Saturday, March 31, 2007


I just got back from listening to Beethoven's Ninth Symphony - something I thought I would never hear live because I've never heard of it being performed. I'm not quite sure why that is, but I doubt I'll ever get the chance to hear it live again.

Holy shit was it fun. I almost started crying in the first opening bars of the first movement. And oddly enough that's the movement I have stuck in my head - you'd think it would be the Ode to Joy chorus, but no. I haven't missed my music school days this much in years. I thought of all of my old friends from there, and I was shocked when the concert master came out and it wasn't Kerry, and what the hell was the tall guy doing in Regan's spot? Ahh, I missed you all.

My hands hurt from clapping and soon it's time for bed after the musical extravaganza.

Seid umschlungen.

Friday, March 30, 2007


Will and I went downtown today to get some paint thinner to remove the random red splotches of paint around our house. We passed by Roberta's Hats so we decided to pop in and see about some fun hat trying on. We noodled around a bit - we were the only people in there and there were three women working - how do they stay in business? I wandered into the kid's section to see these really cute bee hats - black and yellow striped with two antennae on the top. Sooo cute. And lo and behold, there was one that was ginormous! I tried it on and one of the ladies was all, "please don't try on those hats - they're for kids and you'll stretch them out.." but I showed her that it was a massive hat and I hadn't stretched it at all and that I was going to buy it. It was only twenty smackers, and that's a cheap price to pay to walk around looking like a dork in a bee hat.

We had to stop by Steph's work and harass her, natch, and she thought it was cute, so all was right in the world. It's mighty warm under it, what with it being a toque and all, so I'll only be wearing it on the chilliest of these hot summer days ahead. But man, I'm sooo prepared for winter now.

Thursday, March 29, 2007

Demeter Perfume

When I was getting my last tattoo and discovering Glaxal Base (as discussed before) my friend Emily also told me about this perfume she wears that smells like a Gin and Tonic, made by the good people at Demeter. They make all kinds of crazy-ass scents and they were the people who released a Play-Doh perfume for its fiftieth anniversary. So, I wanted some dang weird-smelling perfume.

Me and my friend Steph searched around town for it only to find that no one in Victoria sells it. Perfume is really the kind of thing you want to smell and try on before buying it, because even if it smells nice in the bottle it could smell like fried ass on you. This was a conundrum.

I bit the bullet though, because I'm fiscally irresponsible and ordered some online off of I got the thoroughly safe "Orange Creamsicle" and today it finally arrived. It took like two bloody weeks and for some reason was put as "extremely urgent" packaging and cost approximately one trillion dollars for shipping. Well, not that much, but the actual shipping was more than the perfume. Snap.

I got home today and Will had already opened it and smelled it to see if he was allergic to it. It passed the William test. So I sprayed it on and now I smell like a delicious Orange Creamsicle, possibly one of the best inventions ever.

I smell like summer, and I will smell like this alllll summer. I'm almost set. I've got my summer nail polish and summer perfume. Now all I need is a summer lip gloss and mixed cd and we're fucking good to go.

Wednesday, March 28, 2007

Garbage Sculpture

Long time ago when dan lived in Canada and I was going to school, we would take many lunches together during the week while he was working at The Martlet. I guess we're fiddly people, and all the garbage from our accumulated lunches would invariably turn into grotesque sculptures such as this:

As you can see, we named it Bernice, or Mr. Shrivelhead II, since we had already created something called Mr. Shrivelhead. We would do this. Everyday. Five days a week! It was ginormous amounts of fun and quite disgusting. We had to gingerly carry back that sculpture to the Martlet office so we could photograph it.

I don't seem to be doing much garbage sculpting anymore. I guess I'm not eating lunch with super-fiddly people anymore, but dammit, I should be! So, anyone out there who can't sit still, let's make a plan for some cafeteria food. Leave your shame and/or dignity at home.

Tuesday, March 27, 2007

Painting Furniture

Will and I live in a white box. What with the relative poverty, all of my furniture was either bought at the Salvation Army, Zellers, or free by the dumpster. Or given to me. What this means though, is that it's almost all a hideous, dark brown veneer. Coupled with the white/cream box-walls the place is down-right dreary. So, we said, "fuck this noise" and went to Canadian Tire and got us a whack of painting supplies. Since we can't do anything about the walls, we sure as shit will do something about the furniture.

We've only done one piece so far since the weather hasn't really been very co-operative, and it looks fucking AMAZING. We painted our shitty kitchen table Poppy Red and I can't stop staring at it. It's still outside on our patio and needs to have some weird bubbles/cracks sanded down and repainted but it looks glorious. I want to get an orange vase and put flowers in it every day forever. We have enough left over red paint that we're going to paint over the dark green of my dresser with the it, but keep its blue drawer fronts. The computer desk will be orange (Will is in the midst of spray painting his computer yellow) and the coffee/TV table is going to be a dark-ish lime green. It will be a rainbow in here, people!

So exciting and so damn fun. Putting colour on things has always made me smile, and painting furniture was one of the things I would do when having a nervous breakdown. It's nice that this time around I'm perfectly sane and incredibly happy.

Monday, March 26, 2007

Chocolate Milk

Chocolate milk, or as I like to call it, "chocker milk" is in my top ten most comforting food items out there. It's creamy, it's chocolatey, it's milky, it's wonderful. Every night Will and I have a glass of it in the hour of 11 pm. We call it, "the chocolate milk hour". Tonight we cheated and had it straight after our Thai curry, because holy jeezus was that spicy!

I don't get the store-bought, pre-mixed stuff because it's 2% and I really don't need the extra calories, and it can be a little too milky for me. We just use the Nesquik squeeze bottle kind. I like it because it's shaped like a bunny, AND you can put it on ice cream as a poor-man's chocolate sauce. Handy! We just stir it up in the skim milk and have ourselves a grand old, chocker time.

I suggest the next time you feel crappy you get yourself some chocolate milk. Unless you're allergic to either chocolate, or milk. And if that's the case, disregard my statement. And you have my sympathiees.

Sunday, March 25, 2007

London Drugs

I don't know how it happens, but I seem to spend at least fifty bucks every time I walk into London Drugs. I walk in and think, "Yes. This moment. This is the moment in my life when I will become the organized person the twisted little girl inside of me so desperately needs me to be. Today. Right now."

So, I buy clarifying shampoo to get rid of build-up. (I got the Neutrogena kind and holy FUCK is that a great shampoo!) A new nail-polish that I'll wear for the entire season that will be my "signature". New toothbrush heads for my electric toothbrush. Some kind of cream or cleanser that will make my skin unto a new-born's. I actually bought a table-top ironing board and an iron. What do I think I'm going to iron? Who knows. Hooks for my house, lightbulbs for my lamps, batteries for my toys, chocolate for my sanity.

I buy them all and the white plastic bags I trundle home fill me with hope of a new life, a new system of being, which never happens, and could not. The world decays, I get lazy, and that's really actually okay. But I'm addicted to that hope and that rush of a seemingly just-out-of-reach perfectly ordered life, and I seem to think that London Drugs will help me finally grasp it.

Saturday, March 24, 2007

Talking to People About Sex Toys

I gave a sort-of-lecture today up at UVic for AVP's "Exploring Healthy Sexuality" Seminar, and it was so much fun. I made a power point for it, brought my toys and business cards, and had a great ol' time.

I mainly talked about toy basics, and it's stuff that can be found on my website. I get so damn energized and excited about talking in front of groups though, and it's like I'm high for a few hours afterwards. I get people to laugh at my dorky jokes, ask questions about jerking off and toys, and all-round have a good time. It makes me feel like I'm doing something good and positive and wholesome. I'm sure there's a lot of people out there who would think I'm going straight to H-E-double hockey sticks for what I do, but they can go suck a fuck.

I started giving toy workshops about five years ago, with just the knowledge I'd gleaned from books and personal experience. I've kept on reading and learning and using toys and I feel like this great resource now of sex toy info for people who are curious but don't know where to start. It's a fantastic feeling and I looooove talking to people about their own experiences - with toys or sex in general - and I always learn so damn much from people.

It's days like this I love everyone and the whole world and can't wait until I make this my full-time job/purpose. That would be dreeeeamy.

Friday, March 23, 2007


I do not eat enough vegetable. Nowhere near enough. I hated cooked veggies as a child and I hate them still. I really only like them raw, and what with my crap-ass jaw, raw veggies aren't much of a choice. So, V8 it is!

I'm like a little old lady getting her meals through a straw, but hey - 250 ml of V8 has TWO servings of vegetables! That's two more than I was averaging.

When I first tried it, it was like drinking tepid Campbell's Tomato Soup. I hate tomato soup. So, next time 'round I made sure it was ice-cold and it wasn't so bad. And it keeps getting less bad. Now I kind of like it. The boy puts Tabasco sauce in his, and I think I'll give that a whirl.

I don't want to die from all the bad things that can happen when you don't eat your veggies (death from lack of chest hair being one I remember from my youth) but man do I hate eating those fuckers. So, now I just drink a few, rather quickly, and it's over and done with. Then I eat some chocolate with peanut butter, because hey - let's not go nuts here.

Thursday, March 22, 2007


Fucking cake, man. So good. Who the hell doesn't like cake? Commie-nazis, that's who.

A few years ago I started getting cake mixes, icing the results and writing stuff on them. I made a "suspenders and stationery" (my two fetishes), an "I have no idea what I'm doing" and a "Valentine's Schmalentines. Let's fuck". If snail mail is what you consider to be the slowest form of communication, I have a delicious retort (re-torte? hehehe..) for you.

1. Buy a cake mix
2. Make the cake
3. Let it cool (or the icing will melt, kids!)
4. Ice that bad boy
5. Write your message on it

Figure out a way for that cake to be sent to someone - go and deliver it, ship it, get a friend to drop it off, or shove it in their faces. Or you can eat the cake, digest your message, let it become part of you and spend your life embodying that message. Now that's some slow delivery.

Wednesday, March 21, 2007


I have IBS. It ain't pretty. It can often mean I get a wee bit fearful about leaving the house if I know that I won't be able to access a toilet easily or quickly. It super-sucks.

But! I read up on it once I was diagnosed and was informed that upping soluble fibre in my diet would help me. This is what Metamucil is. Sweet, sweet soluble fibre. And yes, that's "fibre" not "fiber".

I get the orange, sugarless kind and plop a rounded teaspoon of it in a cup of cold water every morning before any food goes in my guts at all. Stir it up, drink it down, and I'm good to go. I don't really notice what happens when I take it, but I sure as shit (ah haha HAH) can tell when I forget. Yikes. So, Metamucil doesn't make me ecstatic so much as it makes me a functional human being. And that effing rocks, Metamucil.

I've even started my boyfriend drinking it, since it's just good for anyone, and he calls it "bum juice" which amuses and repulses me at the same time. I have to remind myself every time he says that he's drinking his bum juice that - "ah yes, juice FOR the bum, not FROM."

Rock on, Metamucil. Thanks for saving my ass.

Tuesday, March 20, 2007

Fountain Pens

I first introduced myself to fountain pens while roving for a stationery fix at either Monk's Office Supplies, or at a Grand & Toy. I later worked at a G & T, and no, I cannot tell you were the toys are because THIS IS SO OBVIOUSLY A STATIONERY STORE.

There's disposable fountain pens, much like regular disposable pens, so I thought I would give one a whirl. They made me feel smarter, more artistic, and cooler than everyone else. Until it ran out. Then I needed more. MORE. MOOOORE!!! So I bought some more. And then I realized for what I was shilling out, I might as well just buy a damn non-disposable one.

My boyfriend at the time, a cellist and an all-round luddite, bought me one - a LAMY fountain pen in blue. I used it and loved it and we eventually broke up, but I kept the pen. The pen was a kind of annoying reminder of him so when I lost it I wasn't too upset.

Years later I somehow got the itch again, so away I went with my platonic friend dan and we both bought one. I got the clear LAMY, he got the brushed metal one. We got purty ink bottles too, and the cool little suction dealies that suck the ink right into the pen.

So, I have this pen. And I use it when I want to feel special. On special paper, writing such special things like grocery lists or all the wonderful things I want to get at London Drugs, or the mundane tasks to do at work. Because sometimes what you have to do is as get-out-sucky as it can be, but if you can list the shit sequentially on nice paper with a fancy-ass, fifty-dollar pen, maybe the day will suck less.

Monday, March 19, 2007

Mrs. Potato Head

A good friend of mine turned thirty today, and in a few months I will be doing the same. Needless to say that means I grew up in a time of Barbies and Easy-Bake Ovens. I thought those were girly enough - I can't imagine growing up female today surrounded by hyper-sexualized Bratz dolls and thongs for small girls. Hideous. But during that time of fussiness and Home Ec. as play-time, there was a beacon of the feminine not wrapped up in the skimpy lingerie of sex, or the apron strings of motherhood. And that was Mrs. Potato Head.

And count your lucky stars that's she's still around! Yes, she isn't as changeable as her male counterpart, but dammit, she doesn't need to be. She's got her big ol' red handbag, her massive ear-rings, her kicky visor and she's going to win at Bingo tonight, no matter what fancy good-luck charm Esther claims to have.

Her butt is so roomy you can store her accessories there. What woman could we find on the streets today who is so bold? I'll tell you: not one damn one.

And that's why Mrs. Potato Head is my new model of femininity. You get down with your bad self, Mrs. P!

Sunday, March 18, 2007


No, I'm not specifically posting on the letter G. It's all a coincidence, I swear

I was never particularly fond of flowers - they were always too frou-frou or stinky for me. The last year or so I've started to become fond of them, but they had to be bright and kind of silly. Delicate and feminine need not apply.

I'm addicted to one of my Nintendo DS games called "Animal Crossing". In it, you mainly pick fruit and sell it, pay off your mortgage, buy things to decorate your house, and write letters to your neighbours. It's a lot like real life except all your neighbours are cute animals, and you can decorate your house with things like hazmat barrels.

One of the things you can also decorate your house with is a pot of gerberas. When I got some, I opened them up and could see a group of pixels I thought were rather cute. So the next time I was at the grocery store I glanced through the piles of fluff to see if I could catch the name. There they were in all the happy-faced dorky glory! So happy! So dorky!

I had found my happy flower. These are the kind of planty-bits you buy yourself when you're having a shit-tacular day, or you just want a flower that says, "yep, I'm the prototypical flower shape from your childhood, the kind you drew in front of that prototypical house with that tree off to the right". Oh how I love the gerbera.

Saturday, March 17, 2007

Glaxal Base

I've recently gotten a new tattoo done by my friend Emily at Urge Studios here in Victoria, and she did a fan-fucking-tastic job. During the whole "how to take care of it" speech she mentioned Glaxal Base, a very basic, non-perfumed moisturizer, and Will piped up that he had used it before and it was quite nice. So we went off to the drugstore to buy it, plus some other drugstore-sundries. (Lord how I love to shop in drugstores. London Drugs is like crack to me.)

We got the thinner "lotion" rather than the tub of "cream" - I thought it would be easier to slide over my soon-to-be-peeling tat. It comes in a rather unpretentious packaging - white packaging that blends down to baby blue with dark blue lettering. It's made by the good people at Wellskin, and I'm in love with it.


It has a faintly medicinal odor, but nothing that reeks of death-hospital. It absorbs quickly and leaves my skin wicked-ass smooth. I started using it on my face since old-man-Winter has shat his dryness on it. It was nice, but still not thick enough. So, I added the tub o' Glaxal Base cream to my ever-growing army. Oh my god. So thick. Thickthickthick. Thick like a gorgeous wang. I loofahed my face and piled it on. I'm in moisturizing heaven.

I have found my moisturizer for life. I always wanted to be one of those women, the ones who know exactly what's going on their face and why, and how inexpensive and wonderful it is.

I declare Glaxal Base to be the women of my generation's Nivea Cream.