home and started putting his stuff on it and...you have some kind of software on there? Prey or something?"

Me: "Yes! Prey! We have that!"

Police: "Right, well, he said he went online and all of a sudden your laptop snapped his picture and there was some kind of message about 'this laptop has been reported missing' or something and he freaked out and brought it to us."

Me: "That. Is. AWESOME."

Police: "Yeah! So I'm going to come bring it back to you...is that okay? You're at [our address]?"

Me: "Yes! Great! See you soon!"

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA

Katr was pretty sure that this call was a scam - that in fact, it was the laptop thief calling to trick us into opening our door for him at 1:30 a.m. so that we could be home invaded. I love that I implicitly trusted this stranger calling at 1:30 a.m. and Katr was like "HE'S COMING FOR US." She checked out the number online and then called the VPD non-emergency number to double check that the number was legit. It was. So we put on some pants. 

About ten minutes later, two officers came be-bopping through our front gate with the laptop in hand. They officially closed the case and told us that the kid who turned my laptop in had asked them to ask us to wipe all of his personal info off the computer because he was worried we'd show up at his house. We all had a good laugh and then, my laptop cradled in my loving arms, we bid the cops farewell and went back inside. Then we tried unsuccessfully to sleep.

The next morning, we went to our appointment at the Apple store, with MY LAPTOP, YAY!!!! The Genius checked it over to make sure no one had installed any hardware inside it, then she wiped it and set it up factory fresh, all ready for my data. And later, Katr hooked up my Time Machine to my laptop and it was freaky. It was like I'd never left. Like, documents that I hadn't even saved yet were still open on my desktop. I was home.

I managed to track the 15-year-old kid down via Facebook (I think) and I'm torn. Do I send him a note to say "Thank you for choosing to turn my laptop in instead of tossing it in the dumpster?" or do I just leave it? If you made it all the way through this story, you are more than qualified to answer this question.

I am so fucking happy. 

In other news, if you live in Vancouver and want a laptop stand, hit me up! Because I will no longer be using it.

Creampuff Has Something For You To Do Over Lunch

Well, there's no way to say this without sounding like a giant dillweed, but I am kind of a big deal.

When Katr gets pulled over for her next DUI, I will be in the passenger seat shouting "Do you KNOW my NAME??" at the arresting officer and then looking demure in my mugshot. And if the arresting officer is a theatre fan who lives in Calgary and likes to be entertained on her lunch hour by witty and powerful plays, then she WILL know my name!

My one-act play Camp Victoria is WORLD PREMIERING at Lunchbox Theatre in Calgary next March - and it opens on my BIRTHDAY! Wooooo!!!

The play is inspired by real people and events - here's a photo of Faith Fenton and the VON nurses that Katr found and put up on a little Camp Victoria page, because she's the best.

I love these gals.

Left to right: Margaret Payson, Rachel Hanna, Georgina Powell and Amy Scott.
Faith Fenton of the Toronto Globe is on the right.

Margaret Payson, Rachel Hanna and Faith Fenton are the three characters in the show. I love the look both my nurses are both giving the camera, like "Really? We have work to do." whereas Faith is all "I'm looking towards my FUTURE."

Speaking of gals, I don't think I'm supposed to talk about the cast yet but they're SUPER AWESOME and I'm totally thrilled that they will be donning corsets and getting loaded onstage together for your amusement. And I'm equally thrilled that Glenda Stirling is directing, because she too is SUPER AWESOME and really smart and will make me look almost as smart. Hashtag: WINNING.

Seriously, though...let's be serious. It's not every day that an artistic director thinks that one of my funny little corset plays are "right" for their "audience" and like many writin' types, the majority of my plays have been produced BY ME, at festivals and cabarets and workshops and the like. So the idea that Lunchbox Theatre is "doing the show" and all I have to do to provide some rewrites and show up to see it is weird and fantastic. So huge thanks to the lovely folks at Lunchbox for including me in what looks to be a pretty tremendous season. I'm really excited to be a part of it.

So hey! If you're in Calgary in March of 2014, I hope to see you at Camp Victoria! And in the meantime, you can follow Lunchbox Theatre on Twitter and Facebook.

Corsets!

Creampuff's Birthday Surprise

It was my birthday on Sunday. Back in January, Katr asked me what I wanted to do for my birthday and since last year was so spectacular, I said to surprise me! AND SHE DID.

Firstly, she kicked off my birthday month with this blond beauty:

If you're not a knitter, you don't give a shit about this thing. But to turn a skein of yarn into a ball (which you must do before beginning to knit), you usually have to wind it by hand and it can take a LONG time. It once took me 3 hours to wind a particularly fractious ball of silk lace and by the time I'd finished, I was too tired and sore to start knitting. Come to think of it, I've NEVER knit anything with that silk lace. See? Trauma.

This combo of gadgets allowed me to wind a skein into a ball in about 2 minutes.

Jealous??

I'm in love. Hat tip to fellow knitter Jebr for suggesting this particular ball winder and swift to Katr! Heh heh...yeah. Balls.

Next, Katr nurtured my latest obsession by getting me a subscription to the most hilarious magazine ever created: Village D-Lights, the magazine for Department 56 crazy super fans.

It's like your grandma writes this magazine and her friend Phyllis takes the pictures.  It is indeed a d-light and I can't get enough. Also, Katr got me a copy of Village D-Tails, a collector's guide, so that I can obsess over all the village pieces she'll now have to get for me on eBay. Score!

Then there was my birthday cake. Now, my ideal birthday cake is an ice cream cake from Baskin & Robbins. But there's no Baskin & Robbins here and Dairy Queen "cakes" are, frankly, ass. Finding a good reliable purveyor of cake here has been harder than it should be...but then, Katr discovered MANCAKES Bakery.

Here's what you need to know about MANCAKES:

• They are cupcakes made by men
• Those men will bring the cupcakes to your house
• The cupcakes are fucking delicious
• Okay, the Buffalo Wing flavour was a little weird, but the rest of them...AMAZING

Seriously, Vancouverites - MANCAKES Bakery. KNOW ABOUT THEM.

As for my actual birthday day - I thought it would be pretty hard for Katr to top last year. I could SAY I had no expectations, but that wouldn't be true - I sort of figured that after our glamourous downtown overnighter last year, she'd tone it down this year and maybe take me somewhere new for dinner.

And I figured she'd probably invite our friends Doai and Elai, because we often share birthday fun with them (not in a swinger way, YOU PERVS...just in a tasting menu/high tea kind of way). So I was kind of surprised and a little sad when they came by two days before my birthday to bring me a birthday gift because "they weren't going to see me on my birthday." Huh. Well, maybe they had other plans...or maybe Katr had something special planned for just the two of us! But WHAT?? Katr refused to divulge.

As my birthday dinnertime approached, we drove to Kitsilano (not to the Richmond IKEA, where Katr kept saying we were going for dinner) and pulled up in front of Hapa Izakaya, a Japanese restaurant we'd never been to. As we walked in, I saw that the place was full of lovely intimate booths for two and the hostess led us to our table...set for 12. WTF?

Well, it turns out that Katr had invited 10 of our friends to join us for dinner. And that all of those friends had known about this for MONTHS and hadn't said anything. And that Doai and Elai had brought me my present early simply to DEKE ME OUT so that I would be completely and totally surprised.

AND I WAS!!

HAHAHAHAAA!! 

So basically, Katr is SUPER awesome and hilarious and sweet and wonderful and everyone who came and got Sunday drunk with us is also super awesome and sweet and wonderful and even though it was three days ago, I still feel a little drunk. Because I drank A LOT. 'Cause those Hello Kitties go down smooth. And now that I'm older, I hold my liquor even more poorly. 

Creampuff's 2013 TED Round-Up

I'm a little late with my weekly post, but my excuse is that I was busy all week having MY MIND BLOWN by this year's TED conference.

Photo: James Duncan Davidson

I did a round-up of last year's TED, which was pretty great (the conference, not the round-up - when you watch a bunch of teenage scientists talk about how they've come up with an answer to the global energy crisis, the complete mediocrity of your own life and accomplishments is swiftly brought home to you).

Most of these TED talks aren't up on the internets yet, but when they are, you should watch them and stuff. In the meantime, I'm linking to the TED blog, which has a write-up of each talk. 

This year's highlights included:

When I donate to a non-profit, I always want the maximum amount of my dollar to go to the cause, not to the organization's overhead. Right? Well, maybe that's actually really not right. Dan Pallotta's talk: A New Way to Judge Non-Profits has completely shifted my point of view on this issue.

UPDATE: Dan Pallotta's TED talk is now live!

I LOVED Vancouver spoken word poet Shane Koyczan's performance at the Vancouver 2010 Olympic Opening Ceremonies, so I was surprised to discover that now I love him EVEN MORE. He brought his To This Day project to TED and fucking brought the house down. I had a lot of feelings.

UPDATE: Shane Koyczan's performance is live on TED talks - definitely a must-see.

Radio DJ and total math nerd Adam Spencer's Hunt for Monster Primes actually made me laugh AND care about math. AMAZING.

Kate Stone does things with technology and paper. She was hilarious and her interactive posters were amazing.

Photo: James Duncan Davidson

Every year at TED, there's someone who makes you feel like maybe not everything is going to hell. John McWhorter's talk The Linguistic Miracle of Texting was about how texting is actually closer to speech than writing, which means that writing is NOT becoming obsolete. It made me feel smart about knowing what tl;dr means. Plus, funny.

Hyeonseo Lee escaped from North Korea and then helped her family get out. HOLY SHITBALLS.

Photo: James Duncan Davidson

In my dream last night, I told my elementary school friend about Allan Savory's talk about Fighting the Growing Deserts with Livestock. Basically, this guy has figured out that to bring back the grasslands (and save the whole fucking planet), we can use cows, sheep and other livestock in specific pasturing patterns. And it is WORKING. For me, this was the most exciting talk at TED this year. 

UPDATE: See Allan Savory's TED talk - so awesome.

Ron Finley builds community gardens in South Central Los Angeles, where fresh food is hard to come by. Favourite quote: “I am an artist. Gardening is my graffiti. A graffiti artist beautifies walls; I beautify parkways and yards. I treat the garden as a piece of cloth and the plants and the trees are the embellishment of that cloth. You’d be surprised what soil can do if you let it be your canvas.” 

UPDATE: Ron Finley's TED talk is up too - huzzah!

Photo: James Duncan Davidson

Jack Andraka is the kid who started working on a cheaper, more accurate, early detection test for pancreatic cancer when he was 15. AND HE FOUND ONE. Also, he is FABULOUS and a great speaker. I hate him so much.

I am not a fan of Amanda Palmer's music, personally, but after her talk, I respect the hell out of her as an artist. Her talk about building relationships with her fans and crowdfunding as a way to make a living at music was really good. It's up already and I've seen it posted twice on Facebook. Watch it now, before it becomes cool to hate on it!

Artist Phil Hansen caused himself nerve damage after years of practising pointilism as an art form. Faced with an inability to draw a straight line, he had to come up with other ways to create art. His talk, Embracing the Shake, featured some of his awesome projects. My favourite was a huge mural of Bruce Lee that Hansen created using only karate chops.

A lot of people here in town were all super hyped up about TED coming to Vancouver next year - like they were going to attend and rub shoulders with all of these luminaries. It costs $7500 and you have to apply to get in. HAHAHAHAHAAA NO. Having it here really just means that Ben Affleck might be in town.

Really, I feel bad for next year's TEDsters...in Long Beach right now, it's all sunny and shit. Here, it's raining so much everything makes a squishy noise - grass, dogs, pavement. Although if Mark Shaw, the inventor of Ultra-Ever Dry attends next year, there may be a fix for that rain problem!

Katr did her own TED round up of stuff she loved - and one thing that made her FURIOUS. As usual, she is far more erudite than I. Check it out!

It Takes a Village

My yearning for a Christmas village began at a young age. I remember the first time I saw those tiny, glowing houses at a friend's Christmas gathering and really thought about pulling a "Laura Ingalls stealing a music box from Nellie's birthday party" kind of move in order to make one of them my own.

Fortunately, I realized that I couldn't possible pull this off - not because my '80s hammer pants were not voluminous enough but because it would cause my crotch to glow invitingly. It's a good thing it didn't occur to me that the houses were just plugged in and did not glow due to Christmas magic - my life could have turned out veeeeeeeeeery differently.

My intense yearning for a Christmas village continued through my youth and into my young adulthood, but it was one of those things - like STDs and how you secretly liked Wesley Crusher - that you didn't talk about. In fact, my shame over wanting these kitschy holiday items over-powered my desire for over 30 years. Until this year. When the dam burst and I told Katr.

Katr doesn't love clutter. But she does love me. She tried to deke me out by suggesting that she wasn't going to indulge my village yearnings, but when, in the face of her masterful deception, my face crumpled like the saddest lesbian in Lesbonia, she gave up her wicked charade and the next day, this appeared:

Please excuse the blurry photo. My hand was shaking with excitement.

Part of the joy of the village is being able to look at it lovingly throughout the holiday season - this is difficult to achieve when you unwrap your village gifts on Christmas morning. Katr gave me this stunning Bluebird Cottage from Department 56's Dickens collection on December 8th. Because she knew how bad I wanted a village. And because I like things that are Dickensian.

At first, it was just the Bluebird Cottage, lonely on the ledge, yet warm and inviting, with its glowing light inside. 

Then, one magical Christmas eve, these babes showed up, courtesy of my brother in law Drtr.

And the next morning, Stratford Pies and Tarts opened up and the whole neighbourhood went to hell.

Flirting by the fish and chips...

The Tea Lady and the Pie Man are clearly TOTALLY DOING IT. Look at those guilty mugs! Like we just caught them at something illicit! Plus, the Pie Man appears to be sporting wood. Good period detail, Department 56.

Those nuns stayed ALL NIGHT. Also, note the adorable birdhouse in the back. It's a wee little church!! 

Aw, yeah, motherfuckin' VILLAGE.

It took all I had to pack the village up this year as we were putting away our holiday decorations. But I know that it wouldn't be special if it was up all year round! I can't wait to see what building pops up in Roseshire next year! Because I am a HUGE NERD.

Creampuff Is One of Them

"Oh shit," I thought to myself, as I stood in the kitchen in my yoga pants, unironically blending a green smoothie with kale I picked up at the Main and Terminal Farmer's Market from our Community Supported Agriculture shares, which were grown in the parking lot next to Rogers Arena. "It's happened. I've become a Vancouver douchebag."

I think you all saw it coming before I did. First, there was the gluten-free situation. Then, we became urban gardeners. Last year, we started doing the yoga. But I didn't really feel that I'd succumbed completely to VD until last week, when:

a) I made that smoothie; and

b) I ran errands in public wearing yoga capri pants even though I didn't have my dog with me and actual yoga was not imminent.

I HAVE NOW BECOME EVERYTHING THAT I HATE.

 

Beaver Dam

As I've mentioned in numerous posts, I was a little obsessed with the show Hoarders when it first came out and basically watched it like it was my job.

After seeing untold numbers of cat skeletons, pieces of dog shit and fridges full of rotting food, I had finally had my fill of Hoarders and also, had learned not to eat while watching it.  GAH.

My time as a Hoarders viewer, however, did outfit me with some keen skills, such as how to recognize hoarding behaviour when I see it (on television). Little did I know that I was about to stumble upon a real life hoarding situation...right on my own street! Literally, on the street.

This piece of equipment is here as part of the house next door's construction process (more on that in future posts. I can smell your excitement, like a lost cat skeleton). As I shuffled by it with the dog earlier, I noticed that the operator might have some issues. Behold!

"Oh, I'm just an innocent piece of construction equipment, disturbing your yoga with my loudocity."

"There's some stuff in here."

"You know, just the essentials...lots of newspaper from January, some spray bottles, some food wrappers, my yellow construction vest, my long lost hamster Rotunda..."

"My shopping bag, some coveralls, a log...you know, for when you need a log..."

OMG. HOARDING. In that tiny machine! I honestly don't know how the operator even gets in there! Also, you can't see it, but there's a decal on the glass, just below the Safeway bag, which reads "Beaver Dam". I'll say.

I waited around to see if the operator would show up so that I could ask him about Beaver Dam but Emmy Lou grew weary of indulging my whim and pulled to go home. I guess I'll never be able to offer Beaver Dam my wise counsel gleaned from months of watching Hoarders. Which is basically "keep track of your pets and call a professional. Because DAMN."

Academic Creampuff

As many of you know, I'm just not very bright and am still not sure that I even have my Bachelor of Fine Arts, because a) my university went on strike in my final year and b) I refuse to pay my totally bogus library fine to find out if I did indeed graduate.

Despite this complete lack of academic cred, my friend Dr. Jacks still asked me to be a speaker in her undergraduate social science class a couple of years ago - TWICE (the topic was: I'm Fat and Gay and I Don't Give a Shit What You Think - I paraphrase). So every now and then, when I'm feeling dumb, I'll bring it up in conversation, real casual-like.

Me: A similar question came up when I was a guest speaker at UBC.

Barista: Really? "Foam or no foam" came up at UBC? JESUS CHRIST, YOU PRETENTIOUS TWAT, HERE IS YOUR LATTE.

This month, I have another feather to add to my academic cap - my friend and dramaturge Moynan King was curating a volume of the Canadian Theatre Review about Queer Performance - Women and Trans Artists and she asked me to contribute an article about our collaboration on Anne Made Me Gay.

And that's how I ended up getting my name in this fancy academic journal along with a bunch of real academics and other super smart people with interesting things to say about queer performance. HAHAHAHAAA!! 

Please forgive the horrible photo. My hands were shaking with mirth.

My article is called Anne Made Me Gay: When Kindred Spirits Get Naked. Here's the article description:

2008 marked the 100th anniversary of the publication of L.M. Montgomery's classic Canadian novel, Anne of Green Gables. Celebrations for Anne fans were planned across the country, but one key demographic was not represented in the mainstream Anne celebrations: there were no events planned for the “I'm pretty sure Anne made me gay“ Anne fans. In Toronto, two lesbians decided to create a cabaret by and for queer lovers of Anne, to help us explore Anne's influence on our young gay selves and to celebrate the red-headed snippet who taught us to live passionately, speak eloquently and really dig on other girls. This is the story of that cabaret.

Much of this issue is about the grand tradition of the queer cabaret - so naturally, Moynan decided to celebrate the launch with - you guessed it - a queer cabaret!

Sadly, I will not be there but there are lots of other amazing queer artists performing at this thing and if you're in Toronto on February 26, you would do well to attend "Explain Yourself". Plus, if you're a top, or you bring a top with you, admission is cheaper! Apparently, this event will be a great place to meet tops.

If you don't know what that means, you probably aren't ready for this cabaret.

I'm not sure what's next for me, academically speaking - I suspect this may mark the zenith of my academic achievement. Then again, who's to say that nepotism won't strike again? This time next year, I could be accepting an honorary degree from Yale! Or, morely likely, Brigham Young University. Mustn't get ahead of myself.

Seeking Simone Ep 2.5: Leslie is live!

For those of you whom I did not hassle endlessly yesterday, we hit an exciting Simone milestone when we held the last episode of Season 2 hostage until we got to 1000 Facebook fans.

I was worried that this would blow up in my face, but people were super nice and now we have 1023 fans and the episode is up! Woooo! It is called "Leslie".

This episode was especially fun to film because a few of my favourite Toronto gals - Jeba, Berin, Lex, Sura - showed up to be the extras at the restaurant during Simone's date. Thanks for keeping the rambunctiousness to a minimum, ladies - you are all class!!!