how did we ever cope?

(annie wipes silly grin off face long enough to post semi-serious rumination on blog)

in managing daycamp over the summer, we would have daily meetings with the two teenage girls that had been sent from "camp headquarters" in montreal to lead us in the curriculum. jessica and april are lovely girls - committed heart and soul to the Lord - and just plain fun to be around.

in other words, born camp counsellors.

however, they did serve to illustrate just how old and decrepit those of us participating in the daycamp were. see, they offered us a stunning piece of guidance that had most of us rolling our eyes, then rolling on the floor laughing.

we were informed, gently and yet still firmly, that during the quiz portion of the opening activity - or indeed during any interaction with a child that was answering a question - we were never to say to a child "no", "wrong", or "incorrect".

to proper response to a child that had gotten an answer "wrong", or "incorrect" was "very good! but that is actually the answer to another question."

that is the answer to another question?????

gee, i seem to recall that when i was a child, and i got an answer wrong, an adult would say "WRONG". sometimes they even said "INCORRECT". frequently, they even said "NO." and yet somehow i, and the others of my generation, survived and matured into adulthood relatively unscarred and untraumatized by having messed up the answer to a question.

that is the answer to another question??

sheesh. how did we ever survive the nightmare of childhood???

i have no idea who wrote this

but i stumbled over it on the 'net and nearly fell over laughing:

Yogurt: semi-solid dairy product made from partially evaporated and fermented milk. Yogurt is one of only three foods that taste exactly the same as they sound. The other two are goulash and squid.

from the desk of the fashion nazi

(what, you think that because i am busy falling in love that the world stops turning???)

i have recently had the opportunity to peruse one of the more astute and forward-thinking political publications in canada, and was extremely alarmed to discover that, like the vast majority of canadian women, i apparenly do not have enough of this autumn's hot new colours in my wardrobe.

now i realize that i am not exactly driving in the passing lane on fashion's highway (actually, skidding wildly out of control on the soft shoulder might be closer to the truth...), but this was an oversight i could hardly leave unaddressed! i mean, honestly! what kind of woman allows herself to go without having enough of this autumn's hot new colours??

now, the first thing i needed to do was to determine precisely what this autumns hot new colours are, and as best as i can tell they are brown, green and a reddish purple colour i will call "reddish purple".

consumed by alarm, i immediately began to ransack my wardrobe, convinced that SOMEWHERE i had to have clothes in this autumn's hot new fashion colours! but no!

shamefully, all of my clothes seem to be trapped in the tired old paradigm of last spring!

oh my, i realized with a stomach turning lurch: all of my clothes are black, blue, pink and ermmm... black.

that is not so much unacceptable as it is mutinous, i was informed by said forward-thinking political journal. so, humiliated and chastened, i hastened forthwith to the mall to ensure that this fall, i would not be left behind! no! i am an intelligent, mature, worldy woman. i love science fiction! i can quote monty python at length! i listen to EMO music, for heaven's sake!

and so, dear reader, you will be delighted (and no doubt relieved to know) that just today i purchased a blouse in mushroom (brown), a tank top in bark (brown) , a pair of jeans in woodland (brown) and a kicky pair of slingbacks in champagne (sort of brown).

i also bought a belt in forest (green) and a matching purse in deep ocean (green), a pair of capris in elfin (weird sort of phlegmy green) that actually ROCKS with the sweet pedal pushers i found in moss (also green)

i was also fortunate enough to score a lipstick in kiss me plumshine (reddish purple), nail polish in berrie nice (reddish purple), and a bandana in love bite #9 (don't ask)

i don't know about you, but i feel MUCH better now..............

the joys of internet dating: part the seventh

you know you are ready to fall in love again when you can look at pictures of your ex, think back on all the things you shared - the good, the bad and the ugly... and you know you are truly ready when you can truly look inside your heart and ask yourself that fundamental question:

what the HELL was i thinking??????

you know you are ready to fall in love again when you realize that dumping you was actually the best thing your ex ever did for you, because in removing himself from the picture, he set you free to find something better.....

you know you are ready to fall in love again when it occurs to you to write a thank-you note to every man that has ever passed on you, because in so doing they were holding the door onto a better world open for you...

you know you are ready to fall in love again when you read back over your protestations of undying love for someone you will likely never see again, and fall off your chair laughing at your own foolishness.... (careful, i hurt myself doing that... -ed.)

somehow, you just know............

and so it goes...

high atop the highest maple in the park, a leaf reaches the late summer of her life.

throughout her existence, she has clung to the uppermost branches of her tree; safe, protected, secure. but deep inside her she knows this is not living; and so, brushed by the gentlest hush of the breeze against her skin, the leaf lets go, and casts herself out on the fickle winds of fate. the ochers, crimsons and plums that were her future are now her past, and she consigns herself to the wind, knowing no other way to be....

tossed and turned in the breeze, she bumps up against rocks, stones, trees.... the immovable fates that litter the world, and with each twist and tango she is left bruised, banged and bedraggled... yet onwards through life she blows.

the wind that bears her is as sweet and warm as honey, and it carries her far, far from home... and terrifying though the journey is, she is mere flotsam borne on the currents of time, and content in her place.

the wind lurches and humps along, at once a bear and a catterpillar, and far below her curls the lazy river, its feet propped up on the muddy banks of autumn. downwards she drifts; the loamy scent of the flood plain filling her until that seminal, delicate, dizzying moment when her skin slicks against the surface of the stream, and like the woman of whom she dreams, she floats down the turgid river and falls into love.......

oh Lord, i never should have started them on the catnip...

... this is all my fault....

we're just wild about harry

WELCOME TO THE WORLD SAHARA DAWN!



JON is a daddy!!



(jon is also pretty useless with a camera, so harry has her work cut out for her '-))

in jon's own words:

"...Her name is Sahara Dawn and she is just too beautiful for words...Born at 8:14am this morning AEST...I was there for her delivery...man that was so cool...although I'm not sure what all the fuss is about...we got to the hospital at 7:45am and half an hour later we have a child...awesome...no pain or anything...although Lisa did bang on a bit, but myself I was just fine...I can not put into words how chuff I am...wait...I'm in Tom Cruise mode right now...ah...that's better...So I'm just home to collect somethings for Harry and then I'm out the door again...Harry is what I'm calling her...which is why I chose Sahara in the first place...Will email more news as it comes in...Miss You...Love You...Jonathan..."

from the here and now, a letter to the future...

here comes a time in which each of our lives are measured by the breaths we take between what was and what will be.

we call this pause in the hum and throb of life "a time of transition", and though i chafe and rail against the tenterhooks upon which i am stretched during this time of transition, i cannot help but hear my own voice ringing in my ears:

"i wish i had more time to write. i wish i had more time to read. i wish i had more time to...."

well, now i have the time.

i look in the mirror and i see a work in progress. while it is true we are each of us "a work in progress", how many of us collaborate with God, choosing to sit down and consciously, deliberately put time and effort into the work of art that each and every one of us is?

how many of us deliberately assume the role of sculptor, composer, author, architect, janitor, and interior decorator of our hearts, bodies and souls?

well, today i choose to make time my friend. i will not be impatient at the months which separate us; instead i will put them to use, and craft the only gift i will ever have to offer you: me.

i will take this time, this pause between heartbeats, to become the person you crave, the person you deserve, the person you have always dreamed of loving because just as you are my past, you are my future as well, and you deserve only the best that i can possibly offer you.

in this time between time i dedicate myself to prayer, worship and the study of scripture that i might become the Godly, spiritual woman you need to uplift you, grow with you and walk beside you as we move ever more deeply into a life in Christ.

in the aeon between here and there, i commit myself to reading, learning, and the pursuits of all things esoteric: the appreciation of music, art, science and the arcana of the cosmos, so that you might never become bored with our conversations; and so that i might always learn from you, and you from me as we discover the delights of life and the universe together.

in this space between places i devote myself to reflecting on the past and on the mistakes i have made, so that i might never make them again. i commit myself to letting go of the anger and pain, of working through my grief so that i might emerge a kinder, more compassionate and loving person than i ever was, because this is what you deserve.

in this eternity between past and future i pledge myself to the lifetime's study and the perfection of the art of love and friendship, mutual support, and the care and nurture of the human soul, that i might cherish and treasure your heart, keep you secure and protected, and make you feel as though there is no safer place in the world than in my arms.

in these moments between the fluttering blinks of an eye, i commend my body to strength, limberness and endurance, that i might always be strong and beautiful for you; and that i might stay the course, never flagging or tiring as we build the future together, forever remaining someone you are proud to be seen with.

but above all i shed my devotion to myself and live for you - your happiness, your joy, your pleasure and your passion; for i know that if you do the same for me, neither of us will ever want for a moment's joy..

the future will come ~ bidden or not ~ it will come. i need to be ready for you.

the gates of hell are NOT guarded by cereberus

throughout time, legend has taught us that somewhere on this mortal coil exists the portal to hell: those eldritch doorways through which orpheus set out on his quest for eurydice; those which demeter traversed to negotiate with hades for the release of her daughter persephone; and through which our own Lord Jesus Christ passed to do some serious harrowing.

for millennia the location of the opening to abbadon has been a mystery, an occult and damnable secret whispered into the darkness to terrify children and chill the human soul. and though time flows through the ages like the river mnemosyne, no-one has ever found the entrance to the underworld - and lived to tell the tale - though many have sought it, and many have died hideous deaths in the quest for the path to the netherworld... fading from time and memory as a snowflake fades from a frozen window pane bathed in the glow of the spring time sun.

but now, now its location is about to be revealed....because i've found it. and its around the corner from my house.



the gates to hell opened up on tuesday in the Real Canadian Superstore that has been under construction for the last six months not four blocks from my house. and my mother, with that curious perversity that overcomes the elderly as they contemplate their options for a fun afternoon out, decided that she really REALLY wanted to attend the "grand opening".

that satan: what a cunning old bastard. he was giving out balloons, free coffee and chocolate chip cookies, coupons for shoe repair and discounts on newspaper subscriptions as hell opened its doors in my neighbourhood.

way to go, captain howdy, i thought. the balloons are a nice touch, and i like the new uniforms your minions are wearing. sure beats wings and fangs i mused, but even as i stepped through the doors from the parking lot and into hell's floral department (downstairs next to hell's travel agency), a could detect a whiff of sulfur and brimstone hanging in the air. mum said it was from the fresh pavement in the car park, but i knew better.

the whole place reeked of evil...

cleverly disguised as the universe's biggest and most complete shopping center EVER, hell is actually guarded by something called a "movator" - an escalator-type device who's entrance and exit are manned by the creepiest, perkiest zombies ever to be unleashed on this earth, dressed in navy and white hostess outfits that complemented the evil red glow of their eyes and the malodourous smoke seeping from their ears. the living, those of us stupid enough to have sold our souls for the privilege of never again having to shop in two different stores for fresh fruit and power tools, were herded upwards towards hell's produce section on the infernal movator, under the watchful eyes of the dukes and barons of the underworld as (and i love this bit because its absolutely true) selections from the rolling stones "beggar's banquet" blared over the loudspeakers.



i seem to recall from my training in medieval literature that satan's torture's for the eternally dead were vicious, malignant and eternal. the legendary churchman charles spurgeon once wrote: when thou diest thy soul will be tormented alone; . . . but at the day of judgement thy body will join thy soul and thou wilt have twin hells; thy soul sweating drops of blood, and thy body suffused with agony. In fierce fire, . . . thy body will be, asbestos-like, forever unconsumed, all thy veins roads for the feet of pain to travel on; every nerve a string on which the devil shall for ever play his diabolical tune of hell's unutterable lament.

jonathan edwards speaks of men unable to find even a moment of relief in hell (in his sermon on The Future Punishment of the Wicked): "nor will they ever be able to find anything to relieve them in hell. they will never find any resting place there; any secret corner, which will be cooler than the rest, where they may have a little respite, a small abatement of the extremity of their torment. they never will be able to find any cooling stream or fountain, in any part of that world of torment; no, nor so much as a drop of water to cool their tongues. they will find no company to give them any comfort, or do them the least good. they will find no place, where they can remain, and rest, and take breath for one minute: for they will be tormented with fire and brimstone; and they will have no rest day nor night forever and ever."

well, clearly, old scratch is learning. in the modern, polished, waxed and windexed 21st century version of hell, his tortures are far more sublime, insidious and dare is say it? nefarious....

no lake of fire here..... only aisle after aisle of product to tempt and torture humanity as we have not been tempted and tortured since tantalus. forty-three brands of toilet paper, ninety-two kinds of kitchen cleaner, one-hundred-and-thirty-five flavours of ice cream, eight thousand, nine hundred and fifty six kinds of potato chips, frozen pizza and shampoo; unidentifiable vegetables that were clearly grown on mars, housewares, home furnishings, electronics, flowers, a snack aisle, food court, pizza parlour, photography studio, pharmacy, bakery, dry cleaner, optometrist, medical clinic, fitness center, banking facilities and something called a "community room". as far as i could determine, you can get EVERYTHING there but a high colonic, and i only know that because i asked at the pharmacy.

now, into this satanic temple of consumerism filed the living, those that had made a faustian bargain with their satanic overlords, trading their souls for a chance to buy buy two get three free kiwi fruit while it was fresh and in season. no pitchforks and scythes here. no, each of the damned was issued an armoured shopping cart with the optional "random wheel lock" feature and standard intermittent steering, a free double mochaccino and a map of the store. there were no traffic lights, no lane assignments, no-one directing traffic: just fourteen million italian seniors, three hundred and twenty thousand "young families", eighty nine thousand surly teenagers with enough facial piercings to keep the metal detectors screaming at top volume for hours at a time; fourteen hundred screaming babies, fifty-two battery-powered golf cart "shuttles" playing bumper cars in the meat section, ninety six motorized mobility devices, six atvs, three or four of toronto' s finest homeless alcoholics imported just for the occassion, and the undead walking amongst us all handing out flyers and spot-award discount coupons.



satan is cunning indeed.

the only respite a poor soul can claim is to stand for forty five minutes in the checkout line to pay for the priviledge of tasting hell first hand, before being permitted to flee down the movator and into the relative safety of the parking lot to spend the next two hours of their life swimming upstream in the parking lot like salmon spawning, desperate to get out.

no-one that has not experienced this torment can possibly understand the peace and relaxation that comes from returning home, pulling out the dremel took and drilling one's own teeth.....

myspace.com

And like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind.
We are such stuff, as dreams are made of,
And our little life is rounded,
With a sleep. - william shakespeare, the tempest

i did it.

after months of avoiding a "fad", i broke and created a myspace.com account:

Check me out!

"Check me out!"

such deceptively simple words....

its not a fancy link, i know, but there you have it. see, i realized if i was going to assume the arrogant conceit of writing "social commentary", i should perhaps immerse myself in a corner of the net being infested by said "society".

its utterly fascinating, intriguing and addictive - somewhere between the glory and exaltation of the species and a slow-motion train wreck - and everyone that shares a common interest in "humanity" in the abstract should be required to take a look, because there it is in all its splendour on myspace.com. it is what that alien from the movie "contact" (youknowtheonewithjodiefosterandmatthewmcconnaugheywherehe was allreligiousandhot?yeahthatone -ed) meant when he describe the human race as being capable of "the most beautiful dreams and the most terrifying nightmares". it is what irving stone might have been referring to as "the agony and the ecstasy" had he not actually been writing about michelangelo.

but i digress....

it is us in all our glory and pathos. it is the most extraordinary mirror the human mind has ever conceived of. it is the abyss nietzsche warned us about staring into....

so naturally the first thing i did to become acquainted with the site is to follow links that led to myspace profiles that i had received from friends. these are, of course, your childrens' profiles gentlemen, and they provided me with an amazing introduction into the world of "online social networking" (note to a very dear friend in oz (and parents in general take heed): you might wish to have a wee conversation with your eldest. from a cursory skimming of his profile i have learned more about his nipples and their relationship to elderly ladies, his drinking habits, the size of his "weener", and the amount of 'personality' to be found in his left testicle than i think i wanted to without actually having met the man - ed)

my little corner is divided up into neat compartments: i can post my pictures, host online videos, or booby trap my profile by programming it to suddenly start blaring rammstein at top volume to the unsuspecting schlubs that click on it. i am thinking that there may be a whole new class of homicide that might best be described as "coronary infarction induced by scaring the bejzeesus outta anyone that clicks on my profile" taking shape on the 'net.

i also have a section called "friends". this is an AMAZING section! complete strangers ask to be my friend! i haven't had this many strangers ask to be my friends since i stopped wearing catholic school girl outfits! currently, i have 12 friends. they include a 29 year old "vampyre" from sydney, a kurt cobain obsessed teenage girl from "f*cker, NSW" (which is a hot holiday destination, apparently) and a rock band out of tasmania. i cannot wait to move to oz and throw a housewarming party so i can invite all my new "friends".

they will be talking about it for years to come.......

and from what i can see, the way in which you cement your 'friendship' is to exchange half nude photos of yourself with your 'friends'. as a devout church person, and a modest woman to boot, i have elected to share half-naked photos of my bishop instead, in the name of ecclesiastic piety, of course.

you can also join "groups". the variety and scope of these groups is staggering - and all of them will let you in without so much as a secret handshake or a decoder ring. currently, in addition to several science fiction and writer's groups, i am a member of hip-hop nation, food not bombs, the accordion appreciation society, the online association of professional firefighters, and the gay and lesbian circus performers mutual benefit society and the young investors club.

but the real joy of myspace?

with 101,580,049 people in my "extended network", the lunatics find ME! it is a lazy writers dream come true. my muse, who i believe has been smoking crack, lives and bestirs me on this site. thus far, i have had a marriage proposal from a rap star, been taken to task for being a desperate, middle aged internet-dating junkie by a 22 year old in sydney (and i can't imagine where'd he'd get that idea from - ed); had a 56 year old grandfather-of-three invite me to talk dirty with him and his chevrolet fancier's club and been offered a chance to go on tour with said rock band from hobart.

i may never leave myspace again............ because you absolutely cannot make this stuff up.

i'd like to thank each and every one of you

thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you .......*



... and thank YOU mr. steve martin for that terrible joke...

the joys of internet dating: part the sixth : "i am realizing i have a "type" (redux)

the bad boy biker



the rock star



the dawg



the croc



viggo mortensen

the biker, the rockstar, the bounty hunter, the... erm.... professional aussie (what does crocodile dundee actually do??).

viggo mortensen.

what to these men all have in common, besides being amazingly sexy? (go on, admit it: dawg is just hot. you'll feel better if you do)

1) they are all hovering about the "40-50" mark.
2) they all have either a charming boyish quirk, a cool, animal-themed nickname, or are viggo mortensen.
3) all wear leather. some even kill and tan it themselves. others just look like they do.
4) all with youthful, yet masculine good looks.
5) all unspeakably cool.........

"wanted: mature, unspeakably cool man who enjoys leather. must have boyish quirk or cool, animal-themed nickname (carnivores only, please). australian accent a plus, but for bounty hunter, am willing to negotiate. sun-bleached hair and brilliant baby-blues get me every time. if you have none of the above traits, please be viggo mortensen"

and they wonder what is wrong with the women of today??

all i wanted was shampoo.

for a man, this is a simple, straightforward endeavour that requires nothing more of him than he walk into his local drugstore and pick up a bottle of something called "shampoo".

for a woman, its just not that simple.

you see, as a woman "nearing middle age" (as a charming internet suitor put it), i find that my natural "deep chestnut #14" locks are at once a bit dry, a bit oily, slighty curly but mostly straight, a bit frizzy, dry at the ends, oily at the roots, and not as shiny and luxuriant as they were when i was 21.

so clearly, mere "shampoo" will not suffice.

well, i watch tv - i know there are products out there that can make me look like penelope cruz, so i stopped into the drugstore today to find the right shampoo for me.

the first bottle i spied seemed perfect! it promised to maintain my hair's healthy balance with a deep clean that left my hair with a moisturized, healthy feel and a lustrous shine from root to tip.

excellent! i thought. that's just what i need.

but right next to it was a bottle that would also give me the smooth, lustrous look i wanted. it's provitamin enriched conditioners would align every strand of hair and leave me with a healthy vibrant shine. it offered to calm unruly frizz for me, and leave my style manageable, sleek and beautiful.

ok, i thought, sleek and beautiful is good. i want sleek and beautiful...

but then i spotted another bottle. well, this one had a collection of uplifters and body builders that would work together to give me the gravity-defying height and handfuls of hair i crave. it had built-in lightweight structurizing conditioners to cleanse each strand to add fullness and volume!!

yes! ok. i said to myself. i want properly aligned handfuls of gravity defying hair! i mean, who doesn't??

but wait! this bottle over here offered me the easy way to create straight hair without resorting to extreme measures! it had been scientifically proven to make my hair up to three times straighter after only three washes so it looks defined and manageable!

dear Lord, i prayed, THANK YOU for giving me a way to make my hair look defined and manageable! i could feel the spirit moving in me and my knees began to tremble ever so slightly.

CALM DOWN, said a booming voice from the sky. REMEMBER, YOUR HAIR IS A LITTLE BIT CURLY AND GETS FRIZZY WHEN ITS HUMID OUT.

chastened, and more than a bit confused as to why the Lord might now be giving me advice on hair care products when He really should be paying more attention to the crisis in the middle east, i put down the bottles i was holding and instead reached for the shampoo that would give me up to 80% more defined curls.

80% more defined curls!!! wow....who knew such a thing was even possible? i thought tremously.

for a blissful moment i closed my eyes and pictured myself with the springy ringlets, flowing waves and big, bouncy curls the bottle promised me. i could hear violins in the background and the smell of vanilla hung in the air.

but then cruel reality set in and i remembered that my hair was also colour treated. there would be no high-definition curls that look natural, feel conditioned and responded to styling for me, sadly. so, with a heavy heart, i turned to the "colour therapy" section to find something that would help me preserve the vibrant, healthy look of the shade that i had so carefully selected.

now, apparently a foundation of vibrant, healthy colour reflects a fearless spirit, so i decided to go with a fearless shampoo that woud enhance my hair's beautiful colour even as it attended to the damage caused by daily styling.

then i checked myself.

not good enough i thought. i want something to protect, enhance and prolong my natural, highlighted or coloured hair dammit!

and, like an answer to a prayer, there it was: a shampoo with a non-depositing formula that also contained natural extracts to aid in colour retention that would help shield my hair against damaging elements, mineral deposits, and residues while adding shine and multi-dimensional tones and reducing discolouration!!!

distantly, i could hear angels singing....

my vision blurred as tears of joy flooded my eyes, but i reached out and accidentally grabbed the wrong bottle. brushing away the moisture from my cheeks, i discovered i was holding a bottle of daily moisture renewal, which guaranteed to rejuvenate my hair and protect it from future damage by sealing the shaft of the hair with TEN TIMES the protection for split ends!!!

dear Lord...i'd forgotten about split ends! i realized, feeling the first icy tendrils of fear beginning to work their way into my bones.

but what about my oily scalp? i thought, breaking into a cold sweat. i could feel panic beginning to take control of me... what about that???

teering on the edge of hysteria, i flung down the bottle of daily moisture renewal and seized on the miracle clarifying product that was my best defense against oily, limp and dull hair! this product had BC89 technology that would remove everyday buildup and styling residues that would leave my hair feeling clean, refreshed and renewed. it had surfactants!!!!!

shaking, dizzy and feeling as though the walls were closing in on me, i tried to stay focused, beating back the terror that threatened to consume my very being.

stay frosty, annie, i whispered to myself, don't lose it on me now, girl...hang in there baby girl....

licking my parched lips and squeezing my eyes shut, i tried to concentrate.

did i want my hair gently cleansed or moisturized? did i want straight, sleek hair or hydrated curls? volume or clarity??? did i protect my colour, or defend against the elements??? how could i best go about getting my hair aligned?? what about the BC89 techolgy and the surfactants???? and dear God what about my oily scalp?????



on the bright side, the nice men in the white coats here say i should be ready to go home in a few days....

reality cheque, please!

(again, taken from actual online dating profiles...)

"You take my hand I will take yours. Your reach out your arms you will find mine to hold you. You wish to make love we will make love. You need your space you will have your space. Really it’s all up to you."

"I am a very attentive lover, I do like to spoil, but only when it isn't expected of me to do so. I love to please my woman. I like to give little reminders to her that I think of her as the day goes on...flowers, cards, gifts...I've also been told I give the best massages... "

"I NEED A GRL WHO WOULD LIKE TO BE TREATED LIKE AN ANGEL."

and yet these men are all divorced.

funny that.

an old friend once complained bitterly to me that his ex-wife never appreciated "the little things" he did for her - the flowers he'd send her, the small gifts he'd buy her, the romantic dinners he'd treat her to. this is something i have heard again and again from divorced men: the ongoing lament that "she didn't appreciate all the little things that i did for her."

well, there's a reason for that.

the only reason a woman doesn't appreciate the little things, is because the big things aren't there.

when a woman is loved, cherished, respected, cared for, supported and treasured, she has no need for "the little things". she has no need for tokens of affection.

she has real affection.

one of the sad realities is that when a woman gets flowers at the office, her friends do not gather around to coo and gush over how lucky she is to have a man that treats her like a goddess. they rally around her to see if she is ok, to ask her what he's done this time.

when a man proves his love of a woman daily to her by treating her with love and respect, by caring about what she is thinking and how she is feeling, by being there for her and by letting her be there for him, then flowers, gifts and romantic weekends for two become gravy.

but when those trinkets are all she gets from him, they are simply a crushing reminder of all the things he is not giving her....

so boys - save your money and just be nice to me. show me you care.

love's cheaper than you think ;-)

forgetness

even now, months after we split, my ex continues to play childish power games with me. his current favourite is an email version of "ding dong ditch"..... and i am forced to examine the question:

can you truly forgive someone you still love?

do you need to forget the terrible things he did to you in order to forgive him?

and if you forget the terrible things he did to you, does that not pave the way for falling in love with him all over again?

and if you fall in love with him all over again, will you not have your heart ripped once more from your chest because you have forgotten all the terrible things he did to you, and is still capable of?

BUT, if you deliberately remember all the terrible things he did to you, does that not keep alive the anger and resentment that is the roadblock to forgiveness?

where is the balance? how does one extend forgiveness, but not forgetness?

if the word "JESUS" gives you hives

if the very thought of God drives to curl up like a chinch bug and roll under your bed and hide;

if the very notion of church puts you off your feed for days and makes you break out in oozing, festering sores...

don't click on this link:

corduroy

there comes a time in every woman's life when she can no longer legitimately wear corduroy.

i knew my time had come when i went for a walk in corduroy jeans and my thighs rubbed together so badly my panties caught fire.

the re-tooling of the blog

i am utterly floored to discover through comments posted here, emails and word of mouth, how many strangers are reading the contents of my teeny little twisted brain.

while i have always tried to keep my writing edgy and intimate, personal yet entertaining, cruel and unusual, i am realizing that with this many strangers peeking in, much of the VERY personal stuff doesn't make much sense to most people.

so, to that end, i am re-shaping this blog to keep it more focused, tighter, and hopefully even crueler and more unusual :)

thank you all for your amazing words of support. you make cleaning out the inside of my head seem less... disturbing.

a

you absolutely cannot make this stuff up....

i begin understand why men on internet dating sites are jaded and cynical about meeting a "real" woman with whom they can connect... if what women on dating sites are approaching men with is half as disheartening as some of what is landing in my email box is (and yes i just ended a sentence with a preposition thankyouverymuch).... well, gentlemen, my heart goes out to you.

so in the interests of venus and mars reaching some sort of detente, i am going to peel back the curtain to allow the gentlemen a peek into what drives a woman with 2.1 brain cells (that occassionally come into contact with one another) up the wall...

worst pick up approaches ever (all of these are actually taken from emails/profiles online)

• the text message: "how r u i am in london uk pls reply". if you are unable to write in complete sentences, perhaps a meeting forum that relies on functional literacy is not the ideal choice for you?

• discussing your genitals, sexual prowess or "openness to new sexual experiences" in your introduction and/or profile. "I dress nice, great style and I'm hung like a horse" when i read things like that, i need a bath. you wouldn't walk up to a total stranger at a party and begin discussing your junk; why would you do it here?

• the cheap bar pick-up line: "You sure are a cute Kittie. How are you doing tonight." i am never sure what to do with a line like that. do i say "fine thank you", and leave it at that? or do i invite further conversation by adding additional detail? "great thank you. i was just reading a fascinating online treatise on karl barth's church dogmatics and it's relationship to a wesleyan reading of neibuhr's theology, while listening to csi and partitioning my hard drive. how are you?

• the hardcore, bitter profile: "** READ EVERYTHING BEFORE YOU EVEN THINK OF SENDING ME ANYTHING !!!*** (i am really tired of this...), IF YOU HAVE NO PIC DO NOT BOTHER ME. ALSO< I AM NOT INTERESTED IN RUSSIAN (euroasian) WOMEN!!!! Ok, buhbye." exactly what type of woman do these men think they will be attracting??

• people who couldn't be arsed to read your profile: "Hi, my name is DXXX. I would LOVE to get to know you better!" i wrote back "you want to hook up with a priest that is moving to australia?" this was the actual reply: "ha ha, you northern people are SO CHARMING. I grew up in Minnesota, so I know how charming you can be. It must be a lack of sunlight that makes you that way, or maybe it is the cold weather? Maybe I am TOO good looking for you? Ya, I definetly think that is it! Your northern charm is just like the ice rinks that you play hockey on up there, your charm is as cold as ice. Maybe you are insecure about yourself? Or maybe you are just frigid? Ya, that is it. You are frigid! The next time someone tells you that you are "pretty" the proper response is "Thank You." You should learn some manners before you move to Australia, they won't take too kindly to your Northern Charm. Cool?"
gentlemen, if you aren't taking your medication regularly, you probably shouldn't be trying to pick up women....

• casanove: "I wil love you as gently as the first rays of the sun coming over the hilltops to slowly lighten the world. I will love you as gently as the touch of a butterfly on a flower petal. I will kiss you as sweetly as a drop of honey dropping off a honeycomb into your hungry mouth. I will hold you close, gently stroking your chest, your back, your belly, your private places... to build up your desire, and unleash your passion. hugs and kisses"

woo-hoo! what ever happened to "i read your profile and _____ really caught me. you say you are _____? that's really interesting and i think we'd have a lot to talk about because _______"

now THAT'S a hook with a worm still wriggling on the end of it!

the joys of internet dating: part the fifth

one of the great perils of being attracted to older men is that not only do they have things going for them that younger men don't, they are also carrying weighty baggage that younger men have yet to accumulate.

by the time i meet them, the men i am attracted to are usually so bruised, so emotionally battered and so gun-shy that they are unwilling to take yet another chance on happiness.

when a man is young, he has an optimistm about him that is, in its own way, irresistable. he is strong, fearless and adventurous, confident in his abilities to meet life's challenges head on and overcome them. when life hands a younger man lemons, he bellies up to the bar and demands salt and tequila.

when a man has reached just past his middle years, he once more adopts a spirit of adventure and a willingness to tackle life's challenge head on. why? because he realizes that time is running out. he looks behind him and sees a longer road than the one ahead of him. he sees all the turnoffs he didn't take, all the paths he didn't follow, all the avenues he declined to explore. he begins to live with a zest he never imagined possible. he realizes that just because one parachute has failed to open, you don't stop pulling the ripcord.

sadly, i am exclusively attracted to the demographic that falls between the two extremes: the man in his mid-to-late forties.

men like this are truly in their prime: they are strong; all the softness of the boy in them has been erased save from their souls. they have raised a family, owned (and in many cases) lost a home and a life, are rebuilding and re-examining their path. watching the ferocity and passion they apply to rebuilding fractured lives, damaged credit and shattered frienships is a joy. they have been shaped by time and experience, they are generally exquisite lovers (trust me on this one, ladies) and they still have all their own hair and most of their teeth.

what's not to love about a man like that?

and yet, they are likely to have been spat out from a nasty divorce, and flung themselves headlong into dating without understanding the players, the playing field, or in many cases, even the rules of the game.

they get hurt.

more often than not, they end up dating somebody else's ex wife. they stick their fingers in the fire - delighted that there is a place for them in front of the fireplace - and burn their fingers. they throw themselves into the extravagance of fantasies they were not permitted while married, and are devastated when their dreams turn to dust.

they become wary, leery, guarded.

i only know two men in their forties that have avoided this trap - and in many ways, they are my heroes. they give me comfort that one day there will be a man that will realize the advantages to dating a woman that's never been married, has no children, and is ten years younger than he is: we're not bitter, we think his kids are cool, we haven't spent 20 years married to a ba$tard like him, we still believe in love and marriage, we don't think he looks like an idiot when he borrows his teenage son's jacket, we are not after him to replace the life we lost through our own divorce, we have no kids get him to provide for, and we have a limitless capacity to be proud of him and show him off to all our friends.

now to find a guy that can appreciate those advantages and marry that them to a spirit of adventure, a refusal to be brutalized by life's vagaries, and a sense that now that they have indeed reached their prime - well, to a man like that, the world is truly his oyster.....

my blog, my rules

no humour, just musing aloud here.... feel free to weigh in.

someone that i wanted to become much closer to in brisbane sent me this in reply to my suggestion that he run off with me: "I cant get away from the fact defined from poor experiences over the net, that a person has to be here, in person, insitu, to be sort of sure that one want to develop a relationship that ultimately could involve dangly bits. I am overwhelmingly convinced that you, as a beautiful woman, have overt and secret admirers a’plenty. Explore them."

well, i know a polite brush-off when i hear it, and that's fine. i am a big girl - i can take it.

but the world pivots on the whim of God. last week, i didn't expect to be in brisbane for at least two years. yesterday, i got an offer that has shortened that to about 6 - 9 months. but what to do about a remarkable opportunity such as this?

something profound occurred to me over the course of the last few months, and i have four men to thank for it:

one man pointed out (and i posted it previously here) that the march of time is relentless. if you don't seize your dreams when you have the chance, they will slip irrecoverably through your fingers.

two men in their forties have shown me that in no uncertain terms by the way they live their own lives. i have watched them let so many chances at happiness slip through their fingers. i have listened to them whinge and moan about how they always end up "the losers" in life, never once for a moment facing the fact that their misery is a result of their choosing to be one of "life's passengers" instead of one of life's "instigators", as my beloved friend chris calls them. they are clueless.

and then there is chris: he is soon to turn sixty, and has finally realized that when you have a chance at love - or any kind of happiness - you grab it, hold onto it, nurture it, never put it off because it isn't the flawless pearl you'd once dreamed of. he has realized that as you get older, there are fewer and fewer opportunities for joy - and that if God miraculously gives you a chance, TAKE IT. don't wait to see if there might be something more perfect around the next corner.

chris is how i want to live my life. there will be obstacles; they can be overcome. there will be mistakes made; they can be rectified. it will not be perfect; i never asked for perfect. but i don't want to wait until i'm sixty to figure this out.

so i am going to brisbane next year to study for a semester, for no other reason than i want to, and that God has given me an opportunity that while not perfect, is more than i had last week: there is no special man there waiting for me, no great human love affair to be consumated. i am going simply as a student, to study and work, to hang out with friends i have been too long separated from, to see the country, to meet people in the church and to make contacts there so that when i do immigrate permanently, job applications will not be met with a puzzled "who is this person?"

there will be challenges: money, the competing imperatives of the diocese of toronto and the diocese of brisbane, the... umm... oh, ok, those are the only challenges.... and neither is insurmountable.

for many years, caring for my mum has forced me to be "one of life's passengers", but the older i get the more soul-destroying that becomes. so, i will find a way to both care for a wonderful mother, and still live my own life on my own terms while i am still young enough to enjoy it.

a day at the spa

as a woman that was never blessed with physical beauty, it has taken me a long time to stop wishing that one day i would wake up "angelina" and to instead adopt my own three-step philosophy towards temporal beauty that goes as follows:

1) you can't change what God gave you. all you can do is keep it clean, trim, and smelling nice.
2) as long as you do not set dogs to barking nor children to screaming, and no villagers come after you with pitchforks and torches, be happy with the way you look
and most important of all....
3) no hair below the nose

now, while i firmly believe that women should be pretty, soft and sweet-smelling, my beauty philosophy gets to be more and more difficult a mandate to fulfil the older i get: my face is cultivating so many "character lines" that i am starting to look like a street map of montreal, my breast have developed an intense yearning to become better acquainted with my hips, and as far as i can tell, my bottom is most definately not where i left it when i was 21.

i now shop for beauty products at not at the department store, but at the hardware store. all-natural green-tea and wheatgerm extract, retinol based vitamin-e antioxidant microdermabrasion intensif overnight multi-care deep wrinkle filler serums with infused oxygen and an spf 392 no longer cut it for me.

i have moved on to polyfilla. spackle has become my "secret beauty weapon"

so, in what looks to soon become a full time job, i treated myself yesterday to "a day at the spa" to recover from the damage that a week and sixty children can do to a woman already teetering on one of the outer branches of the ugly tree.

let me tell you, the prisoners in guantanamo bay have it easy.

my aesthetician is a tiny little vietnamese lady with whom i have been friends for over seven years. she alone understands my dark and terrible secrets: that if i do not visit her faithfully and regularly, i hair over like a wookie; my lush, chestnut locks soon develop demented grey highlights that make me look like pepe le pew; and that if my feet were not on the far end of my body their proximity to me would leave me emotionally scarred for years to come.

joanne is a puzzle: quiet and demure, sweet and good natured with an easy laugh, she has the ability to inflict pain that defies the strictures imposed by the geneva convention. secretly, i am convinced that joanne was trained as an aesthetician by the viet cong, and did her apprenticeship at abu ghraib. tomas a torqumada, the father of the spanish inquisition, would have put her name in for canonization. i believe she may be keeper of ceausescu's securitate handbook.

in joanne's tiny hands, i'd confess to anything: where the bodies are, my communist upbringing; that i once voted for bo bice.

in joanne's dungeon... i mean "day spa", i am soaked, scrubbed, scraped, filed, pumiced, plucked, depilated, defoliated and covered in acrylic. her main instruments of beauty are a dremel tool, a rotary sandpaper drill bit and boiling wax. and i am pretty sure her facial treatments include napalm.

for hours i am subjected to the most hideous tortures, the most painful regimes and the most invasive and embarrasing applications of hot wax (note to self: *NEVER AGAIN request the 'telly savalas'*) and - to cap it all off - i PAY her for the privilege.

and do you know what the absolute WORST part of it all is????

it doesn't do a damn bit of good.....

the joys of internet dating: part the fourth

well over a year ago, internet "dating" was not even on my radar. in fact, i met my ex while simply seeking friends in australia so that when i immigrate, i will have a ties to a community already in place.

recently, i realized that while i have a few good friends in brisbane, i have only one who is a committed christian, and would feel much more comfortable if i were acquainted with a few more that shared an active church life, a fellowship of the spirit and a love of volunteering.

so, as it was an effective means to an end, i signed back on to the christian site where i had met the ex and decided to have a poke around.

it was an eyeopener, and i was staggered by the sheer numbers of men that were still there over a year after i had first seen their profiles on that site; but it was an experience that has yielded a profound learning that i am here to write about:

the perils of a man that is well past his "sell-by" date

there are several key warning signs that a man has been on the internet dating scene longer than most twinkies have been on the shelves of north american gas stations. here are a few:

he is not just on one site, he is on ALL of them.
if you see a profile on one site, check out a few other sites, especially if they are special interest sites (i.e. if you tend to seek a partner on buddhist/retired military/ professional accordianist sites, be sure to check ALL buddhist/ retired military/ professional accordianist sites!)

see, if i am even searching half-way seriously, i tend to confine myself to christian sites (it saves a great deal of unnecessary churn) . i learned recently from a mutual acquaintance that my ex was not only back on the site on which we'd met - he was on every christian dating site in creation. perturbed, i signed on to a few and sure enough - there he was. and yet, he was not alone in this. many of the profiles that have been on the one site longer than a year also appear on every other site as well.

this is not a good sign, i thought: its internet dating taken to a whole new level. when a person stops looking for the "somebody" and begins looking for "anybody", its time to give them a miss.
key learning: avoid profiles that have a broad dispersal pattern

watch for headings and or "introductory sentences" that are the romantic equivalent of a car alarm

• are there any nice ladies out there?
• lonely in (insert locality here)
• almost given up hope
• desperately seeking.......YOU!

key learning: avoid profiles introductions that say "can't be too choosy at this point"


watch for key phrases peppering the profile itself.
(note: the following are taken verbatim from actual profiles: i haven't altered a single word. i will leave them to stand without comment as i cannot imagine what i could possibly add to them)

• I AM SEARCHING FOR FRIENDS WITHIN (insert locality here) ONLY - if you are from outside of (insert country), please do not reply to my profile - thankyou..........
• I am hoping to meet a younger lady who like myself has never been married and has no children, who is intelligent, attractive, has a sense of humour, shares similar interests and most important of all has a heart devoted to the Lord.Please do not expect a reply if you don't have a photo or don't fit the criteria I am looking for.
  
• looking for a woman shows self respect (sorry ladies obese does not lol!)

• Hiya, well I am a fun loving romantic type of guy with a wicked sense of humour, love to experiment sexually willing to try new things lol, so go on get in touch

all of the above demonstrate a few key learnings: a) a man has been around the internet dating block often enough to make him deeply cynical and jaded; b) a man has so little to lose that he has decided there is no harm in holding out for a devout supermodel/rocket scientist that loves all the same things he does and has been saving herself just for him; and c) he has discovered his own "hotness quotient" by the kinds of women that contact him (i.e. they are the female equivalent of him: around his age, maybe carrying a few extra pounds, training for the ironman competition has not been their life's goal) and is in complete denial. the last one is just gross (i wonder if a man who would write that would actually walk up to a total stranger and say it?)

avoid all three at all costs.

so be warned... there ARE some lovely men out there, but if you are able to spot the landmines, you can avoid having your legs blown off.