Creampuff Revolution

WTF Universe??

My little cousin Keena was killed in a car accident Sunday morning just outside of Calgary.

The weather was crazy, there was black ice, it was no one's fault...she's just gone and that. Is. CRAZY.

These things are always unfair, but this feels extra stupid unfair, because Keena was a really lovely person who was barely in her 30s. She had so much going for her and had so many things that she was working towards and looking forward to.

It's so awful and just really really sad. Many many handkerchiefs have been soaked through at my house this week; the whole extended clan is devastated and I can't even imagine how her parents and brothers and her partner are feeling.  

I'm headed to Calgary for the service on Friday and I plan to spend the entire time trapping my remaining cousins in uncomfortably long hugs. Because they're my family and I love them and oh my god, NO to dying!!! No more!!! Seriously, Jesus. Enough.

Worst. Monday. Ever.

Soooo...you remember how in my last post I introduced sweet Lola Bear, our newest shar pei?

Well...she's in doggie heaven now.

We were pretty sure that with some eye drops and some pain medication for her back legs, little Lola would be right as rain and we'd be enjoying her company for many months - and possibly years - to come. Unfortunately, that's not how shit played out.

I'll spare you all the details of the never-ending rollercoaster of Lola's health problems - many of which occurred while Katr and I were out of town and she was being looked after by Boka and Cawi, who are FUCKING SAINTS. Suffice to say that the deck was not stacked in her favour and yesterday morning, we had to say goodbye to her after knowing her for less than two months.

It was very peaceful and also, just so sad and shitty. With the exception of the occasional fish, I've never had to say goodbye to a pet before and it was really hard for Katr and me (and for Boka and Cawi, who we called before it happened - they had taken care of her for almost as long as we did and cleaned up waaaaay more barf).

It was all over very quickly and then...no more Lola.

Nothing kicks the week off like doing the ugly cry in front of the vet, six veterinary technicians, everybody who walks by your car for half an hour after you leave the vet and the barista at Starbucks, who gave me free muffins when we stopped by the coffee shop to eat and drink our feelings. We spent the rest of the day mostly trying to work and failing, weeping over photos of Lola and annoying Emmy Lou by being extra affectionate to her. I also have to shout out to Doai and Elai, who brought over Cheetos, gingerale and chocolate - the foods of grief. Thanks, you guys.

Katr and I are so heartbroken that we didn't get to spend more time with her - and, as always in these situations, you question whether you even did the right thing by adopting her in the first place. Maybe moving from her old home to a new environment was bad for her. Maybe she would have been happier in those people's yard, never going to the vet with her infected eyes and Milk Bone brand food and yappy little Chihuahua brother.

Except - she wouldn't! Because Lola loved adventure!

Every new thing set her fat little tail a-wagglin'. And in the 7.5 weeks she was with us, she got to experience the following awesome things:

• Walks!
• Beds!
• A custom-made fleece blanket by Boka!
• Running freely in the park while chasing rascally poodles!
• Wearing an hilarious cone!
• Toys!
• Car rides!
• Seeing and smelling the ocean!
• Stairs!
• So many treats!
• Being spoiled by many members of my family!
• Being doted on by lesbians!
• Meeting new people and new dogs every single day!
• Riding in a taxi!
• Barking at delivery people!
• Many tummy rubs!
• A ridiculous amount of love and cuddles!

While her time with us was distressingly brief, she managed to pack a lot in there. And I think that makes it all worth it.

Folks have asked us how Emmy Lou is handling all this and I'd have to say "pretty well." She and Lola got along okay but they certainly had their spats, like any sisters do. After we got back from the vet yesterday and she saw that Lola was not with us, Emmy began to industriously clean out Lola's food bowl (just in case there were scraps in there) and immediately climbed on to Lola's bed.

"That's nice," my dad said when we talked on the phone last night about Lola's absence. "I'm sure Emmy's just trying to fill the void in your hearts." Awwwww.

Yeah. That's cute, Dad, but I imagine what Emmy was REALLY thinking, as she settled down onto Lola's incredibly soft, comfy, orthopedic foam mattress was "VICTORY IS MINE."

Oh, Lola Bear. You were adorable and we will miss you. I am picturing you frolicking with all the other little dogs and prancing your fuzzy badonkadonk all over that great dog park in the sky. You're a good girl.

Pwned

Wednesday, September 20th sucked a lot of wang.

It started out with Katr being sick with a horrible cough. Katr only gets sick once every five years or so, so she likes to make the most of it. Every cough sounds like aliens are trying to communicate. It is truly pathetic and I felt terrible for her.

Next on our gay agenda was some devastating health news about a family member. So that was pretty much it for the day.  We spent the entire day on the couch, staring at the TV, Katr coughing like she was literally hacking up a lung and me weeping and eating my feelings.

If all of the world's ills could be solved by ice cream and kettle corn consumption, I would have made the world a better place on Wednesday.

As night fell, we stirred and started to make a move towards the bedroom, to continue our hacking and weeping, but in a horizontal position. As usual, our patio door was open to let in the night breeze. As I got up to close it, Emmy Lou took off outside like a shot.

I assumed she'd spotted a squirrel in the yard and I was prepared to let her have her fun - she'd been trapped inside all day with crying, expectorating fatties, after all - but it turns out that it wasn't a squirrel.

It was the skunk.

In our yard.

And as Emmy Lou joyfully gamboled towards it, the skunk sprayed Emmy Lou in the face.

Chaos erupted.

Most dogs, after a skunk sprays them in the face, will leave the skunk alone. Not our dog. Our dog went in for round two. Our dog is so butch. So we're screaming at Emmy to leave the skunk alone and screaming at the skunk to leave and in the end we managed to corral the pooch but the only way to separate her and the skunk was to bring her inside the house, where she proceeded to spit foamy skunk oil all over the front hall.

It's funny that I was so worried about the skunk and yet had no skunk-begone type products in the house. It's like I didn't want to buy them in case they jinxed us. Well, it turns out that was fucking stupid.

I stood in the foyer with our foaming dog on her leash while Katr looked up what to do and then called the emergency vet, just to make sure. Then Katr got in the vehicle and had to drive to four different Shoppers Drug Marts in order to get enough hydrogen peroxide to sluice the skunk oil from our dipshit dog. We washed the dog - we threw out a lot of towels and a rug and our clothes.

We slept with our lavender eye pillows under our noses like pomanders. The dog slept the sleep of the just. And the next morning, I went to the pet store and loaded up on Nature's Miracle and then went next door and loaded up on ice cream. Because I needed both.

It's been a few days but I think that the skunk-odor remover and the constant fans have done their work - the house seems relatively skunk free! The dog only stinks when she's wet or hot! Sadly, though, the attack occurred in the garden and I fear that might be it for our skunk-oiled crop of cherry tomatoes.  

So NOW when we leave the house at night, I have to check the yard AND the boulevard for the fucking skunk. And ditto on the way back. Emmy Lou is not allowed out in the yard at night alone anymore. And really, I've had enough.  This thing is going DOWN. Stay tuned.

R.I.P. Feisty Mustached Man

I don't have anything deep or insightful to say. I'm just so so sad about Jack Layton.

Creampuff Thinks that “One Wedding & Three Funerals” Would Make a Pretty Shitty Film

My grandpa died on Sunday and I am a sad marshmallow.

My grandpa was a pediatrician, so when I was a kid, I knew that if he was around, I could safely engage in risky behaviours like sticking beads up my nose. Which I did.

He and my grandma were very adventurous and generous folks and when he “retired”, they moved around to various places in the developing world and spent  a number of years working at medical clinics, learning about tropical diseases and helping local children and their families.

When I called them up to tell them I was getting gay married, it was my grandpa who answered the phone. When I gave him the news, he got all excited and said “Well, bless your heart!” and he and my gran sent us a really nice gift. Because they were cool.

Sniff.

Seriously, between this and my uncle dying right after his daughter’s wedding this summer and my grandma at Christmas, THIS IS IT, PEOPLE. Enough with the death!

Creampuff and Her Luge Suit Ready for 2010

I don’t know what it is about a new decade but as 2010 kicks off I feel like anything’s possible. Time to burnish the triumphs and slough off the failures of the Naughts and hurtle forward into a future we all hope will FINALLY include jet packs. I have my luge suit on and the sky’s the limit!

Of course, our internet’s not working right now, so it’s possible no one will ever read this.

I have to say that 2009 was a great year in many ways, but I’m still glad to see the back of it, particularly due to the high death rate. First we lost my uncle suddenly in August and then on December 27th, my grandma Bea passed as well.

Grandma was 87 and her final illness was relatively short, so you have to give it up for a long life well-lived.

I have a lot of great stories about my grandma Bea, but probably my favourite is when she met my grandpa Pat for the first time. They met at a dance. He told her his name was Michael O’Donnell – and she told him her name was Lee Gordon. Clearly they were meant to be together; but the fact that they’d given each other entirely fake names – like, not even close to their real names - the night they met made it extremely challenging for him to track her down. Lucky for their subsequent 7 children, 16 grandchildren and 8 great-grandchildren, he managed to find her. Way to go, Michael O’Donnell!

They were married for nearly 65 years and while Grandpa is handling the loss with his usual honesty and grace, I can’t imagine how lonely it must be to lose your partner of 65 years. So we are sending him lots of love.

The fam headed out to the frozen tundra of Calgary for the funeral on Wednesday and it was snowy and frosty and incredibly gorgeous. I had been pining for snow a little this time of year, as I am wont to do, so I have to thank Granny for that little taste of White Christmas. But, as one of my many aunts said when we got to the church, “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

I wasn’t keen on resolutions last year as I recall – in fact, I don’t think I made any on my blog at all – but after the death-fest that was 2009, I think my first resolution for 2010 is:

1. No death. Just…stop it, people.

2. Move. After 3.5 years of ambivalence, I think we’re finally starting to get the hang of Vancouver. But we’re STILL biznitching about our neighbourhood and how it’s not very neighbourhood-y and how I see a lot of penis in the neighbourhood because crackheads like to whip it out. So after the Olympics, we’re gonna be out of here faster than a crackhead’s wang! I hope.

3. Don’t learn to drive. Shhh – I’m trying reverse psychology. I’ll let you know how it turns out.

4. Finish Padu’s sweater and other outstanding knitting projects. I bought the yarn for Padu’s sweater in 2007 and started it in 2008. I finished the back around this time last year and I finished the front a couple of weeks ago. Just 2 sleeves and a collar to go. THIS IS THE YEAR! Also, I’d like to finish that poncho I started back in 2007. And the Embossed Leaves socks I started this summer.

5. Finish my stupid play that’s set in the Klondike. I finished a strong draft of my OTHER lesbonic historical fiction play earlier this year but only because the literary manager at the Shaw Festival said she’d read it (which reminds me, I haven’t heard back from her. HA ha! It’s been a few months…perhaps it’s time for some Happy New Year harassment). Anyway, I’ve been sitting on this half-finished Klondike thing for, like, three years. I think it might actually be a radio play, but I won’t know for sure unless I ACTUALLY FINISH IT. And I’d like to get it out of the way to make brain room for my latest brilliant idea which I’m convinced to SO brilliant that I can’t tell anyone else about it in case they steal it. All I’m going to say is plane crash, polar bears, Others and an impenetrable mythology that goes on for six crazy seasons. I KNOW! It’s going to be a winner. Shhhhhh.

I could go on, but that would cut down on my “reading your resolutions on your blog” time and no one wants that. I wish you all a healthy, frisky and fabulous 2010! Just keep your hands off my luge suit.

Unexpected

Things I expected to FINALLY have time to blog about when I got back from my cousin's wedding this past weekend:

1. That Katr and I met Jen and Sara from We (are having) So Much Fun and they were hilarious and adorable and we would lend them money and let them whiz anywhere they want! Anytime! And we can't wait to visit them in Seattle!

2. WE GOT IPHONES!! And they have CHANGED MY LIFE!!

Things I did not expect to blog about when I got back from my cousin's wedding this weekend:

1. DEATH.

The morning after my cousin's very lovely wedding, we were enjoying a little coffee party at my grandparents' place when we got the call that the bride's father - my mom's brother, my uncle - had died of a massive heart attack on his morning hike.

The good:

1. He'd spend the night before at his daughter's wonderful wedding to a fantastic guy, being surrounded by joy and love and by almost everyone in his family - and it's a HUGE family - daughters, siblings, nieces, nephews and his parents. He gave this really beautiful, poetic speech about his daughter and her new husband and brought a tear to everyone's eye. He partied like it was 1999. He couldn't stop smiling. He looked really sharp in his suit.

2. It was probably really quick.

The bad:

1. You know...everything else.

He was only 53 - 5th of 7 siblings - and it was completely unexpected and he was deeply beloved by all and so getting the news was devastating for the whole clan.

Plans for the funeral are underway and knowing my uncle to have been a joyful and ebullient man and knowing my family to be Irish, I expect the event to be epic and unforgettable and a true celebration of him and the time we got to spend with him. And that will be really cool.

Naturally, I've been in constant contact with various family members since it happened, ironing out travel plans for the funeral and such. Everyone is dealing with the news differently, but two things seem to be constant in everyone's emotional response. In addition to the waves of grief that crash into each of us every now and then, we're all totally sure we've having heart attacks. ALL THE TIME.

Anyway - I know most of you have already experienced this kind of loss and need no prompting from me to "appreciate your time with loved ones because you never know when they'll be gone." Because my response to that kind of condescending cliché is generally "Fuck you, fuckwad! You don't know my life!" But I do want to say, to Katr and to my awesome immediate family and fantastic extended family, and to all of you out there and also my dog: OH MY GOD, STAY THE FUCK ALIVE, YOU BASTARDS! And also, I love you. A lot.

Huh

My 14-month-old laptop died this morning. No goodbye, no parting words, just...phssst.

Katr, with the help of many key Twitterati, has been trying to track down solutions to the determined offness of my laptop. Thank you all for your kind assistance in this matter. You are the wind beneath my chubby wings.

In the meantime, we have called an ancient PC out of retirement to serve as emergency backup. I have to say, I appreciate having this machine to fall back on, even if it does shut off without wa

Creampuff Gets What's Coming

The dog dropped an prodigious deuce in an unfamiliar residential neighbourhood today and left me holding the bag. We walked for ages without encountering a trash can or a dumpster and after several blocks, schlepping this turd around was taking its toll on creampuff morale.

Finally, I spied a garbage can. The only catch was that the garbage can was in the courtyard of a seniors home and I was about four feet away from the garbage can, behind a wrought-iron gate.

It looked like an easy shot and I nearly made the junior girls basketball team in seventh grade, so I was confident I could pull it off.

I lobbed the bag of dog shit over the gate. It flew in a graceful arc before completely missing the garbage can and landing in the middle of the courtyard instead.

The bag did not remain intact.

It's hard to know what to do once you've flung a bag of dog shit into the courtyard of a retirement home in broad daylight. While my first instinct was to flee, I hung around for a few minutes, hoping that a senior would come out and, mistaking my tears of mirth for the remorse that most certainly came later, forgive me for my thoroughly disgusting random act of vandalism.

Sadly, all the seniors remained indoors, no doubt calling the fuzz to report that they'd been shit-bombed by some fat girl with an emo dog.

Since being arrested for smearing an old folk's home with dog shit is not on my bucket list, I decided to hightail it home. Emmy Lou did not feel my urgency and tried to slow down my flight by lunging at various fire hydrants and lamp posts. I finally gave in a few blocks from the scene of the crime.  And as I was standing under tree to let the dog do her sniffin's, some bird took a big, long, sticky crap all down my new sweater.

Karma. It's real. So, you know...next time you're about to shit-bomb the elderly, think about how great your sweater is.

UPDATE: Bevin, I never made the basketball team. But I was on the soccer team in seventh grade. Behold.

Creampuff's Open Letter to Virgin Mobile (who sucks)

Dear Virgin Mobile,

I think you will agree that in the beginning, we had a good thing going.Your kicky start-up music, sardonic voicemail guy and low commitment pay-as-you-go plan was attractive to a "occasional text and emergencies only" cellphone user like me. I knew you only wanted me for my money but I fooled myself into thinking it was more.

I let you get away with a lot, Virgin Mobile. Rate changes, network issues, I overlooked them because I was happy. Happy to keep it simple. Happy not to think about things.  

I can't remember when you first started giving me less and less time with my own money. When I first got the phone, my pre-paid balance would last for 90 days. Then, one day, it was 60 days. No problem - even with my minimal phone use, I can see going through $20 in two months. Then, it was 45 days and I started to feel...used.

When it slipped down to 30 days, I registered the change, but in my heart, Virgin Mobile, I didn't believe it. I just couldn't accept that after three years together, you would pull something like this.

Oh, I know our arrangement was open - that we had no strings attached, no contract. But my own inertia and your more generous balance times of yore kept me hoping that you'd see the light. That you'd recognize that a 30 day limit was assaholic. That a 30 day limit on my balance made us BOTH look like idiots.

Because, Virgin Mobile - you seem young and in good shape. Can you really only hold on to my $20 for 30 days at a time? Is it really that taxing on your hipster computer system? Does it chafe your tight-fitting corduroy pants to carry that kind of jack around for more than a month?

Or was this all a ploy to drive me from our loveless pay-as-you-go marriage of convenience into the arms of your brother, the myPlan Monthly Package? Or worse, to your bastard cousin, the Auto Top-up, who automatically tops up my account when my balance is about to expire after only 30 fucking days, so that I can spend MORE money for a phone I RARELY USE so that you can save up for your new corduroy pants?? Fuck you, Virgin Mobile! And fuck your cousin!

The thing is that I might have considered some of these options if you hadn't pissed me off first. If you hadn't left me hanging at several key moments over the last couple of months with your sudden dropping of my calls, your life-endangering midnight expiration dates and your cocky attitude. But now I just hate you and I hate your ass face. It's over. Just...it's over.

Thanks to my ire and number portability, my meagre business and I are leaving you, Virgin Mobile. Perhaps I'll join my wife's "Family" plan. Perhaps I'll switch to a mobility plan that lets me keep my balance for 180 days and features the same calling rates. All I know is that this relationship, while toxic, has taught me some valuable lessons about misplaced loyalty and style over substance. One day I may even bring myself to thank you. But until that day, Virgin Mobile, I leave you with this:

You suck, Virgin Mobile. Good day.