The Cheeseblog

Yesterday I purchased the novel GOLDEN GIRL for 49 cents:

The headline above the title:
“The superblonde bred for the 1980 Olympics.”

From the back:
“Goldine is GOLDENGIRL, a bright, beautiful, manufactured monster, bred from Nazi stud-farm stock, trained since childhood by the most inhuman methods.”

Liverpool Daily Post says, “Fascinating…frightening…expert…the storyline carries you along to the unexpected outcome.”

Now those are low standards.

In other news
The BC Liberals are finally under investigation for something! What could it be? Police from organized crime, commercial crime and drug units were involved.

(In a tattoo parlour in Maui, the red cell phone rings.
Gordo says, “Give me a minute,” to the artist. To the phone, he says, “I have no statement to issue at this time.” He presses the “end” button and tosses the red cell phone in the direction of his shed jeans.
“Cheers,” says the Hell’s Angel named Marty. He flexes his bicep, admiring his new BC Liberal Party tattoo.
“Cheers,” says Gordo. He takes another gulp of his martini and bends over so the tattoo artist can finish etching his right butt cheek with the symbol of the BC Hell’s Angels.)

Will the BC Liberals be shoveled without dignity into the pit of muck where the NDP are still writhing? Probably not. We expect a lot less of the Liberals. (well, some of us do. A number of us are still surprised when they lie.)

When I drive my 1988 Toyota Tercel and an SUV cuts me off, I don’t get angry because I’m not surprised. But when another Toyota Tercel cuts me off, it’s a betrayal. What about the sisterhood?

Absolutely beautiful day in Vancouver today. -4C. Clear as a bottle of Tanqueray.

The lesson is: if you diddledaddle too long over a blog entry, the browser window you’re working in will crash and you will have nothing to show for all your meticulous editing.

2 main points:

One: Guy socks are cheaper than chick socks. 50% cheaper for comperable quality. I love my new Men’s/Hommes Wilson Premier Sport & Casual socks in black, black and grey. 3 pack for $4.98.

Two: Women pee on toilet seats in public washrooms. Maybe men don’t know this – how could they? But really – some women are so petrified of what they think is on toilet seats, waiting to jump up and bite them, that they stand and perch and squat over the toilet. This is about as successful as you might imagine.

On the other hand, maybe everyone but me (and the two chicks I’ve had this conversation with) squats and just some chicks are better at wiping up after themselves.

Not most of them, though. Most of them are filthy beasts. Remember that the next time your girlfriend tells you to put the toilet seat down or criticizes your hygeine in any way. Say, “I bet you’re one of those chicks who squats over the toilet in public washrooms and pees all over the seat and then doesn’t even have the common courtesy to wipe up her own pee.” 75% of the time you’ll be right.

I dare you.

Yesterday I told Sarah that it wasn’t really snowing very hard in Burnaby. Then I had some tea. Then I looked outside again. It looked like this:

Oops.

We walked to the store. I ate some non-radioactive Vancouver snowflakes:

See, Burnaby is not a nuclear-free zone. Don’t eat the snow here.

And just because, here’s one of my new ducks trying to get at the Christmas dinner leftovers:

The End.

When you look up into a snowy sky and it’s all just white on white with the falling bits kind of glimmery and shimmery, it’s easy to topple over and bruise your bum and get really wet but still laugh really hard because it’s beautiful.

In past years I have lived within spitting (or stumbling) distance of a liquor store. The current house is a 10-15 minute walk or a 5 minute drive, depending on traffic, trains, etc. I decided today that I prefer this distance.If you walk, you are earning your alcohol. Working for it, in a way. And if you drive – and sometimes you have to – you pay for the privilege by having to deal with parking lot ghouls and above-mentioned traffic and trains.

Plus, sometimes – like today! – it’s snowing and it’s slightly safer to walk. And your chin gets cold and you get snow all over you and you’re really happy to get home and try on the new socks you bought at Superstore. Red fuzzy chenille socks! Half price!

I have been lucky enough to use some fantastic soap for the last few months. The woman who makes it donated a bunch to the organization I volunteer with and no one else has been interested in it. It’s amazing soap because it gets me clean, doesn’t dry me out and doesn’t really smell like much. I use it on my face and body, even between my freakishly huge toes. It’s cut in blocks, unlabeled, in a big cardboard box in the volunteer office so I never really knew who made it or where it came from. (I’m a trusting sort.) But just now, whilst tidying, I have found a piece of paper that is a business card and presto! there is a website here. I got real excited and went to it!

But someone is trying to make a point that I’m just not getting. The company is called Nurture with Nature, right? The woman’s name is Sheila. She lives on Scotia Street. She makes soap and is in touch with her soul and whatnot. Grand and groovy. Like a lot of internet/home businesses, the site is not spankyfancy, which is fine. But the weird bit is this device where there are frequent substitutions in the text: “z” for “s”.

Az in, zoap iz nice becauze it getz you clean. The substitution is mostly used in the product descriptions, not in the paragraphs about Sheila and her life. But in the case of: “zhampooz,” I’m thinking; hey, wha’ happened? I can see how an “s” at the end of a word sounds like a “z”. But in front of an “h”? Whatcha gettin’ at? Zheila zells zlimy zoap down on zcotia ztreet, I guezz.

I’ve heard of substituting letters so’s to take the “man” out of woman – spell it “womyn.” Or going a little further and removing our “wom”bs from the equation entirely to make it “wummin” and “wimmin.” But the s/z thing confuses me. Is it a feminist thing? An environmentalist thing? Did it just seem funny at 3 am when they were finishing the text for the site? I guess I could email her and ask.

Good damn zoap, though.

The thing about Christmas is you don’t eat for hours and then you eat the whole world. And you’re so full you might cut yourself open just to pull out the food you shouldn’t have eaten. And then you sit around and play “War” and your mom beats you and you might want some dessert and it’s good and then two more hours go by and you’re hungry again. I think I want a snack.

The towels are nice.

Hickory Farms food is not nice.

Chocolate mousse is nice.

Cheese sauce, of course, is very nice.

It’s a Wonderful Nice.

The catt is glad we’re home but he’s still getting used to my new duck slippers.