Return to the Valley of the Dolls - by Squirrelly Girly and Portia

Scene begins - Jenge has just gone upstairs while Margarita sips her coffee on the sofa. . .

J (from upstairs): What medication did you have in your room?
M(sits up like a shot): No! She didn't!
J: She did. What was it and how many did you have in the bottle?
M: Umm, I dunno, 30? but I've taken some.
J: Kay, I got 26.
M: Call the vet! I don't think she ate any, but we can't be sure!
J(on phone with vet, covers mouthpiece and speaks to M): She has to come in and throw up.
M: How much is that gonna cost me?
J: Dunno, but since we can't be positive she didn't' eat them, she has to come in.

Later that day, at the vet's. . .
Vet: Looks like she didn't eat any of them, or if she did, didn't ingest any full capsules. All we found was kibble, a cookie and some black plastic.
- side note: It was "Underworld Evolution" Later found chewed up in my room.

Portia had to spend most of the day at the vet getting her vitals checked every hour, but has since returned home. Apparently she busted into the pills and was more interested in destroying the prescription bottle than actually eating its contents. That dog is going to give me a heart attack!

Ho Ho Ho!

Doggie Dope Dealer

As you know, Rocky is extremely high strung. I can't laugh during tv shows as it sets of a five minute non stop stream of barking and pacing. I also can't sneeze, move to quickly or pet Portia too long as it sets off another barking fit. So, at our last trip to the vet, Jenge talked to the vet about this problem and she recommended an herbal mixture for dogs that is supposed to calm him down. He gets three servings a day.

So, is it working? Tough to say, but the stoner doggie jokes are flying fast and furious around her. Is he calmer? Who can tell? He's wound so tightly that even if he were to calm down by 50% you might not see it. But last night I was able to chuckle quietly to myself and he didn't bark, so fingers crossed!

Working at the CarWash!
So the other day, as I was driving down Crowchild Trail, the sun was shining brightly and it was a gorgeous, bright, winter day.

Too bad my windows were so dirty that I couldn't see squat out of them.

I had pushed it too far, left it too long. Nope. Not even a trip to the gas station and some lovin' from the squeegee would save me this time.

It was time. Time for a carwash.

I love the carwash, and so I'm surprised how long it always takes me to get there. I've always got other things I need to do. Groceries, coffee stop, work, running late. I never seem to have time. But the other night, I decided, enough was enough. When you can't tell if your headlights are on because they are so dirty, it's time to go.

Going to the carwash makes me feel happy, like a child. It's loud and there's lots of stuff going on, but it's all pleasantly muffled from the safe interior of my car. Although, now that I am an adult, there is an added level of suspense: Did I close all the windows? What about the back one that's a little dodgy? Will it hold??

But it does and then the pretty colored foam gets sprayed on and I try to find exactly where it is that it turns pink and green, but I'm only ever able to catch it if I let my eyes drift over the entire windsheild. Scrutinize one point too hard, and you'll miss it. I splurged on the luxury wash, which I consider a deal at 8 bucks. Nothin' too good for my baby!

And now my car is bright and shiny and I'm busting with pride as I stare down at it in the parking lot. Do yourself a favour. Take yourself to the carwash today!

Emo vs Goth

For those of you not in the know (and hey, I'm right there with you), I have recently found out some info that may be usefull. For a while now there has been a new breed of teenager whose look is classified as 'Emo.' Now, you may look at them and see Goth, but apparently calling an Emo a Goth and a Goth an emo is like wearing a wrong colored bandana in downtown Gang City and you are asking for punishment. So I was confused, what was the difference? no one new, so I googled it and was directed to a site that Heidi had previously told me about, Ask a Ninja.

You can find out all about Emo vs Goth here.

If God Made one, Why didn't He make enough for everybody?

Went to see the new James Bond film, Casino Royale, this weekend with my mum. It was great! Haven't stopped talking about it since. Ashleigh (who saw it this weekend too) and I were raving about it via messenger as well. Daniel Craig was hands down the best Bond ever, and if you know me, you know I have been championing Timothy Dalton for years, so for me to boot him off the pedastal in one fell swoop says alot.

And as a side note to all you other action films out there, I can't recall hearing the F-word once (or perhaps I just missed it but I doubt it). No one got totally naked either (although I think everybody was wishing that Craig would!).

For those of you not in the Bond know, Casino Royale was actually the first ever Bond film made and David Niven (if you just said 'Who?' you don't know your Hollywood) played the first James Bond, not Sean Connery. I believe it was also another studio that made it other than MGM (who I think is the traditional Bond studio) and that's why it took so long to remake, they had to wait for the rights to come up. Well, it was well worth the wait. Fantastic! Two thumbs up! On the longish side, so don't drink a big coke or you'll be sorry!

Girly Girl and her Wheels.
I am irrationally attached to my car. I spend more time in my car than I do with some of my friends. I have an hour long commute (both ways) on good days, up to 2.5 hrs on bad (snowy days). I eat in my car, drink coffee, learn greek, sing along to the radio, contemplate life, work on my story dialogue, plan my day and day dream in my car.

When it had to go into the shop last week to get two new tires, I was lost without it. I had my mum's car, graciously and generously loaned to me for as long as I would need it, but it wasn't the same. It wasn't my car. There was no funny rattling sound when I stopped at red lights. No 'Check Engine' light glared at me from the dash. The heat worked great, the windshield wipers cleaned both sides, there was a cd player. It just wasn't the same. I know that sounds odd, you would think I would have been ecstatic, but, sniff, I missed my car.

So much so that when I went to go pick it up, I had a stupid grin on my face after I paid my bill and was told it was outside. 'Hi baby!' I whispered as I opened the driver door and slid in. I re-adjusted all my mirrors and my seat and then patted the steering wheel lovingly. "Did you miss me? I missed you!"

We've been through alot together, Perry (my car's name because he is periwinkle blue) and I. We've driven to Vancouver and back, we've secretly eaten chocolate bars and hidden the wrappers, he got broken into once and I was devastated. We've been frustrated by traffic, and driven late at night with no radio on and only the sound of his windshield wipers whoosing unevenly. We're mates! We're pals! We're homies! He's my freedom to get to wherever, whenever.

Heh heh, oops.
So maybe I was a little hasty with my former blog. Maybe I didn't have a technical malfunction. Maybe a couple of cords got really tangled and I was plugging the camera cord into the camera, and then my ipod cord into the computer.

Damn.

I hate when I spark off about something and end up being wrong.

So here's the pic of the chair. I leave you with the following details:

One sister goes upstairs.
One sister stays down.
There is a crash! A squeal! No reply to "Are you okay?"
And then faintly through laughter a small voice is heard. "Help."
One sister has to pry the other out of said chair by tipping it sideways and dumping her out.
There is much laughter.
Jenge thinks she will recover with only a few bruises.
The chair cannot be saved.

F$%KING Technology!
You're supposed to be looking at a picture I just took right now. You're supposed to be reading along to a VERY FUNNY story involving Me, Jenge and a chair that continues to break, yet we continue to use (I know, you're DYIN' for details). I even took a picture to illustrate.

Unfortunately, my camera is currently not speaking to my computer. Something about one of them said the other one was a luddite and then the other got really mad and now refuses to work.

Damn technology!

A Trip to the Medium
Maybe I think too much. Here's the deal... I found out the name of a Calgarian medium and Jenge and I decided to go. After Jenge and I went, Chantal, Sandi, Corinne, Donna and Ann went, along with some of Jenge's co-workers.

After hearing everyone's stories of their visits, I've found the following:
1. Two different people got told shoe stories
2. Two different people got told about tomatoes
3. Two different people got told they had healing energies for animals
4. Two different people got told about roses
5. Two different people got told about sweet peas
6. Two different people got told that their back hurts because of their shoes

The interesting thing is, it's never the same two people. Am I just being overly analytical or does this seem strange? Is my brain working too hard on this? I mean, the medium told us lots of other stuff that was very specific to each individual and didn't overlap, but I seem to be stuck on the overlapping stuff.

Am I being too thinky thinky on this?

Winter. . .again.

I was out walking the dogs the other day and taking some pictures so I could scrapbook winter. Winter is very pretty. Snow covered trees look pristine, everything looks fresh and crisp with a blanket of snow.

I don't mind the snow and the cold, unless it's windy in which case, I can't stand it. And traffic sucks too. But on the weekends, I like looking out the window and seeing a white, snow covered, frosty world.

Not everybody dislikes Winter!

Portia loves the snow. She goes outside on the patio and lies down with her belly snuggled against all that coldness. She'd stay out there all day if Rocky didn't come inside. She hates to be outside alone, so as soon as Rocky comes in she cries at the door. But while she's out there, she loves it!

A bad case of Ennui

Oh, the ennui of it all! I'm barely able to keep up with all my appointments (wake my mother up by slapping her across the face with a paw, breakfast, napping, turn over, napping, move with the sun, napping, dinner, napping etc etc). Thank GOD my mother booked me in a doggie spa this weekend, I really need to get away from it all. . .

Bizarre!
I saw on the news and read this morning (Scientific American: More than 40 dolphins die in Mozambique beaching) about these dolphins that had beached themselves. It's so bizarre. What causes them to do this? Do they know something we don't? Is it a message? A portent? Or does something just go beserk in their brains and they get a case of mass hysteria/mob mentality? I don't know why I am so fascinated by this, but I am. I can't stop thinking about those dolphins.

Classifying the Unclassifiable

So Ashleigh and I were talking about our books and then she mentioned getting a book on all the genres out there so we would know what they are. This led us to a brief discussion about how to classify our books.
The problem is, there isn't a really good classification out there for them. I was thinking about the authors that I truly enjoy and even they aren't classified correctly. Just because it has vampires does not make it horror, and just because there's a romance, doesn't make it a romance novel. The term 'dark fantasy' was popped out there, but that just sounds sort of kinky and conjurs up 14-year old boys secluded in their parents basement playing a wacked out version of Dungeons and Dragons.

I thought maybe a new title for our stuff would be approprite. Nouveau Horror would be more up to speed, but then after thinking some more, I decided that my stuff isn't even really horror. So, I have come up with:

Supernatural Fiction

I think it accurately describes a bunch of stuff out there that is currently getting shuffled around by my local Chapters into too many categories. I have several favourite authors whose books are under 2 or 3 different genres (fiction, horror and romance - but truly, none of those fit). I also think it accurately classifies my book, without pigeonholing me too much. So, I'm putting it out there to you, the people. Whaddya think?

Is it a pipe dream?

Those of you who know me know that I have been working on a book for quite some time. I've been writing since I was 17 and I started working on My Book in about 1996 (no joke). It's gone through several transformations: character changes, plot changes etc etc, but the heart of it has remained the same, kept constant by my heroine.

Of late, I've been swapping 10 pages a week with Ashleigh, who herself is writing a book. We gleefully exchange pages and ideas; each week nervous about how the other person will take it. You'd think after already giving her 13 chapters, I wouldn't be nervous anymore, but every week I hit the 'send' button and wait anxiously for Ashleigh's seal of approval.

But this week I'm plagued with doubt and anxiety. With thousands of people out there wanting to be published authors, do I stand a chance? I waffle back and forth between "With all the crap out there, how can they not publish my stuff. My stuff is GOOD!" and "With all the crap out there, why would they publish my stuff? How will I ever get a break?"

But I guess all I can do is keep writing, finish the book and see what happens. But darnnit! I want to get published! I want to make gads off money doing something I really enjoy!

Hello, 911? I think someone murdered a Wookie in my bathroom!

Yuck! Ew! Ugh!

Listen, I've got a lot of hair and I shed as much as Portia does. What does this mean? It means that every once in a while I notice that the shower water is starting to creep up my feet as the drain slows down. And then I procrastinate. I hope against the natural laws of physics that all the hair clogged in my drain will go away on its own. I won't have to do anything. It will magically disappear. Like matching socks in the washing machine, it will go the way of the dodo and I won't have to lift a finger!

Except, I will have to lift a finger and drano, liquid plummer and Zap aren't gonna cut it. Nope. I'm gonna have to unscrew the drain and clean it out. Shudder.

Such was the case this weekend. I was dying my hair and had to rinse until the water ran clean. Problem was, I couldn't tell when the water was running clean since the drain was running slow. I was ankle deep in blood red water. Looked like a bad outtake from 'Psycho'. So, I rinsed as well as I could and then got dressed and busted out the screwdriver.

Honestly, you'd think I was bald with the amount trapped in that thing! Why is long hair attached to a scalp so attractive yet the second that follicle is separated from your head it becomes one of the grossest things on earth? I'll run my hands through my hair dozens of times a day and relish in the cool, smooth, softness of it. But get me to clean out a drain of the stuff and I think I might puke. And it's all mine, I'm the only one that uses my shower. But I couldn't help but wonder if someone had killed a wookie and disposed of it in the bathroom . . .

Knitworthy Moment: My First Sweater!
Hey gang! So I took up knitting last December and have dabbled in a few things, but this is my first person sweater (having previously made a dog sweater for Portia). One of the sleeves is a bit tight, but they are both the same length (which I'm told is fabulous for a first time sweater knitter). It has a hood (which is not really visible on the photo), a front pocket, and a generous heaping of dog fur knit into it (as everything I own has been loved by Portia).

It's made out of alpaca wool, is deliciously soft and warm and was completed just in time for fall!

Scrapworthy Moment: my first tin!

For those of you in the know, I am WAY behind the trend of scrapping a lunch pail tin. So far behind the trend, in fact, that it may be considered 'retro'! But here it is, my first attempt. I made a couple of boo-boos which I then tried to fix by 'distressing,' the tried and true method of all scrapping fixes.
Now I just need to figure out what to put in it...

Tattoo You!

Ola compadres! Well, this weekend saw the Squirrelly Girly at her not-so-local tattoo parlour getting inked! Rick, the artist at Strange World Tattoo in Crowchild Square did a faboo job of bringing my 'vision' of the infinity symbol to life (yes, I'm THAT geeky). As an homage to my love for math, a nod to my fantasy-sci fi side and an acknowledgement of my personality, I decided to get a dragon eating its own tail, curled over in the shape of an infinity symbol. The dragon eating its tail is based on the ancient symbol, the ouribos, which depics a snake eating its own tail, as a symbol of repeating past mistakes. Got it done in my favourite color, pink, natch! It's on my lower back and I'm quite happy with how it turned out!

I'd like to give a shout out to my mum, who after much (scary!) internal debate, I decided to tell about my tattoo. I braced myself for recrminations and possibly a lecture, but all mum did was chuckle and say, 'Okay!' Although she did mention all the years she kept my lowerback/bum clean and powdered only for it to be covered with a tattoo years later. Thanks for keeping the canvas in shape, mum!