Jeder hatte passenden Handtücher


So, it’s Father’s day! Here is an old picture from the summer of ’93 of good ol’ Dad shucking a lobster for me while my cousin barfs into her hand and my aunt nonchalantly ignores it. I’ve been meaning to get an updated picture of the two of us, but we’ve been busy these last 24 years I guess. Plus every time we’ve tried to take a picture as a family, this happens:


Many of you in my circle of friends grew up hearing my ol’ tales of Dad. Those of you I was especially fond of got to meet him in person – usually at the bakery and he probably stuffed you full of butter-buns or danish. Some of you that I dated got to know his unholy wrath first hand and you betcha we still talk about you and laugh at the dinner table, you little shit(s).

It’s so hard to write about him because there is so much content and once I start writing about one thing, I have to write about another and then BAM! It’s 3AM and my eyes burn violently. So I’ll shorten the hell out of it and leave this:

7 Things I Inherited From My Dad:

  1. My large nose, crazy hair, and renegade teen acne.
  2. My storytelling, humor, and shock value.
  3. The love of niche hobbies and an obscure database of knowledge.
  4. The good ol’ days of Rock and/or Roll.
  5. How to properly punch somebody (That proved useful and victorious for my one and only fight – I’m a pacifist I swear!)
  6. The love of trying something new and evolving as a person.

I feel kinda bad about writing this all up because I never made a special post for my Mom on Mother’s day. Also, the only picture I have of her immediately on-hand is one of her wearing a Martha’s Vineyard t-shirt tucked into high wasted jeans and she’s smoking next to a frozen above-ground pool full of Bud Light, so I think she’d be more pissed if I actually posted that for all the world to see rather than my neglecting to write about her.

Today is also my 9th anniversary with this guy:


So thanks for putting up with me these last 3285 days, Kellan! I’ll save the mushy stuff for our big 1-0. I also really need to hire a photographer for more flattering pictures to stick in here it seems.

When life gives you mold, make penicillin

I got crazy sick this week, so I am gonna pull this blog post out of my ass while I wait for a certain someone to wake up and pack his crap so we can run around like deranged chickens in Lethbridge for the rest of it. I have so many posts half executed in limbo right now, but that’s the thing with being worn down I guess… you gotta pick and choose what you’re going to allocate energy towards that day, and usually the things you only do for the sake of your own enjoyment gets pushed to the back of the queue.

It’s funny, because even though I try to put on my fun-living-joke-about-everything face on, I can definitely see through the cracks when it comes to my creative outlets. Using my blog as an example and going back the last few entries, my inability to harness my depression screams to me though the lines. This always happens, and usually when my facade breaks down, I pull a Conan the Destroyer and obliterate all physical traces with my sword of contrition.


Or something like that… yeah… DELETE!

I refuse to do that anymore. There is so much guilt and regret inside of me that I keep pushing down and erasing because I so desperately don’t want to be a person with a mental illness. I don’t want to be depressed, or anxious, or have to take medication just so I don’t break down into a futile, sobbing mess every day of my life, but here I am. It’s such a battle and I am tired of trying my hardest not to be defined, or labeled with something I still have extremely negative hang-ups over. I’m also tired of trying to fit inside a box that’s way too small and pretending everything is fine too, so YEAH! I’m glad that I can get this all out so freely through using this medium, but damn if it didn’t have to be done in the most public way possible and make me feel so exposed at times.

In other news, I am spending the night over at my parents tonight. It’s great because I usually get spoiled with a nice home cooked dinner and doted over because we only get to see each other a handful of times in a year. What can I say? I’m a ham and I like the attention. Speaking of ham, let me tell you about this guy right here:


This is Henry. He’s the family cat and my most favorite thing ever because he’s a huge, hilarious asshole and has no neck most of the time. Anyway, during this past Christmas season, he started to lose some weight and seemed off. We chalked this up to losing his BFF Mr. Kitty a few months prior and since nobody in the family is a certified cat whisperer and he was still eating and playing, we didn’t delve too much into it.

Fast forward to about a week before Easter and Henry isn’t doing too shit-hot. He’s suddenly not eating, drinking, or using the bathroom. His weight takes an even sharper decline and my parents rush him into the local vet where prognosis is not good. Long story short, he’s probably dying. The vet was going to inject him with some powerful steroids as a last ditch effort, but with prognosis already so grim – my parents decided that he was suffering too much and plans are made for them to say their goodbyes to him in the morning.

Friday morning comes and I deliberately ignored my phone because I did not want to read the texts confirming the worst and that he has been put down. When I finally did muster the cojones to deal with things, this is what I received instead:


A goddamn Easter miracle. Good Friday indeed! Long story short, Henry has cat diabetes, or as I would like to call them – CATABETES. He needs cat insulin twice a day now and other than being a little scrawny still, you would have never known he was literally scratching on death’s door a mere two months ago. He eats and purrs and shits and this was the craziest NICEST surprise I’ve had in a very long time.


Summertime Blues

Some people get down and out when summer turns to fall and the days shorten into bleak slivers of sunlight that faintly illuminate the corpses of the past season’s spoils of carnations or whatever the hell else dies after growing season. I on the other hand like to be a special snowflake and lose my collective pile of shit early in the year and just in time for t-shirt weather.


The sun is a deadly laser after all.

The last few weeks have sucked. From entertaining extremely difficult people, to falling off my diet and having the effects of eating crap food literally ramrod my innards into a mush. Mood swings and back pain. Dragging myself into work and treating every encounter with caution and kid-gloves because the tight elastics under my skin are already begging to snap and all its gonna take is one wrong thing to set off that huge stack of anguish dominoes.

Maybe I should keep a handful of cheap firecrackers in each of my pockets to use in case of a complete mental breakdown. If there’s no going back, I at least want some shitty pyrotechnics to dazzle my defeated ass.

This all will pass of course. I’ve done this song and dance for a very long time and so I know what I’m capable of and when I need to take it easy. Last Sunday was definitely one of those days for peaceful reflection and bad Netflix. It helped.

Soon I’ll be back to my old self. I admittedly have a few more pieces to stick back together this time, but it’s all doable and I am thankful that these moods hit me hard and fast instead of long and drawn out. I just have to keep reminding myself of all the great stuff I have going on right now, or to look forward to in the not so far off future.

Electrons and Atoms

I usually have an entry typed up and ready to publish by now, but I am very under the weather today and don’t really have the energy or drive to do anything other than watch bad Canadian-based paranormal shows on Netflix.

This week was a rough one, but I did manage to get out and see the northern lights last night before the clouds came in, so that was a nice ending to things. Here’s the first picture I ever managed to take of the lights to placate the lack of my usual weekly content. It took me half an hour to clone stamp all the hot pixels/long exposure noise out, so a moment of respect for my old fart of a camera is probably due.


You remember that old Plymouth we just couldn’t fix?

I am a volcano. I keep the pressure of molten rock under my surface until a seismic event of various magnitudes causes it to rupture forth in a wave of heat and ash. My temper can blot out the sun. It can turn summer into winter, yadda yadda yadda. Metamorphic er, metaphorically speaking?

Jules Tavernier Tutt'Art@

That’s one trait that I wish I didn’t have. I wish I was one of those people who could utilize healthy outlets for all the shit life hands them instead of bottling it up and causing many Pompeii-esque catastrophes in both my personal and professional lives. Time is of the essence in these situations and most of the time I can physically remove myself from the stressor, but in cases where I cannot… BLAMO!

When I took an introductory psychology course in university, I remember that one of the modules made mention of a book called WHY ZEBRAS DON’T GET ULCERS. It touches on the body’s fight or flight responses as well as explaining the differences between how certain species respond to high stress environments and how we humans have the wonderful added cognitive power to PERCEIVE AND WORRY RELENTLESSLY ABOUT EVERYTHING until we make ourselves sick and die.

You’d think it would be the other way around. Us, so high on the food chain vs them, our herbivorous prey. I never thought I’d be jealous of a grazing land mammal, but I really am!

I often wonder why I handle things so poorly compared to others I know. I also stress out over really dumb things. I remember when I was 7 I tearfully confided to my uncle after watching The Simpson’s episode about Homer having a heart attack that I was pretty sure that my heart was also gonna explode right outta me because I was having those good ol’ benign childhood growing pains. A 7 year old otherwise healthy girl should not even have organ malfunction on her radar. At least NOW as an adult my anxieties and worrisome thoughts make a bit more sense and are way more valid.


I think my next tattoo is gonna be an elaborate cursive piece that says “Don’t sweat the small stuff”. I’m also gonna situate it on my ass, which isn’t small by any means, but is certainly sweaty. I think everyone should have at least one funny tattoo on their posterior to brighten the day of the medical personnel or morticians that will one day be privy to view it.