The Cheeseblog

Dear asshole man(s)
If you want to kill yourself on Hastings of all streets, in a 1980 blue Camaro, in front of the Dolphin Theatre, be my fucking guest. But I do not wish to die for a long time, not in an ’88 Tercel, not within 4 blocks of my highschool and not on a Sunday when all I’m doing is returning some movies. Ideally I would like to die at 90. Of natural causes, real ones, not a cocaine-induced heart attack or because I got smashed into by an idiot who probably just got stoned watching the sunset. Go away asshole man(s)! Go race with SUVs on the railroad tracks. Go play macho-tag with the jerkoff in the jeep with tires filched from a tractor and a stereo blaring “Have you Ever Seen the Rain?” so loud my fillings knocked together. What-evah. Just go fast into that good night and get out of my road.

Do not be alarmed: I’m not one of those people who can go off, make days worth of changes to a webpage and then WALLA! reveal it to the world. I enjoy the instant gratification too much. Plus, my life has a tendency to grow insanely busy at the drop of a needle and then I forget all about what I was doing in May.

All that to explain why, if you hit th’new, improved cheeseblog more than once a day, you might get a different page every single time. Because I am playing.

Tho’ I think I am maybe done now. I have accomplished Orange.
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Yep, I got me a new face on.

I like the wordpress font. Plus wordpress lets you blog via email with SECRET CODE emails! Oh!

So, here it is. Th’cheeseblog.

Appropriately, we are making macNcheese right now. I grated the cheese. That is all I have to say about it. Mostly this is a helloworld.

My question is, what, exactly, is a “natural cause” when it kills you at 56?

Anyway

The recent cold snap caught me by surprise. I was unable to fathom that I might need a layer so I got wet and cold in my black tank top and thong sandals. Sure did get some fond glances at the liquor store though. Then I got to thinking: why do we suffer through winter at all? We have the technology to engineer a woman’s body so she only bleeds when it’s convenient, why not engineer the actual Seasons so that winter and fall never happen. Think: continuous bloom and warmth. No shivering, no turtlenecks for those who should not wear them, no boot wars, where the waterproof and the fashionable stand off and swear at each other on a muddy pier. No hooded plastic jackets that smell like Barbie and then smell like Barbie-after-the-gym. No need for waterproof mascara (which never rubs off, no matter how industrial the remover), no need to worry about this year’s umbrella trend – Berber, Family Tartan, Faux Monet? – only to spend the $150 and then proceed to lose the pointy bastard at a restaurant opening to an up-and-comer who could afford either a new umbrella or the payment on her new Jetta that month but definitely not both. Like Cristal says in Showgirls, There’s always someone younger and hungrier coming down the stairs after you.

I can’t do it. I’m trying to write like Leah MacLaren, on a dare, but I can’t. My teeth keep wincing.

This guy on the bus today looked like an extra from Battlefield Earth . But he had kind eyes. And a Real McKenzies coffee mug.

Well, we had a wasps’ nest on our back deck for a while. The wasps just flew around and didn’t bother us much, they were busy taking food in, having meetings, whatever. But time went by and people told us horror stories; how wasps’ nests can grow to the size of a MAN (a big man? a little man?) and how the longer you leave them to grow, the meaner the wasps get, especially if there’s a queen and how nothing would work to get rid of them, not poison, not incense, not incantations, only an exterminator would do.

We looked at the home depot and the rona and the other store and the other other store and all those places had the same Flying Insect Wasp and Hornet Killer and all the FIWHK told us to do was get in there, cowboy, and soak the nest with poison, well great except the nest is hidden in the awning of the porch roof and if we could see the nest then we could see if it was as big as a man or not and then decide how to proceed and if we had to soak said nest, what were the odds of us getting close enough to do so without getting stung to within an inch of our admittedly boring but still precious to us lives?

So we told our landlord. He gave us a can of FIWHK and we sprayed in the general direction of the wasps and they died. And then our landlord caulked the crack and now there are two sad, confused wasps that come by every couple of hours, flying slowly and sideways by, going “hey where’s our queen? wasn’t there a door here? dammit we didn’t even get PAID for this job!”

So: Happy ending! But while we were talking & thinking wasp, I got to googling and I found W.A.S.P Nation which is, predictably, a site about the band W.A.S.P (remember? from school? stands for “we are sexually perverted?” at least it did at my school?) which is funny enough on its own.

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