Some time ago, I received a flower arrangement – likely from Irene (AKA Awesome Bosslady) – and after we’d enjoyed the bouquet, I was left with this white rectangular vase, which I like very much, but since I so seldom buy myself flowers-that-require-sticking-into-vases, this idea came to me instead:

Did you know that asparagus can continue to grow after it’s been cut? Just like tulips. I trim the bottoms just a snick, put them in an inch of water, and they stay nice and crisp. And pretty! It makes me smile every time I open my fridge. That’s never a bad thing. Smiling, I mean.

I like this repurposed idea… besides, I have asparagus at home waaaaaay more often than I do fresh flowers. (Perhaps I should remedy that though… I do so love tulips, you know.)

Happy SPRING all!!

G.G.

Oh my lord, Japan. Earthquake. Tsunami. The whole world is falling to ruin in a hurry…

. . .

I’ve been thinking of including this clip in a post all week long, so today it feels fitting.

I loathe a lot of television programming for children – like, really, really HATE some stuff (I’m looking at YOU, Dora!) – and though I seldom watch Yo Gabba Gabba while my kids do, I can’t help but overhear most of the chatter coming from the TV. Sometimes I can just barely stand to hear what the characters are saying. And then sometimes something comes on that is made of AWESOME… like this short counting song by Oyamada Keigo (AKA Cornelius) which rocks on so many levels, it’s freaking insane.

Look at this band! See how they rock? So! Wonderful! It reminds me of The Strokes… at least, they immediately come to mind. All children’s music should sound like this. For reals, yo. This kind of ear-candy makes for cool kids. I just LOVE it!! Thank you for your never-ending excellence, Japan.

But let’s not forget possibly the grooviest counting song of all time – brought to you by Sesame Street, back in the days of psychedelia and such. I’ve heard many a band use it during live sessions, and it always makes me smile. People in the audience always turn to each other with knowing looks, rocking out while they remember their childhoods. Good times.

Aaaaaand cue the pinball spring…

So the Japanese band only counts to six… it doesn’t mean it’s only half as good as Sesame Street’s ditty – plus, I think everyone knows the Japanese don’t need any help with their mathematics, so it’s all good.

Oh, Japan… we’re all watching, helpless and broken-hearted, but we know your excellence will prevail. Somehow.

G.G.

I’m procrastinating slowly getting to the process of cleaning up our basement, which has been a complete and totally holy disaster for about a year… it’s full of renovation refuse and a whole whack of other stuff that isn’t exactly junk, but it all just needs to be sorted and put away. All of it. It’s a huge mess, yo. I’ve been forcing myself because it’s tax-time, and the receipts are EVERYWHERE! Lordhavemercy. Anyway, the receipts have mostly been found (I think) so I’m back to the task of sorting and purging. When I feel like it.

Since working on the bookshelves in the TV room, I keep recalling little things I have somewhere in the house which might be perfect for this little space, or for that one… and since culling all the kids artwork and stuff, I’m taking images out of some frames, and adding fresher ones in their stead. Sometimes this frees up frames. Which reminds me of other frames I have… somewhere in the basement… man, it’s a lot of stuff.

I could have brought up about eight large frames I intend to rehang in the hallway, but I won’t do this for two reasons. 1) I want to re-group them differently that we did before. I loved the long row of them at hung gallery level, but we’ve had them like that since forever, and I’d love to hang them into a grid this time. To do this, I need to find a ninth image + get another frame = another project. And b) I HATE the wall colour of the hallway, and it just cannot stay. I simply can’t live with it. It needs repainting (one of these find days when the weather is much warmer) and I just know if I hang them in the interrum, we won’t repaint for years. I just know it. Believe me. Complacency is just a foul, dirty word. My kids will be in highschool before we repaint it, if I hang anything on the walls today. It’s gospel, I tell you.

So I’m not hanging those ones now. (But oh, how I miss them…)

Instead, this week I’ve been working on another little project I’ve been meaning to do for some time now. Besides using up a few empty frames kicking around the house, I managed to clear my kitchen counter of a bunch of framed pictures, which makes the island itself seem bigger and airier than it had in a long time. I LOVE how much more surface there is again!

It feels like there’s more room to actually sit there, without feeling like you’re about to knock everything over with your elbow. Not to mention the fact that I finally took out some baby pictures of the kids, and framed more recent ones I’m sure I’ll be happy to look at for another bunch of years. There are a few baby ones I still adore looking at, but most are from the last year. I want to remember to switch them out more often.

I’ve been fussing with them all week, switching a few images, and adjusting the hanging spots here and there, but overall, I’m pretty pleased with it now. Something new to look at. We will repaint the kitchen eventually too, so it’s kind of a trial. I think I like it.

I put some handmade felt finger puppets into a shadow box – it’s what I’d intended to do with them when I bought them in the first place (after playing with them for some time, I mean) and though it’s sitting atop that little desk, it will go in the children’s room once we get the picture ledges from Ikea one of these days. Shadow boxes are good for many things.

And this little red desk? It’s child-sized… I guess it used to have a roll-top cover at some point (long gone) and it has a little drawer. I want to paint it, and put a lovely knob or pull on it someday. I was thinking I’d paint it black in a satin finish, but I’m not certain yet. Thoughts on colour? Anyone?! It will require a little chair too. Hmmmm… are there pint-sized Eames tuffets available anywhere?

So many projects. So many things to buy from Ikea. So little patience. I want it NOW dammit!!

Okay, back to the basement of doom…

G.G.

Me: Okay, well, let’s get this sweater on… we’ve only got a few minutes left before school.

She: I wan do buttons myself.

I help her snake one arm into a sleeve, and then the other. I go to button the first little button, near the neck.

She: NO! I wan do buttons MYSELF!!

Me: *breathes deeply* I know you want to do it yourself, but we’re running late, darling… can I just help you with the first couple, and then you…

She: *shrieks and rocks entire body with each word for emphasis* NOOOOOO!! I! WAN! DO! BUTTONS! MY! SEEEEEEEEELF!!

Me: *feels a stroke coming on* Ohmyjesuslord… HURRY! UP!! Gawd…

I get the lunchbox into the schoolbag and check on her. She is still trying to get the first one buttoned. I can hear her talking softly to herself – Just… put… here… o-most… awww! Okay… just… put… o-most… I fink…

So. Slow.

Maddeningly slow.

Holyfuck slow.

I am trying by very best not to hover. Or hyperventilate.

Me: *calmly* Can I help you with the first one? Just the first one…

She: No.

Me: Pfffft…

It is 8:42 AM. We need to be at the school doors in three minutes. We still have to do the wretched snowpants/scarf/hat/mitts/coat/boots drill AND walk three blocks. We are late.

Me: Ava Scarlett. Please. PLEASE! Can I just…

She: No.

Me: *spits through teeth* Fine. (But I’m waaaaaaaay pissed about it.)

I get the camera instead. And about eight hours later, she was ready.

Okay, it might have been four minutes later, but she did it! And she was proud!! And we were late, but we didn’t get penalized.

I know this is all very important for their development and whatnot, but the s-l-o-w-n-e-s-s just kills me. I’m so very impatient, you see, especially when I just want to GO! already. Ack.

Note to self: pullovers only on school days from now on.

Sheesh.

G.G.

Today I understand news that a teen shot up his high school, somewhere in Los Angeles*. I also read today that a Vermont teen shot himself in the school washrooms during finals.

. . .

I heard this song today, and it made me think of these boys… wondering how alienated they must have felt to be so fucking tragic at such a young age…

This song reminds me of the song Subdivisions by Rush – a song I love, even though it’s not their best song ever, and it was at a semi-questionable time in their musical lives (read: lots of synthesizers) – but it was about alienation. It made me shiver.

This song “>One Man Army, by Our Lady Peace is intense. It’s intense poetry, about a intense stuff, with an intense dude singing it. (Or at least, he always seems to sing kind of intensely, to me – I’ve never met the guy.) It’s like the more modern day version of what Subdivisions was to me then.

Anyway, the first time I heard the words overlooked, unfit appearance I was rocked. Raine Maida has a way with vocal phrasing I really, really dig. It sounds interesting to me. I like it. It made me feel like I was fifteen years old. Worried. Dreadful. Scared. And at the same time, it’s like a power song to me, strangely. (It’s got a super-groovy bass going too…)

Everyone wants so much to fit. Somewhere.

I love this song.

I worry about young kids sometimes. Look what they do to themselves?

G.G.

NOTE: Raine Maida also reminds me of someone I liked a whole bunch once upon a time, but that’s besides the point.

*Amendment: As it turns out, the shooting in Los Angeles was a result of a gun accidentally going off when a school bag was dropped. But why the teen had a gun at school, I will never know.

We’re still toiling away on the house projects. Trying hard not to cry some days.

Like when we discovered our hardwood floors in the kitchen buckling in places due to a faucet leak we’ve been meaning to take care of.

Like over the trim colour that I chose, that I fear is to blue. But I’m not changing it, so I’m sucking it up.

Like that I spend my birthday on the couch with Ava Scarlett puking all over me. (It actually wasn’t that bad – it was nice chatting with her all day.)

But the dust. And the mess. And the disarray of our stuff. And no water in the kitchen for a week. And being crammed into what feels like a smallish hotel while everything around you is under plastic? It’s getting old. My nerves are wearing thin. I’m feeling stabby.

And when the children are never, ever more than six feet away from me, the amount of noise only rivals the amount of toys on the floor right in front of the stove.

Me: Ava Scarlett! I have asked you three times to come and clean up this mess right here… please stop whatever your doing, and come and take care of it immediately.

She: I tan’t.

Me: What’sthatnow?

She: I tan’t. I swording Ol’ver now.

Me: Pardon me? What are you doing?!

She: I swording Ol’ver.

Will you please look at the child’s eyepatch? And the tutu?! I laughed my ass off.

Arrr, matey. Thy mess shall be cleaned after you walk the plank then…

. . .

My birthday was on the 24th. Like last year (and others) I stayed up late to watch the clock roll into my special day, so I could feel it and taste it and think about it. Things are good. No losses of life, serious injury, or (despite Ava Scarlett’s recent case of the heaves) no serious illnesses. My family and friends all seem to do well. I can’t complain, Universe.

I’ve had drinks and nibbles out on the town with some foxes, and some friends, and with my lovely Martin… twice so far, and it ain’t over yet. I plan on maxing out the fun times until Christmas. Like usual.

Life is good.

I’m thirty-nine.

G.G.

It’s been a while since I’ve been here… we’re holed up in only 2 rooms of the house (well, three if you count the bathroom) so besides writing over here I’ve basically been doing my best not to murder the children, who have literally been underfoot lately. Man, they make a lot of noise. Thankfully, everyone is well and healthy, and they’ve both still got all their limbs and things.

We’re entering week-4 of this painting project, and though I’m happy we’re finally in the swing of things, I am trying not to be so wildly impatient. I’ve been dreaming of these projects for the better part of a year, so nothing is moving fast enough for me. Also, Painter is a solo-worker. And he works fairly quickly, but he’s still only one man. Le sigh. Finished soon though.

And due to a few foibles along the way such as running out of paint on a Friday, which meant not being able to set up bedroom again over weekend… and illness of Painter’s kid (so he needed a few days off) and more time sanding than we’d predicted… we’re a bit behind. But it’s coming. S-l-o-w-l-y.

the weird scheduling of things has also meant that our family of four have been sleeping in the same bedroom for the past five nights. We’re on the pull out couch (with our enormous bed mattress atop the pull-out mattress) and the kids are sharing a twin mattress on the floor at the foot of the couch.

I know.

I love the colour of this room though. And it’s finished!

And with all the sanding dust, we’ve been under plastic for a few days. I feel like a couch at my grandmother’s house. Only a shade younger and prettier.

We’ve no longer got the plastic-drapes-of-dust-protection at every doorway, I’m happy to report. Still, the furniture grouped together in places in the house look like this:

But the paint is done!! (Except for the doors.)

How do you like that dust? Have I ever mentioned how much I loathe vacuuming? It’s a serious hatred – a story for another day, perhaps.

I’m so happy to report that the hideous light fixture we’d vowed to remove the very second we moved into this apartment (as a rental!) thirteen years ago, is finally GONE and we’re looking for a suitable replacement. And I love the paint colour too. Yay!! *skips and claps doing happy dance*

This last room is being finished as I type this – the second coat is going on the walls – and I’m a bit afraid that I’ve selected a crappy colour. Actually, I like it enough in the day – gray-er and greener than it appears here… only it looks like a plain old beige with the lights on. Which is MOST of the time in the winter… I might have to change it. Ack. I wanted it whiter than this – it mos def won’t look white next to the new white dresser and shelf(s) going up on the wall to the left of the door… oh, balls. I don’t know. Martin says we can just get another gallon of paint and get a better colour if I want…

Mostly I want this whole job finished. And I hate wasting time and paint and money. But really, I will hate moving all the furniture back into place, but then gag every time I look at that room. Fuckballs. Ack. Ack. Ack.

I’ll have a look at it in the light later today, I guess.

* * *

In other news, my birthday is on Wednesday. Let the month of festivities begin!

G.G.

Twitter is all abuzz these days with #tweetyour16yearoldself notes from all kinds of people. It’s been kinda fun to watch, read, and play along.

It can be a bit poignant too. I found myself with tears in my eyes once or twice, after reading some of the tweets of others, and re-reading my own, right here -

You can do it. Yes, you can.

You’ll feel pretty one day.

Everybody has angst at age sixteen, I think. I mean, they must! It’s the best of times, and the worst of times. It’s awful. And delicious. Wonderful, stressful, worrisome times.

You know how much I love lists, so here we go – 16 short notes to my 16-year-old self:

1. You won’t get any taller than this, and it’s really okay.

2. You’ll be happier once you give up the search for long hair. And you’ll rock near-baldness one day – it’s sexy.

3. You’re just like everybody else, but you are not ordinary. Not at all.

4. The boys you like won’t like you now. You’re right not to waste your time with the dumb ones… but you will be loved one day.

5. Practising kissing with those same dumb boys is fun though. And it’s okay. And it is enough. Really, don’t stress about doing more than you feel you want to.

6. That guy you hope will be the one is really not the one. Don’t cry over him – he’s a loser. (Better is coming!!) And when that guy shows up? You’ll know what unhinged feels like, and you’ll be holding onto the walls for weeks. It’s a good thing – don’t be scared.

7. Everyone wishes you would stop smoking those fucking cigarettes… but you won’t for a while. (But then you will!)

8. It will never serve you well to pretend to be less brainy than you are. Never. So stop doing that.

9. Accepting rides with “strangers?” Yeah. Never do that again.

10. Listen to your mother – she knows it all.

11. Your sister will be your greatest supporter and friend one day soon. You’ll never fight anymore. Playing with her is some of the best fun there is.

12. People like you. Don’t worry about pleasing everybody ALL the time.

13. You’ll be all stylish and whatnot one day. (Kinda.)

14. The pretty girls you’re all jealous over, with their hair and looks and boyfriends will turn into chunky soccer moms married to the beefy football dudes. You will be sad for them. (Kinda.)

15. Be kind. Always. Kindness comes back to you. Always.

16. You’re going to be fine. Everything gets so, So, SO much better after this… don’t worry. Don’t worry. Don’t worry.

This is a picture of me and one of my greatest friends ever, Monica Sarty – it was May of 1988, and I was sixteen and a half, I guess. I haven’t actually seen her in years… but I love her the same as I always did.

I wish I’d known about tweezers back then.

And then I learned about them. Oh boy, did I…

And now have to draw them in with Mac Espresso powder and an angled brush every morning. Oy.

I’m glad I’m not sixteen anymore. I like facing forward. My birthday is around the corner… the last in my thirties. It’s all good, people.

What would you go back and tell YOUR sixteen year old self?

G.G.

So, you’ve read the papers – gay youths are taking their lives in epic numbers (not just lately – it’s just in the news more these days…) and it’s all just… tragic. And so very sad. I’m heartbroken for the families of these young people. I love and admire the “It Gets Better” campaign running all over youtube these days. If you have no idea what I’m talking about, then you live under a rock. (And go check it out, if you haven’t already.)

I’m also really loving this hilarious piece called “It Gets Worse.” Please have a look at this short clip, and laugh your ass off, as I did.

What I didn’t find very funny was this article about a particular book on CURING gay people of their gayness that will now be made available in about a hundred Wal-Mart stores in the near future. It’s shocking. I know.

Le sigh.

Listen. There are lots of reasons to hate Wal-Mart. It’s as tacky as hell in there, for one. Nevermind how the chain undercuts small businesses everywhere, causing financial ruin of The Little Guy at every turn… when they start selling anti-gay literature, people start talking about boycotts.

Here’s the thing: they also sell guns, but I don’t buy them. Some people do… not really my kind of people, generally. I don’t think they sell pornography, but maybe they should? I actually don’t know for sure, but I don’t care since I never hardly ever shop there. (Sometimes their toiletries are wicked-cheap, yo.)

I have less of a problem with Wal-Mart trying to sell such stupid, tacky crap to stupid, tacky people (who might actually think this Jesus-magic can work, by the way) and I have no intention of reading the book, so again, though not funny, I’m feeling kind of apathetic about it. (Apathetic about the book, not about the mistreatment of homosexuals or other minorities.) It’s useless drivel. Whoever buys a copy in hopes of it straightening the gay-curls out of their loved-one is going to be in for a shock. There’s a lot of garbage in the world. You can’t stop people from manufacturing it or ingesting it. Like Cheez-Whiz. Or Snuggies.

Here are some examples of useless, insidious things widely available to the masses:

Since I will not crack it open, I cannot tell you for certain what lies within the covers of this book. I don’t know if the LDS writer, Janice Barrett Graham is a super-hater of gay people, or of all forms of “evil” in general. I don’t know if it’s all bashy and whatnot. It doesn’t really surprise me that it exists though, given the source. Sometimes acceptance of new things (like brown people, gay people, inter-faith marriage, etc.) are tres difficile for some groups. It just takes them longer to get with the program. Apparently, her technique and teachings cured her son Andrew, who is now happily living as an ex-homosexual someplace. PHEW!! How lucky for him! Lord knows how awful it is to be different. Just ask Jesus. (And we all know what happened to that guy!)

And I’ll add that at $12.95 USD, you get what you pay for.

Please understand I’m not defending Wal-Mart. Not at all. I don’t give a fuck about Wal-Mart. I just want cheap shampoo now and again.

So, if you’re NOT a Wal-Mart hater, and you only want to run in now and then to get some hairspray or glitter or something, then by all means, just bypass the book/porn/gun sections entirely. If there was a book on all the great things that Hitler had to offer, I wouldn’t buy that either. Does it offend me? Does it offend me that there are still people out there who believe that the Holocaust never happened? Yes. But I’d rather know who those people are outright – please wear a sign on your head, or carry a book under your arm – so you can be clearly identified as clueless, and useless. You are no longer dangerous to me. I laugh in your face.

I’m not saying this piece of crap is harmless. I’m just not sure it’s super harmful. I’m fairly confident it’s not going to make the New York Times best sellers list. (It might be be safe to quote me on that.) Let the feeble-minded ones try to pray away their “afflictions.” One day, being gay will not be seen as such. I hope it’s soon though, because holy crap, this kind of news is so disheartening.

One day it just won’t be a big deal to anyone. At all.

G.G.

NOTE: To those mean jackasses who posted that video of their fellow student – Shame on you. SHAME! What you did was wicked and cruel, and it destroyed a life. There is no prison for you. I hope you feel as bad as you should – may you live with that sick feeling for a long time, and may you never, ever get over it. Intention is everything – and karma is a tricky bitch, so get ready.

There’s this issue that’s been making my brain hurt for some time now.

Ever since we renovated the apartment downstairs earlier this year (ohmygoditsgorgeous) we’ve been gearing up to make about a million a few changes around our place too. It starts with the parts that are necessary (like finding a 6 drawer dresser to house both the children’s clothes now that they share a bedroom) which can quickly snowball into the dream projects (wouldn’t a skylight look gorgeous right there?) but the budget is limited. This is for two reasons that I can see: a) because the children refuse to model and make me FAT rich, and 2) no matter how much bullshit fertilizer I put on it, this money tree I keep shaking just won’t bear fruit. SUCK.

And I mentioned over here that we’re converting our library-cum-nursery into a dressing room for ourselves. I know. It’s a bit extravagant and glamourous, but we agree it’s the best use for that room at this time in our lives. And besides, I want it so very, VERY badly. So. It shall be mine.

But before we can do anything else, we need to paint. Martin is an excellent painter. He’s very careful and very perfect at it. He’s also gone from the house for about 12 hours each day, and he really has no time or energy left over to work on these kinds of projects anymore. Enter our Excellent House Painter.

He is precise. He is fast-working. He is French. We adore him.

Unfortunately, his main bread-and-butter work comes from a guy who owns condos and things, and he’s constantly got work for him… and we get pushed back.

I understand this. A person needs to work.

He says he’ll come on Tuesday… and then he says Friday… and then he says next Friday… and then it’s in two weeks for sure… and then he doesn’t call… and then he does… but only to say it will be next Wednesday…

When I walk into my house on a dark day and reach for the light switch, and come up empty-handed, I remember the plaster and the sanding that needs doing first, and that we’ll reconnect all that crap once the walls are painted. When’s that? When the painter comes.

. . . I look through the lighting choices in the Restoration Hardware catalogue that has come with the mail. And I begin weeping. . .

I stumble over all the toys in my kitchen and wonder why they’re still all over the place in here, and then I remember that the armoire will be moved into the TV room soon, and all the toys shall forever remain in said room, and I shall NEVER AGAIN step on a sharp piece of fucking lego. *tears hair out* When’s that? When the painter comes.

. . . I flip furiously through the pages of Elle Decor featuring the home of Ralph Lauren who has a life-sized storm trooper in his living room, and besides muttering fuck you under my breath every other second, I’m wondering where I can get a storm trooper of my very own, because although I have no hard-on for Star Wars stuff, the thing looks wicked-cool. . .

Goddamn broken piece of crap dresser! Aren’t we buying a new one? Can’t that please be today? Because it’s sweater season and my stuff won’t fit into this broken-down thing anymore, and I can’t cram them in this closet with these sheets AND all these jeans and it’s all… just… ruining my liiiiiiife!! *collapses into heap* Yeah, when’s that gonna happen? When the painter comes.

. . . Yes, that’s Sarah Richardson’s daughter on the cover of Canadian House & Home, with a glossy article inside featuring the country home she completely overhauled AND corrected with a massive addition on 50 acre apple orchard she bought about an hour outside of Toronto. Le sigh. I want so much to hate her, but I just can’t. C’mon money tree… BLOOM, GODDAMN YOU!!. . .

*rocks herself back and forth, shushing the children and sitting in a dark house, surrounded by boxes of de-shelved books and a broken dresser*

All I want is a little paint, please, baby Jesus.

We’ve been waiting on painter-guy like this since July. Yeah. That was three and a half months ago. At this rate, he won’t be here before Christmas.

So.

Onto choosing someone new to paint for us. I mean, it’s paint. Oh my god, just FIND someone!!

I met with someone yesterday I contacted through and acquaintance. He was lovely – actually quite tall and handsome! I thought, Hmmm… how does one really choose a painter? Do you… squeeze him? Shall I do a sniff test, I wonder… perhaps the only way to know for sure is by tasting…” Heh.

(For the record, I did not squeeze, pinch, or bite him.)

He seems like he and his peeps would do a good job. I like that he’s planning on taping eco-friendly cardboard paper to the floors the entire time. He’s available to start in less than two weeks. JOY!!

He’s also almost twice the price of our wonderful-yet-ever-elusive painter. SUCK.

Oh, what to do… what to do??

I’m going to squeeze a painter tomorrow monring, and yet another on Monday, before I we decide.

Stay tuned…

G.G.

NOTE: I’m not spoiled. Perspective is everything. I’m not stuck in a mine in Chile, you know. I just want some fucking paint, okay?