Going Off Facebook

Zoom's delightful reruns made me take a look at what I was doing at this time last year. Tiana also does this on her blog (Congratulations, by the way, Tiana! Nice little fellow you got there).
Last year at this time I was just becoming a Facebook user and even had a mission statement worked out for myself. My year on Facebook has left me unsatisfied. Here are some reasons I'm going to go off Facebook:

1) I'm addicted to Scrabulous in a sick kind of way and could basically spend my whole life playing it if I let myself.
2) I've stopped caring about accumulating celebrity "friends". Friending up with these people has gotten me nothing!
3) Reconnecting with some people from my past has brought out some negative feelings in me: jealousy, regret, resentment. Instead of expressing these emotions, I have to write superficial things on their "walls" like, "Oh, I'm so happy for you, living in your beautiful space with your beautiful wife with your Canada Council grant and your gigantic studio and your insanely successful career"...
4) I've discovered that Facebook is a lazy man's pick-up joint. Facebook flirting is lame, lame. Lazy. Get off your ass, fellows! Go to a bar and flirt there!
5) Fun Walls are not fun. Fuck fun walls.
6) I don't want to look at people's family photo albums.
7) I end up in conversations with people on Facebook who would never normally send me an email or contact me. What's wrong with some boundaries? No, I don't want to catch up with my childhood classmate who has become born-again and hopes to save me via Facebook.
8) I have run out of witty things to say on my "status" line.
9) I don't ever want to be superpoked again.
10) Did I mention the Scrabulous addiction?

Here is a question for y'all: How do I gracefully remove myself from Facebook? Or, should I just rip myself off, like a bandaid?

Templates

I'm messing around with templates, and lost all my "favourites" in the process. I am hoping that by changing my template, I will be more inspired to write. Going for style over substance, in other words.

Aggie update and random thoughts

1) I'm still sick, but I won't blog about that because that's boring.

2) I am bracing for a big transition ahead: starting work next week, moving back to Ottawa, etc. You can bet I'll be calling an ESI emergency meeting to discuss--how to support Aggie while she goes through this rough transition.

3) I'm feeling ambivalent about blogging these days because I'm trying to reduce my screen time and do other things like a) cook
b) read c) get well d) sleep e) watch TV (it's a different screen, I know...) f) talk/communicate g) spend quality time with my person and cat unit h) make stuff out of fabric i) organize my life. I am aware that blogging itself doesn't take a lot of time. But, once I get on here, it's hard to get off. I'm definitely removing myself from Facebook. No point being on there now that I've reconnected with all my exes and discovered that they have become gay, breeders with SUVs, or really happy in some way that annoys me.

4) [Redacted] ... A rant about a friend getting married again, and me questioning that decision and the whole institution. I read what a wrote and I didn't like my tone. So .... redacted!

5) I'd better quit while I'm ahead.

Lost voice

I have laryngitis. I have decided to just "go with it" and stay silent. When folks talk to me, I don't respond except to smile weakly. I don't want to blame my family for my current condition, but ..... I was speaking before I spent the week with them.
In other news, I'm starting work again in a week. The transition will be rough, and no one will feel sorry for me. Another reason to stay silent.

Reasons I can't blog right now

1)I have been out in the sticks. I just came into civilization to shower.
2)I'm at a family reunion, relating to family, all of them, including in-laws and out-laws.
3)I'm sick despite gargling with salt water, taking Vitamin C, drinking oregano oil, ingesting garlic.
4)I'm too tired to blog.
5)There is no...

In the past 24 hours...

1) I have witnessed a sleepover with seven 11-year old girls. There was make-up, there were fancy clothes, there was screaming, there were brownies, there was opera singing, there was swimming, there was nail polish, there were romantic movies. The only casualty was a lost earring.

2) I made the acquaintance of a fellow who says he lives in a house with ghosts, one who he sees regularly (an old man in a black-hooded coat), and a group he hears (a bunch of kids who are around 5-6 years old).

3) I saw a mother spray Show Sheen (a spray for detangling a horse's mane) on her 11-year old daughter's curly hair.

4) I met a guy who played Jesus in his church's Easter pageant, and who showed me photos of himself nailed to a cross.

5) I made a quilt while drinking gin and tonic.

Things that annoy me...

My friends will attest to the fact that I am highly sensitive to inappropriate language. For example, I'm very particular about salutations in emails, so please don't address me with a "Hey Aggie"; that's "Dear Aggie", thank you very much. And, don't even get me started on "yep".

Here are two of my latest language annoyances.

1) "cats are OK- purrr"/"dogs are OK- wooof" - I'm reading this in rental listings, Craig's list, etc.. Why do they have to add the "purr" and "wooof" thing? And EVERYONE is writing this! I love cats and dogs, but it just annoys the crap out of me to constantly read this purr and woof shit.

2) "yummers" - This one is all over the food blog world and it makes me gag. I guess it means delicious. As if "yummy" wasn't bad enough! The Urban Dictionary has a nice first definition of yummers here.

Looking for Housing

I'm looking for a place to live. Not to buy. To rent. I will be a renter for the rest of my days. I don't really care (can we really own things anyway?), but I'd like to be able to find a decent place to rent. I haven't so far. Part of the problem is I haven't settled on a neighbourhood. Another problem is I don't want something shitty with an insane landlord. I also don't want to be dealing with nutty neighbours. I want a small patch of grass for my cat. I am looking for an interesting francophone or mixed (non-WASP) neighbourhood with a bit of a street life.

1) Little Italy/Chinatown. Haven't seen anything good yet.
2) Vanier. Can't quite get my head around the Montreal Road/Beechwood disconnect.
3) Hintonburg. Haven't seen anything interesting yet.
4) Hull. Has potential, but haven't found a place I really want yet. Not really in love with St.Joseph Blvd, although it has its hidden charms. Old Hull? The bureaucrat/crack addict disconnect is also hard for me to get my head around.
5) Aylmer. Too far. Price of gas.

The Fate of the Don Cherry Trenchcoat

The Don Cherry trenchcoat accompanied me to Portugal, but didn't make it back. I first showed it to my travel companion on the early part of the trip, and she agreed that it was "pretty bad", followed by --"how much did you pay for that?" So, the trench stayed in my bag as I travelled all over Portugal. Then, I ended up in the Algarve with my brother, sister-in-law and niece. I pulled the trenchcoat out. My sister-in-law tried it on, and said, "Why don't you just get rid of it?" Earlier that day, my brother noticed that a group of Portugese animal rights folks had a little used clothing place where they raise funds for the critters. So, the trenchcoat went to a good cause. It is contributing to saving the Portugese beasts!

Good purchases/Bad purchases

I am on a shopping diet since my trip.
Here are a list of some of the better purchases I made, along with the more questionable ones.

Good purchases

- a manicure in the Lisbon airport. Perfect!
- a new blue jacket. Love it!
- a 5-Euro shirt from Zara. Sweet!
- a pomegranate-extract-smelling Swiss body spray. Nice!
- Italian-made panties that depict a field of poppies. Lovely!
- a truckload of lavender sachets. Adorable!
- a quilted wall hanging with appliqued scene of Portugese women in black sitting in front of pink house talking with a clothesline of bra and panties above them. Beautiful!

Bad purchases

- the Don Cherry trenchcoat (I'll talk about its fate later).
- Portugese tiles bought at a Lisbon flea market. I bought too many, and extras were thrown in to make the deal sweeter. They are very very heavy. I don't know what to do with them. I bought them early on in the trip then nearly broke my back carrying the damn things. Some of them are chipped from all the travelling.
- pre-paid internet access in a seedy little Lisbon hotel. The hotel computer broke, and I was told by the front desk dude that it was "not his problem". I wondered if he had read about Megan's "not my problem" filing system and had taken it to ridiculous extremes...
- Hermes body cream purchased in Paris airport. I thought I was being very chic and French by buying this. But the stuff stinks. And I have the nice Swiss pomegranate body spray. So I don't need it. Bad.
- A red suede handbag. I don't need this. I was convinced by a sales person that this bag was "me" -- that I was sassy, red and exciting, and that this bag would complete me. It's nice, but do I need it? No.

Travel soundtracks

When I travel, I sometimes have surreal soundtrack moments: when I hear music that either compliments or doesn't compliment a place. Here are some memorable travel soundtrack moments I've had:

Kupang, West Timor, Indonesia: Hearing this Vanilla Ice tune while -- in full tropical heat-- riding a Bemo, an Indonesian taxi, which is basically a pimped up minivan stuffed with more people and chickens than you can imagine.

Seoul, Korea: In a woman's underwear/lingerie store. I heard this Ace of Bass classic (as interpreted by Britney) while examining a pair of padded-ass panties. Yes, they sell padded-ass underwear in some parts of the world...

Malmo, Sweden: At a small outdoor skating rink in a public square on a crisp January morning, watching children skate to Abba's Take a Chance. This one made a lot of sense.

Nashville, Tennessee: I took control of this travel soundtrack. In downtown Nashville traffic, I was driving a minivan containing two very badly behaved nephews. To calm my nerves, I shoved Bob Dylan's Nashville Skyline into the player. This one made a lot of sense to me, too.

Lisbon, Portugal: This is my latest soundtrack moment, and took place in a taxi, driving through a beautiful old neighbourhood with palm trees and tile-decorated homes with exquisite linens hanging out in the sun. My friendly, stocky, Portugese-only speaking driver was playing Bon Jovi's classic Shot Through the Heart. I have a great new appreciation for this tune:

"Shot through the heart,
And you're to blame
You give love a bad name
I play my part, and you play your game
You give love a bad name.
You give love a bad name."

update coming soon....

I am still on my European holiday. I will be updating the blog soon. I know you are dying to hear what happened to the Don Cherry trenchcoat...

Don Cherry Trenchcoat

I bought a godawful trenchcoat yesterday, having convinced myself that I need a trenchcoat to travel. I'm travelling tomorrow, by the way. The trenchcoat is....think Don Cherry. I bought it yesterday because 1) it was cheap, 2) the saleswoman gave me 20% off because of a missing button (an extra button was in the pocket) 3) I convinced myself that it was a 'happy', 'cheerful' trenchcoat (which should set off alarm bells...). I got it home, put it on, and decided it had to go back to the store. I located the receipt. The receipt said, "Final sale. Exchange only within 15 days of purchase". I went back to the store. The saleswoman said, "It's a final sale because I knocked off 20%. No exchange." I showed her the receipt, blah, blah, blah. She finally, grudgingly said, "OK". So, I looked around the store and found nothing I wanted or needed. In fact, I concluded that I disliked the whole store. Then, I tried on the godawful trenchcoat again, and realized it was the best thing in the store. So, I went back to the woman. Blah blah blah. Then, she said, "I'm going to have to take your receipt away because you can't have an exchange next time." I was too defeated and f-ed up about the cheap, shitty-looking trenchcoat I was walking away with to argue with her.
But, hello! Bad business practice, no? When people exchange things, they usually end up spending more. They also feel better about the store. I'm never going back there.
Meanwhile, I'm walking around looking like Don Cherry.

How to Sell Something to Aggie

1) Display things beautifully.
2) Have an uncrowded store.
3) Hire impeccably polite and adorable Asian men who don't do the hard sell, but gently flirt with customers.
4) Offer a "free" gift if a certain amount is spent.
5) Flog your wares as Canadian-made (even if they are only designed in Canada and made in China).

Wow, there are actually 5 things this time! I walked away from this store quite a bit poorer yesterday, convincing myself that a good purse is an "investment", and pleased with myself for "winning" a new beautiful canvas gym bag, valued at $50. Ahhh, global capitalism. It works on me like a charm.

Music for the Long Weekend

Here is some inspirational music for the long weekend. I heard this 60's band, the Honeycombs, on a CBC thing on Friday evening and I thought they kicked ass. Apparently, their producer, Joe Meek, stuck a microphone under his front steps and got them to stomp to get the banging effect. The female drummer is very cool. I would like to dress like her and be like her.

I still have a lot to learn

*I don't know how to remove bubble gum from a leather purse strap and clothing.

*I didn't know that it was still possible to lose a document on the computer. I assumed there were enough back-ups: the "do you want to save?" questions, the auto-saves, the temp files, etc... But, no. It is still possible to actually lose a half a day's work. Gone. Zap. Fuck. And, yes, I called the technical guy, and he said, "Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but you lost it!"

There are a whole lot of other things I don't know, too.

Mother's Day

My dear mother sent me this email yesterday explaining the origin of Mother's Day.

Do you remember the origin of Mother's Day? Our friend, REDACTED, was pastor in Grafton, West Virginia. A Methodist woman started it there in her church in the early 1900s. Evidently she was a real bitch and not nice at all to her mother. She felt guilty after her mother died, so she started mother's day. Evidently there is a shrine to mothers in Grafton. Love from your sainted Mother.

Bless her, I think she is letting me off the hook for not sending a card. I do plan to give her a ring later...
Did you people know that Mother's Day was started by a real bitch who was not nice to her mother?

Bursting at the seams

I have not been blogging, in case you noticed. But I'm doing ok, in case you care. In fact, I am chock full of creativity right now, and am bursting my seams with ideas:

1) 4 book ideas. The first three could be books or could be magazine pieces, and they are in the Do-It-Yourself genre. The fourth idea involves diagrams and is more of self-help kind of deal.

2) 1 massive art project. I need a photographer (Coyote?), a painter, or some other kind of art person, and a short story writer. My team has not yet been assembled, but I'm sure with the IDEA I have, we can get massive funding to pull this thing off.

I would love to tell you more, but aren't you supposed to keep ideas secret? Or, are you supposed to tell all the world, so that you are more likely to actually realize them?

Extreme Crafting

My apologies for the lack of posting. And, sorry for not updating the Bakelite story. Soon the sordid secrets of Della's blog will be revealed.
I am all relaxed and happy, just coming off an extreme crafting/retreat weekend during which I made my first quilt. Pictures will follow. I also made a naughty French maid apron and a cushion. Also did lots of clothing reconstruction. The naughty French maid apron was made from a curtain valance.

Strange Day

Something weird is in the air today. The weirdness started on the way to Ikea when I almost hit a pedestrian. I apologized in two official languages, then decided that it was a bad day for city driving so I retreated. Then, I got my bike out and rode it down St. Denis to do some errands. I kept thinking I heard my name. "Aggie!" I thought I heard a beautiful young woman in a wheelchair yell. Then, I thought I heard my name again from a PETA activist, "Aggie!". Then, I thought I heard "Aggie!" again, this time from a taxi driver as I was crossing the street. What does this mean?