The Dinner

I have to tell this story because it is a classic bad date story. I had been seeing a certain someone when I got a rather large artist fee. Officially we were NOT girlfriends, something she always got tetchy about if I suggested we were, even though she called me to talk every night.

One day I asked her if she wanted to go for dinner. I would treat (since as I already mentioned I had an artist fee in my pocket). I was envisioning something akin to a moderately upscale diner like Hamburger Mary’s, or even Havana. You know, nice food but casual. A basic date. Well she suggests a particular restaurant she likes that she never gets to go to, and I had never been there so I thought oh sure, whatever. We get there and I open the menu only to find entrees start at $50. I nearly fell out of my chair but being the suave butch dyke I am I supressed all shock and tried to carry this expenditure off with aplomb. So we ate and drank and chatted and she was being cute and then the bill came and I watched a goodly chunk of my artist fee vanish. Goodbye money!!! I will miss the groceries I could have bought.

Then we necked at a bus stop, but she started acting weird and then after all of that wouldn’t go home with me. Maybe it is sleazy to expect some romping because of an expensive dinner, but maybe it is also sleazy to take your lover for a dinner she’s paying for to a restaurant that is ridiculously pricey without giving a heads up. I wasn’t terribly put out yet because I did like her a lot.

The story doesn’t end there though. Not long after we had our break up squabble. I don’t know how you can break up with someone who’s not your girlfriend, but whatever. It was a break up. Several mean things were said, but the most shocking was when she announced “It all started with that dinner. I should have known, Ooooh, it’s the dinner where things get serious” and then went off about how I was trying to weasle her into a serious relationship by buying her an expensive dinner. I was so shocked now that I couldn’t say anything. I took her to dinner just because I thought it would be fun to eat hamburgers together. Suddenly I was the evil sugar mama trying to buy her ass with a $150 dinner. And I’m not even a sugar mama, she was the considerably older one!!! And she was the one who picked the goddamn expensive restaurant.

She’d never bought me dinner or lunch or breakfast. I think once she gave me some sweet blob of red beans from China town.

Luckily my next girlfriend took me to dinner and lunch a lot. And it was often casual dining in chinese restaurants with cheap burgers. She even made me gnocci one day.

But I had never known that buying a lover a lovely dinner was so offensive. Luckily since then I’ve had sweeties who are much more appreciative of nice things I do and don’t throw it back in my face.

She was so not a sugar mama. A moochie mama, maybe.

Katamari Damacy

I bought a video game for a console I don’t even own yet. I’m buying the console next paycheque. The game I bought is actually the sequel to the game I wanted, this one titled We Love Katamari. The original, Katamari Damacy, is one of those weird cult hits arising from Japan. I might have to order Damacy in.

The story is that the King of The Cosmos went on a bender and accidentally destroyed all of the celestial bodies. He sends the Prince to go roll a Katamari around and collect as many objects as possible to make each star. A katamari as near as I can tell is a small sticky ball which continues to be sticky even with every additional layer of objects.

The intro alone shows the true mad genius of Katamari Damacy:

It’s addictive, to be sure. People have been known to play it for hours and hours. In fact I’m sure when I get the console my mom is going to be parked in front of the tv happily rolling up polygonal japanese people and drinking a beer.

Once I was chatting with a guy who had a Katamari fetish, literally playing the game turned him on.

Not as bad as the guy I read of who can only get an erection when he sees a safety pin.

(Living in sin with a safety pin.)

Katamari has spawned a consumer frenzy of related memorablia and wares. Including t-shirts, katamari shaped knitted touques, and a large green tubular hat simulating the Prince’s head.

Industrial

Today I got my industrial. I’ve been babbling about it on here for a while so I thought I’d let you know how it went.

I totally have to do a plug for Schmatta, of all the piercing shops I’ve been to I’ve liked their style the best. Somehow it’s not as ridiculously painful. They have pretty sure hands.

And they don’t mince around with Ylang Ylang and three deep breaths. I guess for me that involves too much anticipation and it makes me have a harder time with pain.

So I was freaked out about the pain, especially after hearing that the industrial is one of the most painful piercings. It was painful, I won’t lie, but it wasn’t ungodly awful. It was a slow sharp pinchy pain. The most painful body mod I did was getting the inside of my upper arm tattooed, which felt like getting slowly skinned alive.

And now I have a pretty, spikey bar going through my upper ear.

The downside to this piercing is that I’ve been told sometimes they can take up to eight months to heal. Oy!

It probably bled a lot too but I didn’t see that. I did drink a lot last night, so my blood is probably still pretty thin. And lucky for me I was the second Industrial of the day, which made me feel a bit better that he knew what he was doing.

I hope I can get a few of my tattoos done soon too. I also have another piercing I want, but most people won’t get to see it anyway.

I’m a Piggy Big and Chubby

If you’re allergic to cuteness (and some people are) then don’t click on this link for the Guinea Pig Way. I’ve been trying to learn Flash for a while but I keep getting distracted or lose the manual and tutorials. I understand the theory behind it, in theory it’s pretty simple. I know I would secretly be the source of ridicuously adorable nonsensical animations. When I was in beginner’s animation at Emily Carr I made a funny animation about suicide. I guess you had to understand me at the time.

No way could I make anything touching the black comedy of Salad Fingers though. He creeps some people out. I like him in a twisted way.

I have a favorite video game called Katamari Damacy. The plot is that you are a small green man with a tubular head rolling a ball to which things stick and you need to get enough objects on your ball to create a celestial object. Here’s a claymation Katamari.

You take the good you take the bad you take them both and there you have . . . Tootie’s bong?

Have a good friday night bitches.

Same Sex Marriage

The only thing I hate about Same Sex Marriage is the term. It sounds suspiciously akin to Lesbian Bed Death (ugh). I imagine it referring to a union where both partners got tired of sexually experimenting and have now fallen into the rut of Same Sex. Not no sex, just tirelessly, relentlessly, unceasingly boring routine sex.

Blerg, that would suck ass. Thank god there are Pro Dom/mes in the world.

On a side note, you would be surprised how many female sex workers will take on female clients.

Back to Same Sex Marriage. I used to not care, seriously, I was all who the fuck cares if I can get married, but probably a lot of that was due to some cynicism about romance and the fact that there are nuns more sexually active than me. Anyway, then I started thinking about it. I have always had kind of a soft spot for marriage. I know some people really hate the idea of marriage because “it’s all about ownership!”

I know. *smile* Why do you think I get off on it?

I’m not much for the idea of standing in front of a bunch of people who are just waiting for the free sandwiches and necking with a girl in front of my mum and grandma. Mostly I hate the idea because I have terrible stage fright and I’m scared I’ll embarrass myself by fainting, farting, having a seizure, peeing my pants, getting tremors, bleh bleh bleh. Also I don’t like the idea of spending so much money on one day.

I have a better idea for my wedding. I want to get married at a courthouse, have diamond rings, and then go to Paris for two weeks. I mean, my god, I feel embarrassed even having to go on stage to accept an award. Or being paranoid there will be hecklers.

I’ve been keen on the diamond ring idea for a while though. I’m even considering buying myself a diamond ring just because. I also want a cashmere sweater. I’m one of those people with pricey desires, and at this point in life no one can make me feel guilty about it anymore. I’ve even developed a fetish for femmes in full length fur coats.

My mom doesn’t understand this desire for diamonds. My friend Naufus also wants cashmere and diamonds, we think it’s something about being Emily Carr alumni.

I had a dream I was getting married and when they asked if anyone had a reason I shouldn’t get married my mum yelled out “She’s only doing it for the ring!”

The real reason I’m into Queer marriage though is that it affords our relationships legal rights which straight people (even in common law marriages) take for granted. It means my partner would have a legally recognized position in my life. For example, if I was in a hospital again and unable to give consent to a procedure, my partner could decide, like if someone needed to pull the plug but my mom insisted they keep my mushy liquidy brain alive, then I would have someone to bat for me. Or if I was in the psych ward and they wanted to do ECT just because they got tired of trying out pharms, then I’d have someone who would say fuck off with your electricity, I’m the only one she lets electrocute her.

iPod sanctions, Jackass Soldiers, Borat and Ali G

George W Bush’s newest idea to intimidate North Korea is a sanction on Kim’s favorite gadgets, including iPods. Can you imagine? I love my iPod, but if I had superpower ambitions and a nuke, I would laugh if you tried to punish me by taking away my iPod. Besides that, imagine how easily it would be to smuggle in an iPod. Think how many Americans smoke cuban cigars.

The US military is investigating some YouTube videos which show some gross behaviour, including the now infamous video of soldiers making kids run a mile behind a tank in the hopes of getting a bottle of water and laughing. Was amazes me is that these fucked up soldiers are so invested in documenting all of their abuses. They’re like the Jackass/Bumfights generation of soldiers. All soldiers throughout history have done evil things, but these dudes film it and proudly display it on the internet. Remember all the Abu Ghraib photos with the thumbs up? Rumsfeld’s solution was to ban cameras.

It’s kind of interesting, the first Gulf War was all very controlled in terms of images we were allowed to see. Like camera shots from “smart” bombs hitting targets. Now with the internet no one can stop people from seeing the uncensored view of the war. And the irony is that it’s the perpetrators who are making the images of this war, not reporters, just some cocky soldier with a camera.

I guess we had the same thing in Canada. Remember the murder of the Somali boy on a Canadian peacekeeping mission? They took all kinds of pictures of him.

There was a website for a while that offered soldiers a free account (it was an amateur porn site) if they uploaded a gory war photo. Tons of images came in that were each more gruesome than the last. The US military FREAKED and shut the site down, mostly to cover up the real face of war.

All very depressing.

In other news, Borat was the cause of Pam and Kid Rock’s divorce. Apparently he saw the movie and flipped out on her in front of people calling her a whore and a slut. She had been in on the joke in the film and apparently had a great time performing, so it must have been devastating for her to have hubby treat her like shit over it. It was a major highlight of the film, it made me crack up anyway.

Other Borat trivia:
Borat’s well hung son was played by Stonie, a gay porn star. Sacha Baron-Cohen was slugged out as Borat by an unappreciative New Yorker. Also he is being sued by various parties.

Some people are really appalled at Sacha’s brand of comedy, even when they haven’t actually seen it. I think it’s because he’s a Contrary. In Cree terms this is someone who teaches by the creed “If you cannot be a good example, be a terrible warning.” For example, more well known aboriginal Contraries would be Coyote, Wesachejahk, or Nanabush. You can’t take him at face value or you’d be an idiot, something he shows over and over in his film. I find it hard to explain why this kind of satire works. It’s kind of like people who hate Ab Fab because Edina and Patsy are so evil, but don’t realize that’s the point, they are the antagonists. It goes against what we’re taught are the rules in narrative storytelling.

I leave you with one of my favorite Ali G clips.

Poorest Postal Code

Well, it’s snowing in Vancouver, just as their brown icky water was finally safe to drink. However whenever I call friends out there, these concerns are barely a footnote. Maybe because Vancouverites are expected to complain about the rain so much that when there’s something else to complain about it seems awkward.

I will always miss the beauty of Vancouver.

And I will always remember the ugliness.

For the last year there I lived in Strathcona, about six blocks from Main and Hastings, the epicentre of poverty, drug addiction, sex trade, one room occupancy, etc etc etc. I’ve yet to see another skid row so dramatic. It was safe to walk around there if you knew the rules, the number one rule being don’t look a stranger in the eye. If you do it means either you’re looking for a john, you’re looking for drugs, or you’re looking for a fight. But aside from that, it was a nice neighborhood to live in, if you like drama. I had a friend who would point out the really scary people, like the neighborhood pedophile, or the neo nazi’s. People really looked out for each other though, ESPECIALLY the Hastings crowd. Watching them from afar over such a long period of time made me notice this whole network going on. Yeah, poor, dysfunctional, painful, but they noticed when one of their kin went missing. They kept track if someone had a hot shot. And they were so active in creating community resources, like the safe injection site. In some ways it makes me feel bad for marginalized addicted poor who live in smaller centres with less visibility to push for services. People in Saskatoon are living just as on the edge as Main and Hastings.

There were fun things about that neighborhood too, like the Prickhouse, which always had a nice laid back vibe to it and where we met Wendy 13 and talked about the withdrawal effects of paxil and those damned electric zaps. There was the Cobalt, where I saw Kill Allen Wrench take a beer bottle smash to the forehead mere feet away. (Allen Wrench supposedly killed Kurt Cobain, though I also heard a rumour it was his cult suicide programming kicking in.) Allen Wrench and his bloody face were so close my friend caught a flyer for the event soaked in blood. I was a little suspicious of her carrying away a biohazardous souvenier.

Once I waited at the bus stop to go visit friends and a boy with blood oozing out of him ran up to me and yelled CANADA while sprinkling my clothes with his blood. Bleh. Thanks a bunch.

One corner always had lethal car accidents for some reason.

I won’t tell you how many propositions I got, and none of them were for marriage!

Once it was dark and someone who didn’t know I was me started yelling at me that I was a sick pedophile who molested her children and then she got embarrassed when she found out I wasn’t Mr. Sick, but told me his apartment number.

Once in my apartment I got so drunk I puked on the floor and fell asleep.

Once in my apartment building a guy took a hot shot and his body wasn’t found for two weeks when, you know, the smell was annoying.

It wasn’t far to walk to the lesbian bar, where girls would give me suspicious looks. Being in a lesbian bar is not unlike being in high school.

Once a neighbor who was a john fleeced some poor sex worker out of her fee and she was outside his door screaming at him and his “dirty scaley dick.” The next day someone wrote on the mirror “Would all tenants please donate 25cents to _______ so he can pay crack whores to suck his dirty scaley dick?” I laughed and threw a quarter down.

Another time at New Years my friend and I were on our way out and noticed a puddle of blood on the floor under the pay phone.

Strangely enough, all of those things weren’t the true ugliness of Vancouver. The ugliness was the dysfunction, and how little people were genuinely compassionate. There are good people in Vancouver, but there’s a lot of mean people too.

Deuteronomy
Originally uploaded by fit of pique.

We got Deuteronomy at the end of the Cold War. He was supposed to be the companion kitty to my intellectually challenged sister. Oh man, or is the word developmentally delayed? It’s not that horrid R word anyway. I first saw him in a quonset at my uncle’s farm. He was teeny, and I wanted him right away. I just had a feeling about him. I had been badgering my mother for nearly a year to get a cat and she’d finally caved when Uncle John’s cat had kittens.

Partly we wanted a cat because they weren’t accidentally killed as often as hamsters, but that is another story.

He was a sweet guy and totally cuddly even to strangers on the street. He was also a deadly hunter and a big meanie fighting tom. He killed 7 generations of blue jays who insisted on nesting in the same tree every year. He also left us for six months to go live with the neighbors, who called him Moochie.

His death was beautiful and dignified, he got a sedative and then The Shot and was petted and loved right until he died in our arms. He was lucky to have such a nice death. I really hope euthanasia is legal by the time I’m old, crotchety, and ready to leave.

Bye Deuter.