Bob Barker

Confession: I love Bob Barker. I teared up today when I learned that he is retiring. I grew up with Bob Barker, even though my parents were communists and highly disapproved of the Price is Right and everything it stood for. I loved it. I loved the bubble-headed prize models, the bouncy-boobed women running to the front, the games, and of course, Bob. My older brother and I used to play a game called "The Price is Right" with monopoly money and various "prizes" we found around the house. My brother always played Bob, and I played both prize model and contestant. My brother seemed to pick up on Bob's manner and mannerisms, including his smooth-talking sexism, and his thinly-veiled mean streak. If I lost a game, the fictional Bob was effective at quickly booting me off the stage. This meant that The Price is Right game frequently ended up with me crying to my mother about what a mean capitalist my brother was. The response was always, "Why don't you play something that doesn't involve greed?"
But greed was why the show was so delicious. Who cares if Bob is a Republican, a sexist racist pig, an animal birth-control activist? Bob might very well be the perfect American.

On the mend

I've compiled a small list of good things about being sick:
1) I got to play lots of Spider Solitaire and not feel guilty.
2) I got a full body detox without having to pay lots of money to hang out with New Agey types talking about their colons.
3) I am grateful to be alive
4) I got to spend quality time with my cat.
5) I am making things like rice pudding in my recovery phase, and that is good.

And here are the negative things about being sick:
1) I felt like shite.
2) I thought about death (and being eaten by Alsatians...)
3) People forgot about me.
4) I realized I was not indispensable at work. In fact, everyone is functioning quite well without me.
5) I have developed a mild form of agoraphobia because I've been in the house for too long.

On a lighter note, I received an email from Olga, my personal trainer, today. She wants a report on my progress. Of course, I'm going to play the 'sick card'. However, I'm thinking of starting some kind of light training program in the upcoming weeks rather than launching right back into the toxic sex, drugs and rock n' roll life I was leading.

Being sick as a dog...

Speaking of Belinda, Peter, purebreds, etc... I'm sick as one. Not only am I sick, I have a nose injury from a toilet seat slamming down on my face. I am not a pretty sight these days, and even feared being found half-eaten by Alsatians (to quote Bridget Jones). I decided to go to the doctor today to prevent this from happening. Here are a couple of extracts from our conversation:

Doctor (who appears to be around 18-years old) : Could you be pregnant?
Me: No. Do you know how old I am?
Doctor: Oh, right.
Me: Right, indeed, sonny. Please tell me you don't see pregnant women coming in here looking like me.

Doctor: You have a virus. If it gets worse, just go to the Emergency room.
Me: But if it gets worse, I won't make there. I'll be eaten by Alsatians!

The doctor did recommend Gatorade, which I'm leaning on heavily. And Advil, as opposed to Tylenol, which was doing sweet f-all for me. These two things alone may keep me alive here.

Babies and mums

Just to get the record straight here: I like babies, and am not against procreation. I do not believe that babies and wee ones should be seen and not heard. I am pro mothers getting the fuck out of the house with their kiddies and going to public places. In fact, I'm against the ones that stay indoors, go insane and end up smacking their kiddies with coathangers. However, the following are some baby-things that annoy me:

• SUV-size strollers. Unless you have given birth to triplets, do you really need one that size?
• doulas - you know, those people mother's pay vast sums of cash to make plaster castes of their guts, and coach them through childbirth. My favourite doula story is one in which a dear friend of mine's mother chased one off when my friend requested drugs, and the doula tried to intervene with a meditation exercise. I think the mother said something like, "Piss off, ya' bloody quack!".
• attachment parenting. This means you never get away from your kid, and go cuckoo. This means never allowing your kid to cry. I'm convinced that this form of parenting leads to massive doses of SUIs.

I wonder how Musie is doing with the Chinchillas?

Stroller rant

What is with the massive baby tanks women are running us down with on the streets? My favourite cafe has been overrun with these things. This morning, a woman rammed into my table with one, spilling half my coffee. Instead of an apology, she flashed me a lovely beatific smile. What is this new non-apology culture we live in?
I am not anti-baby. I love babies. But, if you can afford that big chariot tank of a stroller, you can also afford a babysitter.
I say bring the smokers back. That will keep them away.

Sunday update

Well folks. I think I have a handle on the SS addiction. I've come to realize that I will never completely master the 2nd level, so why bother if I can't advance? Other things that have helped me overcome my addiction:
1) acupunture
2) friends simply turning the computer off in the middle of one of my sessions
3) drinking again
4) shagging my new boytoy, P, on the keyboard
shsereskrewjrlkjesrlkjserlkjserkljserlkjaserlasejreisrjslerijselijteitjslghgriuivuyiesyeiw
sehresrhejthekjhtjethestuesthausety8iguuewjejrwketkwweuoitiestuilseuliseutiestiseu
ersgiegigiehgihseoighsiehihgihihiohhoihoiohohohohohohohoohohohohooa

Update on SS addiction

1) When I told a 20-year old that I was addicted to SS, he said, 'That's a pretty lame addiction to have.' I have learned that I am capable of having a lame addiction -- as opposed to a sexy one, like, say, alcohol, drugs or sex.
2) I know that if I want to break this addiction, I have to make a recovery plan for myself. No Addiction Centre will take me. Imagine me saying to an intake worker: 'My name is Agatha, and I am a Spider Solitaire Addict'.
3) I am annoyed by other people who interrupt my addiction or who try to talk to me while I am in the zone.
4) I have completely given up my exercise (training program) because I am devoting all my energies to Spider Solitaire.
5) I have mastered level 2, and am heading towards level 3.

False Alarm

Clearly, I'm going to have to hang around as the stand-in muse until the 5th muse starts 1)blogging regularly 2)complaining more 3)telling us what's really going on over there 4) moving out of bliss-world and into something real. Yeah yeah yeah, I'm happy you met R and he's so great and he's got such a great family and blah blah blah. Who cares. You know what? I'm more interesting right now. Here's why - 1) I blog regularly even when I have nothing to say 2) I complain a lot and am about to launch into a rant right now 3) I'll tell you what's really going on over here 4) bliss-world can bite me.
Rant of the day: I hate innocent people. You know the type - the uncontaminated-by-the-world types. What's wrong with them? Why are they so naive? I encountered a dough-faced (or should I say, doe-faced) IP today and her response to something so completely benign was shock and horror. I just wanted to say, "What? You didn't know the world was a bad place? What's wrong with you, you fresh-faced innocent one? Piss off!"
What's going on over here: As I mentioned before, I've become a Spider Solitaire medium level difficulty expert. I'm addicted and am spending far too many hours playing this game. I feel like a genius when I win. An old waiter-friend with whom I celebrated Thanksgiving suggested that I may have "a problem" and didn't appreciate the fact that I was more intimate with the King of Spades than I was with him. My response was, "Let me dabble in this addiction without pathologizing me, ok? And, while you're at it, piss off!"
Bliss-world can bite me: What's with the happy blissed-out folks? What's with the everything happens for a reason people? What's with the everything-in-my-life-was-leading-up-to-this people? What if this doesn't work out? Bliss-world and it's finished products, smug-marrieds, and organic vegetables* can all just piss off!
*(Yes, I just trashed organic vegetables. People are paralysed in Toronto because of organic carrot juice. Sometimes organic means just plain old dirty).

The real muse is back....

I must say, I am relieved that my term as replacement muse is over. The real muse is back. And, her latest posting is full of all kinds of cryptic messages. What is this extended stay she speaks of? And what were she and R doing in a jacuzzi? And what is this triple birthday celebration she is talking about?
I am confused. I feel that we need to call an Emergency meeting immediately, and I will have to fully devote my attentions again to the metablog.
Of course, I will be willing to step in as replacement muse again if necessary.

La la la la....

I'm ignoring the metablog. I will not be appearing there for a while (until the 5th muse returns) because I'm finding that one blog is just plenty. I'm not even sure if I should be attending future Emergency meetings. It's all I can do just being a muse.
I'm having a sick day today (probably from the strain of being a muse). It's a legitimate sick day, unfortunately (ie. not a shag day). I'm currently at the second level of Spider Solitaire now - two suits. I don't win very often. It's a dreadful waste of time on a beautiful day like today, but I'm justifying it by being under the weather.
About the talking cat video. I ordered up that video from YouTube two weeks ago. I thought I didn't know how to because it didn't appear on my blog. Then, suddenly out of the blue, it appeared. That's creepy.

talking cats

Other addictions

1) Spider solitaire. Solitaire -- the game of les solitaires. I play at the "Easy" level, just one suit. Why? Because I like to win every time. I like the sound effects of the cards - Swwwwooooosh. Nice.
2) Marmite. What can say? I'm an Essex woman who needs her salt lick.
3) Waiters. I've discussed this already.
4) Reading about who Belinda is shagging.
5) Reading satires about Republicans getting caught with their pants down.

It's easier to be a metablogger than to be a muse

You metabloggers have it easy. You just rant, whine, complain, throw up a YouTube, reprint a newspaper article. You don't have to reveal anything but your self-referential, witty selves.

Being a muse involves much more: I have to be unique, interesting, self-absorbed, dysfunctional. I have to be generating enough struggle in my life to keep metabloggers engaged. Yesterday, I made a feeble attempt to bring in some work struggle. I was scared of getting dooced, so I didn't elaborate. No one metablogged, or even noted what I wrote about anyway. Work struggles. Yawn.

My possible alcoholism got only a wee bit of attention. But alcoholism is so pedestrian. Hardly muse-worthy.

My training program bit the dust. I am horrible shape even though Ottawa is supposed to be one of the great fitness/spandex centres of the world. Not muse-worthy.

I believe I saw the kidney stone/blackberry lavalife man. Remember the one who I suspect stood up two of my friends. He ogled me and my companion, and eventually came over to say hello. I considered pretending to have tourette's syndrome, and having my tick be to shout out "kidney stone" and "blackberry", but I couldn't bring myself to do it. If I were a real muse, I would be doing some field work with this fellow and blogging about it.

Sick days and other days

I am pro sick day, just-starting-to-get-a-cold day, shag day, mental health day, need-to-do-errands day, hangover-day, recovering-from-a-heartbreak day, I-want-to-finish-this-novel day, just-don't-feel-like-working-today day.
However, when one takes 3 weeks off, and to then tack on a my-kid-has-sniffle day, is just not on.

chicken cacciatore

Thanks to all of you who have supported my new blog. I agree with Bob that I should just forget about exposing my emotional struggles to world. Only the 5th could pull that off. I've decided that I'm just going to blog about what I eat.
This weekend was a chicken cacciatore weekend. I think that's how you spell it. It's important to brown the chicken first. It's GOOD, especially the day after.
I also drank two bottles of red wine. I have decided I need to moderate my alcohol intake.