My Valentine's day was fun.
I had a lot of fun.
My kids went on a double sleepover.
My man booked us a room at a cool hotel.
We went out for sushi.
We went to a bar to play pool and drink lots of Grolsch.
We met a lot of other people and played pool with them.
It was fun.
I suck at pool but it was fun.
We did shots.
Jack Daniels.
I played Motley Crue on the jukebox.
We had fun.
We left. We ate street meat and walked back to our hotel.
We did other stuff.
It was fun.
I hope my Valentine's day is just as much fun next year.
By Lynn.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
It's just so grey outside today. bleh.
I tried already to enjoy it but it didn't work out. All the dog shit revealed, is this what happens? All that crap beneath the surface of a perfectly pretty picture. Ain't it always the way.
I watched Vicki Crisitna Barcelona last night. Woody Allen showcasing the ever-luscious bodacious bod belonging to Scarlett Johanson. Something to marvel at truly. And like Woody does, he takes a snapshot of life that seems somewhat out of reach but not entirely...and provokes thoughts. Many thoughts.
Would you, could you, in a boat?
Would you, could you, with a goat?
That kind of thing.
The movie was heavy on the scenery which was great. I was in Barcelona for such a short time...but it all came back.
I ventured to this city of roundness and fullness and green by the ocean to sort myself out a bit. At the time I was torn between two lovers and feelin' like a fool, to quote the song. I also had a third guy on the side who had recently been diagnosed with scabies and what's that thing where you fall asleep anywhere at anytime? Seriously. I felt like I was living with the cast of St.Elmo's Fire.
So I went there alone and alone I stayed for most of it.
One day, I walked from my hostel to the beach. Sat there.
All of a sudden a water balloon came crashing down on me SPLAT!I was pretty shocked to say the least. Never mind completely wet and alone and therefore, embarrassed. Three little pricks laughing at me from above chanting something in Spanish. Oh great. Perfect.
I walked an hour home, back to my hostel. Looking like I was feeling. A washed out girl. Everyone around me was so beautiful. Stunning. Naturally just ooozing lust for life and every little detail was glowing and glistening...sunlight on hair and skin of light brown and wine in the blood and a hundred possible loves and no stopping, no stopping.
Nothing like me.
Awkward, hestitant. Getting in a fight with the receptionist at the Picasso museum for stealing a peice of tape to repair my ripped journal.
"It is the museum's tape, it is not public tape!!"
"What the...? IT'S A FUCKING PEICE OF TAPE!!!"
Wearing the wrong thing. Seeing the wrong angles. Sitting in the shady parts of the sun.
So Barcelona was not good for me. I was not good for Barcelona. But I liked this movie. Alot.
I tried already to enjoy it but it didn't work out. All the dog shit revealed, is this what happens? All that crap beneath the surface of a perfectly pretty picture. Ain't it always the way.
I watched Vicki Crisitna Barcelona last night. Woody Allen showcasing the ever-luscious bodacious bod belonging to Scarlett Johanson. Something to marvel at truly. And like Woody does, he takes a snapshot of life that seems somewhat out of reach but not entirely...and provokes thoughts. Many thoughts.
Would you, could you, in a boat?
Would you, could you, with a goat?
That kind of thing.
The movie was heavy on the scenery which was great. I was in Barcelona for such a short time...but it all came back.
I ventured to this city of roundness and fullness and green by the ocean to sort myself out a bit. At the time I was torn between two lovers and feelin' like a fool, to quote the song. I also had a third guy on the side who had recently been diagnosed with scabies and what's that thing where you fall asleep anywhere at anytime? Seriously. I felt like I was living with the cast of St.Elmo's Fire.
So I went there alone and alone I stayed for most of it.
One day, I walked from my hostel to the beach. Sat there.
All of a sudden a water balloon came crashing down on me SPLAT!I was pretty shocked to say the least. Never mind completely wet and alone and therefore, embarrassed. Three little pricks laughing at me from above chanting something in Spanish. Oh great. Perfect.
I walked an hour home, back to my hostel. Looking like I was feeling. A washed out girl. Everyone around me was so beautiful. Stunning. Naturally just ooozing lust for life and every little detail was glowing and glistening...sunlight on hair and skin of light brown and wine in the blood and a hundred possible loves and no stopping, no stopping.
Nothing like me.
Awkward, hestitant. Getting in a fight with the receptionist at the Picasso museum for stealing a peice of tape to repair my ripped journal.
"It is the museum's tape, it is not public tape!!"
"What the...? IT'S A FUCKING PEICE OF TAPE!!!"
Wearing the wrong thing. Seeing the wrong angles. Sitting in the shady parts of the sun.
So Barcelona was not good for me. I was not good for Barcelona. But I liked this movie. Alot.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Oh Bother.
Oh bother.
That's how I feel right now, you know, like Eyeore? Or is it Pooh? Merde. Shite. That's how I feel right now.
Why?
It comes down to sheer nothingness, as in, the nothingness I feel I am achieving in life at the moment.
It's just one of those days anyway, but a conversation turned the volume waaayyyyyy up on that this afternoon and it left me feeling...agitated.
I picked my young one up from a playdate. Her mother invited me in for tea and we sat and had a very free flowing conversation. We rarely see each other. Her daughter takes the bus to school and she lives a bit out of walking range for two small kids and so doesn't make regular appearances at the school like I do.
So we don't talk much but we seem to have very good talk when it happens and I find that she brings out a bit of a chatterbox in me that very rarely rears her head.
And there we were talking about whatever and she began to refer to "her book". I guess I appeared puzzled when she said that she was putting out a book of poems that will launch in April with a gala at the Drake with all these other artists and musicians who will be using her poems as inspiration for their own mediums...making it more of a variety show, based on her book of poems that she's written.
And I'm like "that's so aweseome, please tell me more.." and she's like
"Well, it's actually a bit of a crazy time for me because I've got that happening in April, and then I've written a play that will debut at the Fringe festival AND I'm 120 pages into this novel that I'm writing ....."
That was the point where I ceased to be a part of the conversation and just sort of hovered above the room like a huge failure balloon. Whatever a balloon like that looks like. I was floating there. No, come to think of it- I was actually suspended. Not even floating because that implies a sort of freedom of movement. I was just suspended there, held by a string that was attatched to a large fish hook that was caught in my skin. Hurting me. Ripping me apart. Just a little. Just enough.
How could I continue this? Of course the talk was then me asking her all sorts of questions about how when who and complimenting and being excited (which I really was, how could I not when in so much awe?)
And then, the clincher. She asked me if I was an artist too...because some people are but they like to keep it under wraps or they're uncomfortable talking about it.
And I cracked some joke like I always do when I'm trying to sound as if I really couldn't care less. Am I an artist? No I'm not.
Am I anything? Yeah.
Is what I am something that I am proud of? Sometimes.
Was it at that moment?
Not even close.
That's how I feel right now, you know, like Eyeore? Or is it Pooh? Merde. Shite. That's how I feel right now.
Why?
It comes down to sheer nothingness, as in, the nothingness I feel I am achieving in life at the moment.
It's just one of those days anyway, but a conversation turned the volume waaayyyyyy up on that this afternoon and it left me feeling...agitated.
I picked my young one up from a playdate. Her mother invited me in for tea and we sat and had a very free flowing conversation. We rarely see each other. Her daughter takes the bus to school and she lives a bit out of walking range for two small kids and so doesn't make regular appearances at the school like I do.
So we don't talk much but we seem to have very good talk when it happens and I find that she brings out a bit of a chatterbox in me that very rarely rears her head.
And there we were talking about whatever and she began to refer to "her book". I guess I appeared puzzled when she said that she was putting out a book of poems that will launch in April with a gala at the Drake with all these other artists and musicians who will be using her poems as inspiration for their own mediums...making it more of a variety show, based on her book of poems that she's written.
And I'm like "that's so aweseome, please tell me more.." and she's like
"Well, it's actually a bit of a crazy time for me because I've got that happening in April, and then I've written a play that will debut at the Fringe festival AND I'm 120 pages into this novel that I'm writing ....."
That was the point where I ceased to be a part of the conversation and just sort of hovered above the room like a huge failure balloon. Whatever a balloon like that looks like. I was floating there. No, come to think of it- I was actually suspended. Not even floating because that implies a sort of freedom of movement. I was just suspended there, held by a string that was attatched to a large fish hook that was caught in my skin. Hurting me. Ripping me apart. Just a little. Just enough.
How could I continue this? Of course the talk was then me asking her all sorts of questions about how when who and complimenting and being excited (which I really was, how could I not when in so much awe?)
And then, the clincher. She asked me if I was an artist too...because some people are but they like to keep it under wraps or they're uncomfortable talking about it.
And I cracked some joke like I always do when I'm trying to sound as if I really couldn't care less. Am I an artist? No I'm not.
Am I anything? Yeah.
Is what I am something that I am proud of? Sometimes.
Was it at that moment?
Not even close.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Bright Bright Sunshiny Day.
OH the weather outside was....
what's that?
WARM? and SUNNY??? at one time...together???
That's some kinda miracle.
And as I loaded the skiis and boots and helmets and on and on into the car with no coat on I was oh so happy, joyous you might say, giddy even with the warm sun on my face melting things, making things warm.
Warm people!
Hope you enjoyed it somehow.
Now I will go and experience a great capper to my day. Portuguese roasted chicken and hot sauce. Can it get much better than this?
for most of you, the answer is most likely "uhhhh, yaaa loser..."
but for me this is damn near perfect.
gobble gobble!
what's that?
WARM? and SUNNY??? at one time...together???
That's some kinda miracle.
And as I loaded the skiis and boots and helmets and on and on into the car with no coat on I was oh so happy, joyous you might say, giddy even with the warm sun on my face melting things, making things warm.
Warm people!
Hope you enjoyed it somehow.
Now I will go and experience a great capper to my day. Portuguese roasted chicken and hot sauce. Can it get much better than this?
for most of you, the answer is most likely "uhhhh, yaaa loser..."
but for me this is damn near perfect.
gobble gobble!
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Oh Jeeeez, my kneeeees!
Okay,
I played my first game (ever) of ultimate frizbee tonightat BMO field. I'm trying to expand my sporting and my skills set. I'm trying to get my fitness back but I have realized, finally , after many many many tooooo many payments to gyms all across the downtown Toronto area, that I am just not a gym girl. So I signed up for a couple team type sports, and it's going, um, pretty well (holy mother of god OOOOOUUUCHHHH!!!)
I may have no legs tomorrow. They may actually decide through the course of tonight to abandon me and go to someone who doesn't use shock treatment.
We'll see.
Anyhow, I'm fully in love, enamoured, tantalized and warm fuzzy blanketed by Laura Viers. Tell me if this video does not remind you of a sweet love you once had. I just love this song and really just love all she does right now.
A5-35 time!!
click here to check it
I played my first game (ever) of ultimate frizbee tonightat BMO field. I'm trying to expand my sporting and my skills set. I'm trying to get my fitness back but I have realized, finally , after many many many tooooo many payments to gyms all across the downtown Toronto area, that I am just not a gym girl. So I signed up for a couple team type sports, and it's going, um, pretty well (holy mother of god OOOOOUUUCHHHH!!!)
I may have no legs tomorrow. They may actually decide through the course of tonight to abandon me and go to someone who doesn't use shock treatment.
We'll see.
Anyhow, I'm fully in love, enamoured, tantalized and warm fuzzy blanketed by Laura Viers. Tell me if this video does not remind you of a sweet love you once had. I just love this song and really just love all she does right now.
A5-35 time!!
click here to check it
Friday, January 30, 2009
Furrrr
Lately I have been warmly touched by folks who are generally interested and respectful of animals. Creatures of the natural world. I'm finding myself leaning toward birding as a hobby and am thrilled when I realize that people still do revere the magic and deeper instinct that animals bring to our lives.
Coyotes have revisited the local park, which is wonderful. I went for a long walk today through the snowy paths and heavy branches...but they did not reveal themselves. I was also happy to hear that my close friend saw, and then chose to write about, seeing a bald eagle while tobogganing with frenzy all around her. Animals make us stop and consider something outside of ourselves and keep us connected to the grand heartbeat of earth. Much like an ocean will, or mountains, or a storm.
As I was fussing about the kitchen last night trying to put something together for supper before I rushed out to my hockey game, I heard a song on the radio that made me stop to listen. It was such a quaint, beautiful little folk song...and I would like to share the first verse of words. The band is called Blitzen Trapper and the song is called Furrr...
Yeah when I was only seventeen,
I could hear the angels whispering,
So I droned into the woods
and wanderend aimlessly about until
I heard my mother shouting through the fog
It turned out to be the howling of a dog
or a wolf, to be exact
the sound sent shivers down my back
but I was drawn into the pack and before long,
they allowed me to join in
and sing their song
So from the cliffs and highest hill
we would gladly get our fill
howling endlessly and shrilly at the dawn
And I lost the taste for judging right from wrong
For my flesh had turned to fur and my thoughts
they surely were
turned to instinct
and obedience to god.
Coyotes have revisited the local park, which is wonderful. I went for a long walk today through the snowy paths and heavy branches...but they did not reveal themselves. I was also happy to hear that my close friend saw, and then chose to write about, seeing a bald eagle while tobogganing with frenzy all around her. Animals make us stop and consider something outside of ourselves and keep us connected to the grand heartbeat of earth. Much like an ocean will, or mountains, or a storm.
As I was fussing about the kitchen last night trying to put something together for supper before I rushed out to my hockey game, I heard a song on the radio that made me stop to listen. It was such a quaint, beautiful little folk song...and I would like to share the first verse of words. The band is called Blitzen Trapper and the song is called Furrr...
Yeah when I was only seventeen,
I could hear the angels whispering,
So I droned into the woods
and wanderend aimlessly about until
I heard my mother shouting through the fog
It turned out to be the howling of a dog
or a wolf, to be exact
the sound sent shivers down my back
but I was drawn into the pack and before long,
they allowed me to join in
and sing their song
So from the cliffs and highest hill
we would gladly get our fill
howling endlessly and shrilly at the dawn
And I lost the taste for judging right from wrong
For my flesh had turned to fur and my thoughts
they surely were
turned to instinct
and obedience to god.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Lok-Lok
I am always fascinated by the nick names folks use in the Philippines. I have to write about Lok-Lok (we call him Uncle Lookie but his real name is Antoine De Barras!)
I know, where's the resemblance right?
Anyway...I watched Lok leave our house (he lives with us until he becomes a fully phleged Canadian citizen in September) yesterday WEARING A LARGE PLASTIC BAG OVER HIS TORSO. so he wouldn't get wet from snow, of course. As I watched him with love in my heart, with his gay man's saunter somehow emphasized by trying to stay within his plasic bubble, I laughed my ass off.
I had to tell someone. I went for the camera but alas it was too late. The human condom had meandered out of sight.
Uncle Lookie has been with us on and off since just before Rodney's mom passed oN three years ago. They were cousins. Grew up together in the Philiippines. He was and is dedicated to her. When she was still alive he was her nursemaid when she could not eat solid food and was seeing three of everything whilst undergoing chemo on her brain. Now he is dedicated in prayer and thought. He works cleaning offices for a meager wage. During his time away from the job of becoming a citizen of this country he travels. He has written about ten books about his travels, his time living in Paris for five years as an ambassador and about his fashion design past(mostly ball gowns).
He did once have a partner who he lost to AIDS when he lived in New York city and now is almost 60 without a partner but very much a social butterfly and invited to more parties than I could ever imagine wanting to go to.
He's great for the girls to have around because he is soooooo unique. Unlike most others in their lives right now in terms of really being dramatic and acting unusually. He will speak french to them in the heaviest tagalog accent, draw them professional pictures of models wearing the most pouffiest prom dresses, teach them to watercolour fruit and other still objects. He laughs out loud and says things in their presence like "Oh my god you BITCH!!!" to the television or flip his long black with red highlights hair and just say; "DRAMA!" He calls the girls with a "miss" in front of their names. He also plays piano beautifully and always can be found singing a ballad or two while gently caressing the keys.
He's a real good one. We're fortunate to have him with us, part of the family.
I know, where's the resemblance right?
Anyway...I watched Lok leave our house (he lives with us until he becomes a fully phleged Canadian citizen in September) yesterday WEARING A LARGE PLASTIC BAG OVER HIS TORSO. so he wouldn't get wet from snow, of course. As I watched him with love in my heart, with his gay man's saunter somehow emphasized by trying to stay within his plasic bubble, I laughed my ass off.
I had to tell someone. I went for the camera but alas it was too late. The human condom had meandered out of sight.
Uncle Lookie has been with us on and off since just before Rodney's mom passed oN three years ago. They were cousins. Grew up together in the Philiippines. He was and is dedicated to her. When she was still alive he was her nursemaid when she could not eat solid food and was seeing three of everything whilst undergoing chemo on her brain. Now he is dedicated in prayer and thought. He works cleaning offices for a meager wage. During his time away from the job of becoming a citizen of this country he travels. He has written about ten books about his travels, his time living in Paris for five years as an ambassador and about his fashion design past(mostly ball gowns).
He did once have a partner who he lost to AIDS when he lived in New York city and now is almost 60 without a partner but very much a social butterfly and invited to more parties than I could ever imagine wanting to go to.
He's great for the girls to have around because he is soooooo unique. Unlike most others in their lives right now in terms of really being dramatic and acting unusually. He will speak french to them in the heaviest tagalog accent, draw them professional pictures of models wearing the most pouffiest prom dresses, teach them to watercolour fruit and other still objects. He laughs out loud and says things in their presence like "Oh my god you BITCH!!!" to the television or flip his long black with red highlights hair and just say; "DRAMA!" He calls the girls with a "miss" in front of their names. He also plays piano beautifully and always can be found singing a ballad or two while gently caressing the keys.
He's a real good one. We're fortunate to have him with us, part of the family.
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