Quality Assurance

So my phone got cut off. My cell phone, my only phone, my sole connection to the outside world. Sort of.
So I was calling my mom today when this machine lady comes on saying “Your call may be monitored for quality assurance.” And the first thing I thought was, boy, standards for mothering must have changed since yesterday. Or maybe she was on mothering probation. I can’t think of why, although we drive each other crazy sometimes, things have been more or less smooth.
Then I realized my tricky cell phone company has re-routed all of my calls to their office.
So I call the office and he asks me all kinds of ridiculous questions to make sure I really am Ms. Cuthand, the negligent bill payer. I hate having to prove I am who I am. Then he tells me to cough up a crazy sum of money, which I of course don’t have.
Which means I need to call my family for money, which I hate doing because I feel like a sucky baby who can’t take care of herself and I already called earlier this month.
I would have to say calling to ask your family for money is one of the most demoralizing things you can do. And I bet it’s not so shit hot to be on the other end, heavy sigh as you reluctantly reach for your wallet or checkbook.
But whatever.
Boy, I wish other things in life were monitored for quality assurance. Like sex. Say there was like a referee there, “Oi! You’ve had two more orgasms than she has! . . . Hey! Don’t forget to nibble those earlobes! . . . She has a shrimping fetish, remember! And you call yourself a giving lover!” Actually, come to think of it that would be a buzz kill.
When I worked at the phone centre we sometimes had to tell people their call may be recorded for quality assurance. And we were an outbound call centre. Imagine the nerve it takes to disrupt someone’s dinner, tell them this call’s being recorded, and ask for money for the SPCA. That’s why I couldn’t do the job anymore. I just felt like I was being paid to be rude.
So the upshot of the story was I had to call from a payphone in my neighborhood, collect. In my neighborhood all the payphones turn off at nine o’clock to prevent drug deals being made. Like drug deals are only made after nine pm. You can use it to call 911 though, oh thanks, big help that is. I told my Grandmother about the pay phone situation here and all she said was “Those neighborhoods you pick! My word!”
Exactly.
Anyway, if you’re wondering why I’m not calling you, now you know.

My Weird Name

Once in the years I went religiously to the dyke bar, we met this woman who was a hardcore regular. Kind of a white shirt blue jeans gal, I saw her wandering on the street once after the bar shut down and went all straight, she seemed so aimless. Anyway, when she found out my name she went all bizarre.
“What a fucked up name! Thirza Cuthand, that’s so fucked up!”
Um, thanks. Whatever. Ever since I was a little kid I’ve been having to say “My name’s Thirza, T-H-I-R-Z-A.” And when teachers got my name wrong the whole class would say “It’s Thirza.”
There is a friend of a friend who always calls me Ursula. I don’t know how many times I’ve corrected him, it’s like his brain can’t compute Thirza. It comes out Ursula.
Once in high school I was calling this girl and her sister answered. When she asked what my name was and I told her she flipped out on me.
“Nobody’s called Thirza! What is your name! Really, TELL ME WHAT YOUR NAME IS!” I had to hang up on her.
There are Thirza’s out there, I know for a fact I am not the only one.
My sister got the simple name. Sky. I mean, three letters, one syllable, and she even gets a cool y. We used to call her S-K-Y. I asked my mom how to spell it once. “S-K-Y.” She said. I was all “Nooooo, how do you spell it?” I guess I was looking for EssKayWhy or something. Considering Sky doesn’t talk, it’s just as well she got the simple name. I mean, lord knows what would have happened to her if she’d been Thirza. It’s a name that involves a lot of correcting people.
Cuthand scares people too. For one thing it sounds like something violent has happened to your hands. It’s actually a mistranslation of Frozen Fingers. I’m kind of glad I didn’t get saddled with a name like Frozen Fingers, because it would probably make girls not want me to touch them.
“Your fingers are icy Thursa.”
Damn.

Sucky Valentines

Tis a sad valentines day for me, like nearly all valentines days. I had a girlfriend for only one valentines day, and I don’t remember her doing anything for me, although she did mail me a dildo for my twentieth birthday. Thanks. I don’t have it anymore, I cut it up in a fit of pique. Hence the name for my blog, which I have been rather careless about recently. But you’ll all be glad to know in the meantime I have been working on the paper version of Fit Of Pique, to be unveilled this April! Price is three to five dollars, depending on what you can afford. And you will want to own this remarkable work of zine-ness. There’s a centerfold of all the things people put up their bums and had to see a doc to remove. There’s a Bottom’s Manifesto written on a particularily crusty day I had after some bad experiences with tops. There’s the full on story of what exactly transpired during my visit to the looney bin. Alice makes a cameo appearance, and there’s lots of other fun stuff. If you would like a copy, email me your address and I’ll try to send a few freebies out, or we could trade, whatever.

I must state now that I am completely indebted to Louis Cruz for showing me a few of the finer points of zine making.

Anyway, where was I? Besides blathering on about the zine version of Fit of Pique, there’s also some other interesting stuff going on in my life.

I am trying to funnel my love of pot into a less invasive love of gambling. Ah well, one addiction for another. Lottery tickets are cheaper than pot, and give just as much a thrill when you spend time writing shopping lists for the big win. So if you want to get into my good books, buy me a lotto ticket instead of passing on that joint. I’ve decided to quit smoking pot, except maybe at laser shows.

Oh yeah, and an alert for all you readers, in case you haven’t heard a new strain of HIV has emerged that takes only three months to develop into AIDS and is resistant to a number of HIV drugs. So take care all of you.

Anyone got any tips on quitting smoking? I’ve noticed that for as long as I have been a smoker, I also haven’t had a girlfriend. And according to some news reports, Vancouverites really don’t like sticking their tongue where a cigarette has been. Which is really unfair, because when I was a non-smoker dating a smoker I still stuck my tongue in all kinds of places on her.

Soon I will be living alone and have internet access again, so for all you dedicated readers, pleeeze hang on just a little bit longer and this blog will return to it’s regularily scheduled program of complaints, excitement, and general bullshitting around.

Oh I know what I should tell yous all. This weekend is IMAGeNation, and a bunch of my videos are screening at the Raja Cinema. So you should come down and see some of the best aboriginal film and video around. I have been working with the IMAG peeps since we were born, and it’s a cool festival. I can’t believe I just used the word peeps.

Speaking of Peeps, for those cynics out there who need a laugh, here’s a fun experiment. Place a marshmallow Peep in a microwave and press start. It will explode, and it’s quite funny. At least I think it is. But don’t put an IMAG peep in a microwave cause that’s just mean.

Hmm. I am sitting at the computer, trying to think of something intelligent to say. Being a blogger is a bit like that courtship part of a relationship, where you want to completely charm someone and win them over to your crazy life.

So here are some things about me you should know if you want to date me.

1. I don’t keep house well.

2. I bathe on a regular basis.

3. Given an ultimatum to choose between cigarettes or a girl, I will always pick the girl.

4. I like cheesy pop songs.

5. I get sad on a frequent basis, and I’m happiest when I have the chance to just give of myself to someone special.

6. While I have erotic dreams of cavorting with Nicole Kidman, I’m probably the most monogamous person you’ll ever meet.

7. I like gay porn.

8. I’m not scared of committment (although I am a bit scared of my new teeny apartment.)

9. I sometimes eat bacon.

10. I will always want to come to your house late at night armed with chocolate cake and latex.

rUMBLY tUMMY

I am hungry, my tummy’s rumbly, my money has yet to come from the reserve. Oh how I want those Indian dollars, so I can grab a burger or a pizza or a bag of marshmallows or a can of pineapples. Wait, I have a can of pineapples.

Well you’re probably all wondering where I’ve been. I have been without internet access for about a month now as punishment for having the dirtiest room in all of the Lower Mainland. My friend Lynn even lent me a copy of Hoorah for the Filthpackets to make me feel better about it. It’s that time of year again, when I remember all that befell me two years ago, and it brings me down down down. And so I live in squalor.

Until tomorrow, when I finally clean my dumb room.

It all started in Scotland, if you follow the matrilineal lines. Hey, is that even a word? Anyway, my mum’s mum was messy, my mum was messy, I am messy. Housework is not our strong suit. Growing up my mum had this poster on the wall of a woman saying “Housework, it’s, it’s a bitch!” True. There are other things I do well. Such as making things funny. Sometimes. If I’m in the mood.

Some people believe you are only as good as your ability to run an orderly household. If that is true, I’m going straight to hell. I saw a comic strip today of a girl with a messy room and her mother was telling her “Your room is where feng shui comes to die.” I think that pretty much sums up my room.

I had a lucky bamboo plant. I killed it. And it sat on the ledge for about six months. I can’t bear to throw away remains of a plant. Isn’t that silly?

Anyway, that’s about all I have to say today. Life’s been pretty crazy stressful, and I still have to find a new place to move, because much as I am a little bottom, I don’t like punishment.

If I had a cute redhaired girl boss me around things would be different. Send one my way so I can clean my room.

A Bold New Adventure

This little artist is planning and plotting. This little artist is behind in her homework. Spank her!

I am on the hunt for not Red October, but some new digs. And I don’t mean digging a nuclear bunker in someone’s backyard. Just a nice little shell for a hermit crab like me to fester away, occasionally spitting out art. A home where I can decorate things my way. Someplace I can smoke.

Although I am in the process of quitting.

Quitters never . . . I don’t know the rest of that saying.

It is late at night and I am at the corner store again.

I need the internet dammit. It’s my lifeblood!

I am planning a video about figure skaters. Well, not about them really, just about a weird rite of passage figure skaters go through. It should be interesting.

Today is supposed to be the most depressing day of the year. But I think I may have found a home.

Big Belly

This is for all you ladies out there.

Okay, so maybe it isn’t.

My internet is broken. I am at the corner store listening to the owners speak in arabic about the high price of Special K with dried strawberries in it.

I love those strawberries.

The best strawberries in the world are grown in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, but difficulties in transporting them out while they are fresh and perfect means the rest of the world is unaware of the bliss induced by these berries. They are small and sweet and evenly red.

My childhood is dotted with memories of jars of my gramma’s homemade strawberry jam, the way the sugar in it would almost crystalize, and the joy of being the first one to punch a hole in that canning wax. Like busting someone’s cherry, only with berries on the other side instead of an orgasm.

Mmmmm.

So my internet is broken and I am making plans for my life that involve a move. I have decided it is a far better thing to live with other artists, so that’s what I’m going to do.

I am trying to work on a video as well, about fear.

My ipod is still my best friend, although I’m a bit annoyed at the music on it and I desperately need more tunes. 972 tunes aren’t enough! I need different ones. I can’t tell you how weird it is to have it on shuffle and end up with a Carpenter’s tune right after a Marilyn Manson one.

me and my ipod

My mother made me promise I would give props to her on my blog for helping me buy a new ipod mini this christmas. Three cheers for mom!

In other news, well, the mighty power of the tsunami has finally spoken. The sheer number of casualties continues to boggle my mind. It seems rather futile for me to even say anything about my life or my opinion today, considering the widespread grief and devastation wreaked in Asia. Events of this magnitude always make me feel quite small and insignificant. And although I attended church this christmas, I can’t help but wonder where God is at a time like this.

Then I shake my head and remember that God isn’t some dude with a white beard sitting on some golden throne somewhere, it’s a much more complex concept. At least, it is for me. Someday I will describe what I think God is, but not today.

If I am an ipod, God is the music.

However I am not an ipod, as most of you are well aware. Although when I’m listening to my ipod I am a cyborg, so says Donna Haraway.

I haven’t written here in a long while for a couple of reasons. Reason number one being: I had nothing to say. Reason two: I was frantically writing papers and rehearsing a scene with an actress for school, along with preparing presentations and trying to find the time to have my bipolar leisure time. I find I need to spend considerable amounts of time just talking with friends about life stuff, watching movies, etc etc. It keeps me balanced. If I don’t have time to goof off, I start feeling very weird.

So I was motivated to write in this blog again because during the holidays I ran into some friends here in Saskatoon who read my blog. And sometimes I forget people actually read it. Anyway, I wave to Donna and Megan! Hello!

My holiday haul was pretty good this year, I’ve been secretly wanting an ipod for a while now, it was getting silly to keep making different mix cds on my itunes and burning through a stack of blank cds. I have about forty mix cds, all unlabeled, tumbling through my bedroom, most of them having the same songs on them.

So, for my year end blog:

Top Twenty Songs that kept making it onto burned cds!

1. Fashion – David Bowie

2. Milkshake – Kelis

3. Hazy Shade of Winter – Bangles

4. Pass That Dutch – Missy Elliot

5. Go With The Flow – Queens of the Stoneage

6. Father Lucifer – Tori Amos

7. Playgirl – Ladytron

8. Set it off – Peaches

9. Lust For Life – Iggy Pop

10. Money (That’s What I Want) – Flying Lizards

11. What Are You Waiting For? – Gwen Stefani

12. Honey – Tori Amos

13. Hollywood – Madonna

14. You Do Something To Me – Marlene Dietrich

15. Music – Out of Your Mouth

16. Try to Tear Me Down – Hedwig and the Angry Inch

17. Cherrybomb – The Runaways

18. Drain the Blood – The Distillers

19. Sex (I’m A) – Peaches

20. Losing Grip – Avril Lavigne

So maybe it’s not cool, but I don’t give a fuck, those are the songs that kept ending up on my private mix cds. And now that I have an ipod, no one can stop me! I can have playlists that go for hours! Ha ha ha ha (evil cackling)!

Anyway, have a happy new year and I’ll be back at my regularily schedualed blogging after this weekend, during which I plan to get extremely drunk or stoned or both, depending on what party I end up at.

Sending love to Asia, if I won the lottery I’d be sending a big box of supplies, but instead I will send my prayers.

Unsettling Healthy Advice

I am drinking Sunrype Fruit and Veggie drink. Every glass gives you two Canada Food Guide servings of fruit and vegetable. It’s full of yummy goodness. I am suddenly an advertisement. I apologize.

See, it all started earlier today with my friend “nameless.” She used to be a socially corrupting influence. Suddenly she is full of so much good advice and health tips that I’m the baddy. I still smoke. Still eat meat. Still use drugs. Still eat junk food from the whole spectrum of junk food. Have fatty foods.

She is getting skinnier and passing her clothes on to me.

I am beginning to long for the good healthy lifestyle. She is rubbing off.

And somehow she knows me better than I wish she did. It’s kind of funny. Today we were talking about a certain someone and she kept saying to me “You still want her, I KNOW you still want her. Don’t you? Don’t you?!” and I was all cowering in the corner saying “Get out from inside my head!”

DIVERSION!!!

FILM FEST SWAG: I got a pair of boxer shorts from the Rendevous with Madness film festival in Toronto (where my newest tape Love & Numbers played) that has a fish on the butt with the words Nice Bass over it. If you ask me nice I’ll bend over and let you see my Bass.

***********************

So I went to the store today where I usually buy myself a Coke. But I’ve been hearing more and more scary things about the Coca-cola company these days. So I got this juice, this special ultra healthy juice.

I am bad about vegetables. I eat them so rarely. I like them. I know they’re better for the world if you eat vegetables. But why eat vegetables when you could have BACON!!!!!!

Truthfully I tire of bacon.

I have to clean the bathroom before twelve o’clock or I turn into a pumpkin.

I have the right shape to be a pumpkin.

I tire of my body shape. I wish my stomach had real muscles, not these piddly bands of fiberous tissue.

I tire of my life. I am stuck in a rut in a specific part of my life and it’s really starting to wear on me. I’m tired of being messy. I’m tired of being unhealthy. I’m tired of my body. I’m tired of smoking and doing drugs. I’m tired of being paranoid. I’m tired of having no spiritual focus to my life.

It’s crunch time and I am procrastinating. I should be working on papers. Instead I cast my words into the internet void.

Say hello to the so-called world, words.

Hello.

Click on the ads!

I’m trying out a new way of getting ad based revenue. I know my readership is small, but if you click on the ads then I get paid, which means I’ll be able to devote more time to this blog. And if I can devote more time, then I’ll be able to launch my t-shirt line and you can all wear genderfucking tees!! So click on the ads please!