So first off let me put it out there that I have a perhaps unhealthy obsession with Mason Jars.

I will put everything and anything in a mason jar. I have to go to Canadian Tire at least every second month to stock up on a new case of them. Currently I need more 1.5 liter ones. Good thing xmas is just around the corner.

The above is just my house, don’t even get me started on the office – I buy office supplies in bulk just so each set of items can fill a mason jar. Paper clips, bow tie clips, push pins, markers, pens, elastics – they all have a mason jar. All clustered together, as their beauty is really seen in bulk. I love them. So when I made myself a smoothly tonight as a way to get some probiotic yogurt in me, I realized that I gave away my most favorite smoothly cup to my best friends boyfriend as a gift. The coveted cup is called ‘Big Wow’ and it really lived up to it’s name. No joke the cup could fit a large dogs head inside of it. Don’t ask how I know that. Because truthfully, I don’t. Anyway, I purchased Big Wow at Valley Fair in grade 11 and although I know that Ryan loves that cup, I still miss it and I especially miss it when I make smoothies, because as any smoothy maker knows, a regualr sized cup just doesn’t cut it. Not by a mother fucking long shot.

So in my despair, I looked up and saw my many mason jars all in a gleaming row and just then, as if they whispered to me, an epiphany struck me.

So many uses. So very many uses.

I’m not even really sure what to write right now, all I know is that my mom was all up in my bidness tonight being like, why haven’t you written anything in the past two days?! So I sat down to write and all I can think about is the shit jobs around my house that I had to do just now. Could be that I can’t quite get the stink out of my nose or the fact that I’m realizing that it’s TIFF and the only festival that I’ve attended tonight was a stink fest – either way, I hope you like this post mom – Happy Birthday.

So here was my night. Seems like I alwasy leave these big disgusting jobs for one solo evening alone.

1. changed my green bin bag (which is super gross b/c my cat’s ‘droppings’ go in there too – rotten food plus rotten feces equals rank, if you didn’t know. and then times that by one trillion when you actually go outside to put the little green bag of mess into the green bin. There is nothing like the powerful stink that wafts out when that lid is lifted and you get to smell two weeks worth of ‘green bin materials’. I swear if those raccoons ever knock my green bin over again, I will move out of my house before I slop up that mess again.

2. cleaned out my fridge which contained 2 vats of almost could be rotten soup and tomato sauce gone terribly wrong. (which I poured down the toilet and then it clogged and I had to hang up on my friend abruptly, call my dad in a panic, find my plunger and wait with baited breath as the tank took about 5 tries to get it to flush again normally.)

3. clean out the litter box (which made me gag so hard I almost barfed and then made into a video called ‘one girl one litter box’ – which as a side note, when I was home in Winnipeg last weekend I made my mom watch ‘2 girls 1 cup’ as I watched her reaction from outside the room and she saw about 20 seconds of it then ran to the bathroom and dry heaved. priceless. Then my brother made us watch ‘one guy, one jar’ which she then really did puked at. again, things money can’t buy…)

So that was it, just an evening of  dirty work.  Which wasn’t easy for me because I have the most easily triggered gag reflex when it comes to rank smells. I can’t even feed my cat without gagging. Wet or dry food I get nauseous. Which is sort of funny because even thought I hate to gag, I think that gagging is one of the most funny things in the whole entire world when it happens to other people. It’s a gesture that I often mime whenever I’m expressing my distaste for something or someone – but when it really happens and I get to watch someone gag I just can’t help go into hysterics. Last summer, me and my friend Tara and some other kids were loading up her houseboat before we were taking off for the weekend and someone stepped in dog poop and tracked it all over the dock and the smell was just horrific. I started to fake gag as a joke and I thought that Tara was joining in on the fun of a dramatic fake gag. She was just going over the top with it until I realized she was in fact really dry heave gagging like no one I’ve even seen before in my life and even now thinking back to it I am literally laughing out load b/c it was so funny. I hope I remember that moment always.

So I have been to the dentist 8 times in the past one month. That’s right 8 times. Here is the list:

1. Repair of my chipped front tooth
2. Regular six monthly check up / cleaning apt.
3. Making of molds for tooth whitening trays
4. Picking up whitening trays
5. Filling (for the cavity found in my check up)
6. Fixing my bite after a filling
7. fixing my “night guard” for the interm and then getting molds made for my of my new night guard
8. fitting of my night guard

I don’t even want to total the amount of what all this has cost me (and I don’t have benefits) let’s just say this is the reason my visa no longer works.

Part of why I’ve gone back so many times is that I can’t get enough of my dentist. Not is a sexual manner, for he is about my grandfathers age (just kidding – I just wanted to use the word ‘grandfather’ – but he does have a bit of a salt and pepper do of a distinguished gentleman, thus suggesting he is quite a touch older then I) but rather in the way of loving hearing him speak. I can’t get enough. In fact, this man wasn’t even my regular dentist. I cheated on my old dentist, whom I loved very much – just to be with this new guy and listen to him talk. I’m not kidding.

On visit number 2 my regular dentist was too busy to take a gander at a few “developments” that my mouth had going on – in the way of a cavity or “decay” as they say in dentistry terms – and so Dr. Nixon came in to take a look. Immediately I fell for him. He used sentences like “We’re going to get in there and fix that up with some really excellent dentistry.” I mean how do you not love when someone uses a phrase like “excellent dentistry” – and it’s also just the way in which he says things too – he’s just really precise with all of the words he selects and is so deliberate in his delivery. I guess it’s hard to understand unless you’ve heard him first hand but let me tell you – he could be a character from SNL – and I mean that in the most delicious way possible. He’s one of those people that uses your name in just about every second sentence. I never use peoples names, but I think I’m gonna start! It’s sort of creepy and sort of awesome!

So, alas. Today was our final visit, I guess for a while (my wallet can take no more). I got my new mouth guard fitted (I grind and clench my teeth like a mo fo when I sleep). He took about a solid 5 minutes to explain how to clean it – like, not just saying “ok, brush it off in the am, rinse in the pm” but he really went into thorough detail and said things like “ok, so what you’re going to want to do here Kristen, is just remove the dental device from your mouth – just wiggle it gently down, applying a touch of pressure, and then just squirt a little hand soap into it. Now if that really isn’t appealing, the just use a touch of toothpaste and just give it a good brush. Kristen, just get into all the nooks and crevices of the device and then place it in the water to rest throughout the day. Put the glass beside your bed and then just when you are set to go to bed, you just take the device out of the water, shake it off, and then Kristen you can just put it in place.”

Love it.

I am basically so super jazzed that I can hardly contain myself – literally I just did one of those happy dances where I ran on the spot with my little feet doing baby steps at 1000 knots per minute and fired finger guns into the ground.

Why my outburst of joy?!  Well, becuase as Oprah quoted herself in her last issue of O Magazine; “you are you’re most powerfull when you are in alignment with your souls purpose” and, my friendies – I am so in alignment it’s not even funny – and powerful amazing things are flying left right and center! But let me tell you, it wasn’t easy to get here – my ego tried it’s hardest to trip me up and I almost fell pray to some fear based thinking – however, my feelings lead the way and my belief in myself and my ability to make the right decision for me and my life and my business has been confirmed every new step I take.

What am I babbling on about?!?! Well, I took on a business partner.

That’s right, a full on partner to my baby business, The Ten Spot.

In someways it was a completely no brainer decision because it wasn’t based on bringing in a partner – it was about bringing in this specific partner (her name is Kerri, btw and she’s simply amazing….). But in other ways it was a really hard decision, actually no, strike that – it wasn’t a hard decision, it was just hard to let go of certain thoughts of who I was and what this would mean or what I would think that it would mean. For so long now I’ve been used to this pretty much exact dialog every time I’d meet somebody new:

’so what do you do?’
“well, I own a little spa on queen street.’
‘really?!?! which one’
‘um, it’s called The Ten Spot – just past Bathurst there’
‘oh no way, that’s amazing. yeah, I think I’ve heard of it. Like you guys do what there?’
‘well, like spa stuff, manicures, pedicures, waxing, facials, you know.’
‘wow, so like, is it big?’
‘well, we have about 20 girls working there.’
‘oh my god, that’s huge, how old did you say you were?’
‘27.’
’shit, and you started this when?’
‘3 years ago.’
‘and so like, you have a partner or it’s like a franchaise or something?’
‘nope, it’s just me.’
‘wow. that’s really impressive.’

…and there it is – that’s what I was most afraid of losing in taking this on. It was my ego wanting to get all the glory for being so “brave and savvy” that was holding me back.  I’d love to say that it was more then that – that I actually had some practical concerns like ‘what if things don’t work out and shit goes pear shaped and you have to buy yourself out of your own company?!?’ – but that’s not how I think. Everything happens for a reason and I knew that learning that kind of a lesson isn’t in my cards. I just had and have this feeling that if I ever wanted to be what I want to be in life that I had to do this – that this felt like the next big step – a step that I had to take.

But even knowing that this was what I knew I had to do and what I felt was meant to be – it didn’t make it any easier for my ego to not have it’s petty reservations. Silly reasons to doubt myself came up like;  well if I have a partner then I’d have to change my title and I’d no longer be “owner”  … or my visa points will have to be shared now … or I can’t call it “my company” anymore… All things that when said out loud seem so silly and insignificant but to my little ego they were huge and so it took me a little bit of actual grieving that as the past to let go of that part of me that enjoyed the notoriety of getting to be ‘all about me’.

And once I did it felt 1 trillion times better.  I felt so drained and stressed out thinking about it (for like a whole weekend – longer then I’ve ever thought about anything (besides a boy) in my entire life.) That I just had to let it all go and that this is a new phrase of things and I really feel like this is it – this is that key that answers the ‘how’ of how I’m going to get where I want to –  actually, sorry, let me rephrase that – of how WE are going to now get to where WE want to (which PS, is to be the Starbucks of beauty bars).

And so, since I’ve let it go and embraced fully this new chapter in my life and in my business life, I’m seeing that I like this so, so, so much better; that saying “my partner and I” literally makes a smile breakout on my face and that going on a trip with her with ‘our’ Visa points to scout out a new location is going to be so much fricking fun and that creating a new funky title for our business cards over a pint of beer is going to be a blast. Plus there are so many things that I didn’t even anticipate or expect to be part of this new partnership – like flip charts and um, not having to do this all on my own.

And if feeling amazing and light and revitalized and full of energy weren’t enough of a signing bonus – the universe is showing it’s support and kudos of us making this decision to do this together, by way of incredible, incredible things falling right into our laps. I’ll expand on that more hopefully tomorrow once some documents are signed (!) but let’s just say that world beauty bar domination could be a reality sooner then we thought!!! Ahhhhhh!!!!!

I have a really close girlfriend of mine and we were mocking ourself and some of the stupid and funny shit that our personalities have made us do in the past. She told me that when she was younger and upset she would go into her bedroom, turn off all the lights, light just one candle, put on some dark, deep melancholy music and just lie there wallowing in and loving her sadness.

It was funny because the day after we joked about this I was back in Winnipeg in my adolescent home and I was washing my face in the bathroom and I turned on the stereo in the cupboard ( I installed it myself when I was 15)  and this Nirvana song came on, The Man Who Stole The World. In fact, it came on not once but three times during my weekend at home and I couldn’t help but find it funny because Nirvana was so tightly interwoven into my brooding ritual when I was younger – in fact, it was my ritual.

After a fight with my mom I would run up the stairs and into my room and slam my door as hard as I could – like sometimes I’d do a two handed slam where I’d use all of my body weight to shove the door, which part of me would really love that I was so bad ass and then another part of me would be really scarred that I had over done it and that my mom would come busting in. That kind of exhilaration would only happen in the winter because most times the would of the door would swell in warmer temps and then the bottom would catch on the carpet and  drag and I would have to do a few mini slams at close range in order to get the satisfaction that I craved. After assaulting the door I’d then find my Nirvana album in my 60 disc CD changer, and I would blare ‘Rape Me’ as loud as I could stand it. That was my go-to song, as I thought it would be most offensive – true, it was a bit of a stretch to get the lyrics to fit the exact sentiments I wanted, but in my mind it worked.  Anyway, then I would sit in front of my mirror and cry. Not sure why I prefer mirror crying, maybe because I have a fascination with contorting my face, and god knows when I turn into a cry baby my face does some amazing things. Once my best friend told me that I looked like the old 90 year old version of Rose from Titanic when I cry. I tend to agree. Anyway, I’d usually ware myself out and re-organize my desk drawers until she’d take my brothers to hockey then I’d go then go find something to eat and watch tv. What a nutter. I can’t wait to have kids.

Nowadays I don’t react quite that badly, although I did throw a glass down a small set of stairs once after a particularly bad night with my Ex, but other then that, the most I’ll do is vent to freinds using the F word 6 or more times in a sentance (as opposed to my usual count of 4) or if I’m really worked up I’ll go on a cleaning spree follwed up by a really hot bath and putting myself to bed early – but after this weekend, I’m kind of back into Nirvana and I might have to add it to the mix again.

Ok, let me just be honest with you all. I have herpes of the face. I think I got it from my dad too, which is totally disgusting. The bastard most likely kissed me goodnight when I was 5 and I’ve had cold sores ever since. Anyway, guess what I woke up with this morning….

Thank god it seems to only be a baby one because let me tell you, my face has seen some massive blisters of pain before. See this photo of me last year i=on my trip to Cambodia. It’s a beaut.

My most memorable one was when me and my best bud Nuala went to Europe for a summer. Day one we land in Paris and right as I’m climbing the stairs up to our apartment I feel that unmistakable tingle. Two hours later I have a ONE inch cold sore right in the center of my face, above my upper lip, a week after that it forms into a scab that lasts THE ENTIRE MONTH LONG TRIP. Let me just really paint that picture for you – from afar, it looked just like Hitler’s little moustach and from up close it was a disgusting pussy mess. For a nineteen year old that was ready for a summer of fun, flirting and flings – it was devastating. However, I’ve just had to deal with them. My angle is to pretend it’s not glaringly obvious that I had scabs on my face. Over the years, I’ve just realize that it’s not really that bad and go on with things. In fact, that summer, I just strut my stuff anyway and actually landed myself a boyfriend on the last leg of the journey. Booya. Anyway, I knew this was bound to happen given the stress I was enduring and hey, I’m just thanking god I don’t look like Charlie Chaplin again.

So… I don’t know, guess who went to see Nirvana The Band The show last night?

Um, I did.

And guess whos’ like sort of friends with them?

maybe me.

Swear to god, when my friend Craig introduced me to them, he sent me the link, I sat there watching a few episodes then I called him and was like, “fuck dude, these guys are so funny. I want to be friends with them.” I did literally say that and now, because of a stalkerish moment of running into them at Terroni’s – I am, sort of  - or at least I’m really tight with Jay’s mom (Hi Mrs. McCarrol!).

Anyway, last night they had this big event to cap off the show (btw, if you haven’t watched it – do it now – especially watch “Hobbies” – which might just be my favorite thing, I should send it to Oprah to make her list too – we really think alike… anyway, I’ve been obsessed with this little bit comic genius, since, like, this post – it’s almost as bad as my love for Clark & Michael, which is my other most favorite internet show).

The show was sold out. It was a packed room to see these guys, complete with a merch booth and tons of hooting fans and it just got me thinking about the internet and my love for it and also my love for doing stuff and seeing how when you do things, it impacts other people. Ok, that came off sounding really stupid – let me unfurl my thoughts (that sounded more intelligent, non?!?).

I just think it’s so amazing when people actually go out and do something just for the sake of doing it – like, for example, this show – and then through their passion and dedication – because let’s be honest although the show is light and irreverent, it’s serious work to pull this off – they bring it to life and then it brings others to life.

Just from an idea and a bit of action. It’s amazing.

The crowd was pretty damn giddy to see them live and in person – all these cult followers of an internet show gathering and lining up to see these, now, internet cult celebrities, was just so cool to see.

And it was cool to be a part of it. To know that we all shared this same love for this show and we all got the same jokes and references and we all could relate to one another in the same way because of it; from the big burly beaded guy that stood in front of me, to the uber cool Ossington chick with the Parlor hair cut sitting on the sidelines, to the sort of weird looking girl with the really high-wasted white short shorts to the left of me  - it was like all of us were in on this inside joke, laughing at the same things. We all knew the lines, we all knew the mannerisms and we all knew the hilarious dynamics of these two characters. We all got to be a select few people that had sessed out this comic gold on the world wide wide web, and we all got to experience this because of some idea that some people cooked up and then made a reality.

And that is just really, really fucking cool.  And it’s also cool to think about the fact that that is how that world is created – from ideas to action to connection. Everything comes from nothing. whoa. (said like Joey Lawrence, from tv’s Blossom)

‘er, so did all of the above sound like I am high on PCP?!?

Holy dyna. For the past 3 hours I’ve been sitting in my flat bawling my god damn face off. Literally. Chunks of mascara are all over my cheeks and it wasn’t till about 10 minutes ago that I pulled myself together. Why might you ask do I have a ‘crying headache’ and need to take a couple Advil – well, because I just read the most saddest book on the plant – The Time Traveler’s Wife. oh my god, it is just the most perfectly sad, longing for love, story I’ve ever read and it so perfectly articulated how I feel sometimes when I am feeling sad, longing for love.

Nothing like being in the city of love, alone with only a handful of distractions (one of which is reading sad love stories) to make you weepy for love and romance. I honestly can’t even believe how much I cried over this book or for that matter how much I cried over Michael Jackson. Actually, that, I can believe. I have had a 25 year UNWAVERING love affair with that man since I was 3 years old, and I’m not kidding – ask my mom. 

I’m so heartbroken that he’s passed away and that there will never be anymore music from him. I feel so sorry for his sad but brilliant life. I was supposed to go to his concert over in London while I was here with my friend Kerri. We were just picking out our dates that worked for us…

Although all his songs are amazing (‘Ben’ is my old school favorite) I have to say that Dangerous was my most loved album, and from that album, the Free Willy song is my favorite. That album was grade 6 for me. I really don’t remember much else from being 12. I listen to that CD more then was normal or healthy and since I was deeply in love with Macaulay Culkin that year it worked out well that he was in the video for Black or White and so two of my obsessions came together in perfect harmony. My mom used to make me clean the bathroom when I was younger and with the ’sani-foam’ I would spay the initials MJ and put a heart around it EVERY single time I cleaned the counters. I even did it later after I wasn’t so enamored with him, just out of habit. Man I loved him. 

I found out at 2am two nights ago. I was asleep and there was this insane thunderstorm over Paris. The crack of the thunder woke me up and I saw my blackberry blinking. I checked it and got a flood of ‘OMG, can you believe it texts’. I opened my laptop to confirm and read the reports. And then I closed my lap, put on my free willy song and just bawled my eyes out on the floor of my Paris apartment. Fuck, here I go again with the tears. I’m out of kleenex and I can’t keep this up. I guess he was all finished with whatever he had to do here. wow. He’s such an icon, it’s crazy that he’s gone and even crazier that he was alive and was what he was. 

Anyway, despite my uncontrollable outburst of sorrow, I’ve been doing fun things. Here are the pictures to prove it. Ok, so first up is my french class. I was sort of saving this one for you all. Actually I was just crafting how I might get a shot of one male classmates in particular without it coming across too obvious – so alas, I had to wait until the last day to take class shots. I think I need not say anything more – just enjoy… am I being mean? he was really, really nice – just had a flare for “fashion”.

Anyway, today I ate fresh raspberries in this cute baby box and then met up with my friend and saw a great outdoor concert in a beautiful park that I can’t remember then name of and I’m too lazy to look it up. 

The band played this really old style of American music – like very Woody Allen film style stuff – sort of like something you would sing in the 30’s I guess, I couldn’t place it – The lyrics were in English which the crowd loved – however, they really didn’t make any sense, stuff about going to jail but in that ol’ rag time kind of way, where you’d picture them wearing black and white stripes jail outfits and having a ball and chain around their ankles and then hoping on a train and meeting up with a hobo. Ok, that’s not what the lyrics were about – it’s what I thought of. Kind of interesting that these young and hip looking french boys would be singing this style of music – sort of wasn’t congruent, but it was really funny and fun at the same time and the perfect thing to do on a Saturday afternoon in Paris.

Then I went to this area of Paris called Oberkumpf and had rabbit for dinner! Can you belive it. I was kind of weary but it’s very French to eat rabbit and I figured since I’ve already done frogs legs, I’d give it a whirl. Tasted like chicken, quelle surprise.

I almost don’t want to share this story – but I feel like I have to because I am so utterly naive, that I deserve some public humiliation.

I’ll preface this story with a little BG info. So,  just yesterday I was walking through this amazing market near my house and as I was soaking up the romantic vibe of the city and of course, being me,  my mind quickly wandered to romantic things I would love to experience. In this particular romantic fantasy, I thought of how wonderful it would be to be strolling through Paris, on a date and to have that dreamy someone slip his hand into mine, intertwine our fingers and pull me in a little closer (thus offering up that oh so subtle yet, obvious signal of attraction – aka – ‘it’s on’.). Cut to: The cutest little cafe one could ever imagine, sitting there laughing, talking, drinking Rosé and then of course, comes that moment when I know that first kiss is imminent, things get serious, the tension is perfect and then of course, he slips his hands around to the back of my neck, and pulls me in for the most delicious kiss, perhaps, maybe, ever imaginable.

Yes, all this actually went on in my head. I can’t help it – I’ve been day dreaming these intricate scenes every since I started producing hormones - sub in any crush, fiction character (Edward Cullen) or celeb (only up until I was 11 – does anyone remember Devon Sawa?!? He played Casper for about 2 minutes of on screen time with Christina Ricci in 1995 – ok, so I was really 13).

So on with my ridiculous tale.

I met this guy the other day while I was touring around with my sweet new American friend. Me and the American were having lunch and at the next table over sat two funky looking Spanish gals and a guy. We all got to chit chatting and it turned out they all lived in Madrid. The guy was French and originally from Paris and he brought the girls in to see Paris for the weekend. They couldn’t say enough about how amazing Madrid was and that I absolutely must visit while I’m in Europe. One of the girls who was super sweet invited me to come to Madrid for the weekend and so we all exchanged contact info.

A couple days later, the guy Facebooked me and said he was still in town till thursday and if I wanted to grab a coffee. Seeing as I meet up with strangers almost everyday, sometimes several times per day for these neutral coffee dates I gladly accepted and set up a time and place apres mon class du French.

So today we met up and went to grab a bite to eat. At first, as with most of my meet ups the convo was a little awkward but after about 15 we were in a fun full fledged convo all about religion, life, relationships – we discussed it all and I was really engaged in the conversation. He was a great guy and I also have to say pretty damn good looking – BUT, I was not interested “in that way” and I assumed he wasn’t either. um, I was wrong.

After lunch he asked if I wanted to hang out a little more – I said for sure and that I needed to grab a French cell phone (as my Rogers bill must be like 6 trillion dollars now). On the way through the mall he took my hand.

At first I was like, ‘uh, oh, does he have the wrong idea here’ but then I was like, ‘no, no, Kristen, this just must be how things are done in Paris – men hold hands with eachother in India – and friends must hold hands with each other in Paris. but of course! It’s the city of love and loving your friends is part of that! I’m not putting out ‘the vibe’ I didn’t even wear mascara for this coffee date, so surely he must think we are only friends.’  

Right.

So after our handholding stroll (like, I am literally laughing at the ridiculousness of myself right now) we head to another area of town and sit for un cafe. We are chatting and sharing music on our iPods – having a grand old time – I’m enlightening him to the sweet beats of Talib Kweli and we start chatting about french guys and how you can assume that they are bad news until they are in love and then they are hooked. When asked how can you tell if they are in love he replied that you just ‘go with the flow’  - and guess what! That’s right, the sweetheart goes in for a kiss – I finally clue in at the last available second and avert the lip lock not once, but twice. All of a sudden, flashes of my naivety come flooding back to me – talking about love, romantic music that I like, the HAND HOLDING – like, fuck, how obtuse am I! 

Now, I have to laugh because it is almost exactly what I had been day dreaming of – only of course in the day dream I was all over the guy – but good to see that the universe is receptive…. just have to be a bit more specific in future.

Last night I came home a wee bit tipsy. After another ridiculously long day at work, me and some gals from the shop hit up a few of the local beverage spots on Queen Street. I think in total I had two glasses of wine, a shot of Jagger and a icy cold brew – which was, yes, enough to make me a tiny bit tanked.

I rolled in at about 12:30 – 1ish – after feasting on some Chinese food (I know, it’s a sad state when you eat 6 pounds of chinese food after only 4 drinks and at 11:30pm – back in the day I would have hit up the wok no sooner then 11:30 the next morning and after a whole lot more then just 4 lady bevvies. Perhaps one day I’ll share those wild tales and you can all learn why I have an serious aversion to the smell of money.).

So I crawled into bed and normally when I go to sleep I peel back a section of the duvet, slip in and hardly disturb the rest of the bed. All of the “show pillows” remain in their place and the next morning all I have to do to make the bed is pull back over that corner of bedding and fluff up my “sleeping pillow” (which as a side note, has a secret embroidered second sham over it that my mom gave to me when I went off to University that says “Good night Sweet Pea, I love you so much” which is something my mom had said to me every single night since I was born and  yes, I’ve been told she still says it to herself out loud before going to sleep. My brothers lines were “Good night Little Lamb, I love you so much and Good Night Sunny Boy, I love you so much. I’m sure it gets tiring saying all of that each night so I bet she just says it to me before falling asleep).

Anyway, I should note here that I have a king sized bed and that this means that I’m sleeping on less then one quarter of my beautiful pillow topped Jesus’ cloud bed. I don’t know why I got into this habit – maybe becasue I am a lazy ass and it’s easier to make in the morning, or maybe it’s because that was my ex’s spot and it feels weird to creep over or maybe it’s because I don’t like throwing all the pillows that I hand stitched, uncaringly onto the floor – which is a bit ridiculous seeing as it’s not like I keep feces and garbage on my bedroom floor – but nonetheless, it’s been that way. Until last night when a more drunken me thrashed around throughout the night and I woke up in the center of my bed with bits of last nights mascara streaked down my face and both my “show” and “sleeping” pillows strewn about.

It was great and I have to say in a lame ass kind of way – it felt a little liberating. Sort of like when I leave random pieces of clothing strewn around my place. Obviously this isn’t a huge breakthrough in my life but it is interesting the kinds of uncoucoious decisions that I’ve been making – that I’ve got this amazingly comfy, giant ass, plush super sized bed all to myself and I’ve been acting like I’m sharing it. I’ve been holding back on stretching out, tossing and turning and loving it all up.

Makes me curious as to where else in my life I’ve been sleeping unconsciously.

I do! Yep, I have this thing lately for dressing up like I’m going to a costume party every day.  It doesn’t start out that way, I usually get dressed normally but then I’ve recently gotten really into accessorizing and that’s when the theme of the day comes out. While on vacay I wore my Audrey Hepburn large brimmed hat with my giant Jackie O glasses – so I was officially from the late 1950’s.  Then in the evenings I would rock my little fedora that I stole from my friend Mel and I’d wear all the thin gold chains I had, so I sort of felt like I was a Cuban man. But today I really took the concept of theme dressing to a whole new level.

I had this top that I got at V Villagé a while back. When I made the $3 purchase I thought that it would remain an “at home piece” because it was too unshapely to be worn in public. It’s crops quite high for it’s material (which is grey sweat shirt fleece) and has a rather boxy shape – sort of like those mesh jerseys’ that a teen slut used to wear with bike shorts back in the diz-ay. Sick I know. I paired up with my baggy boyfriend jeans (which were actually my jeans from when my ass was a few sizes bigger) and it looked dope. Sensing that the outfit was beginning to take on a late 80’s/early 90’s feel I felt compelled to kick it up a notch and add my plastic red and white stripped hoop earrings, matching red jelly shoes and put my hair up into a pony tail with a feathery bang (the feathery bang was actually not on purpose – just bed head gone right).  As if the outfit wasn’t bad ass enough I continued to outdo and entertain myself and found all of the dainty gold rings I have collected since a tween and put them all on . Yes my friends, even on my pointer finger (and bonus, I actaully already had a classy french manicure done the day before. I swear sometimes I feel like the hand of god is at work).

Does it get anymore Degrassy then that! Like for reals – who wants to go malling? I think my babysitter actually wore this exact outfit – back when I was six and the best thing in the world was eating fun fruits and getting to stay up late to watch The Raccoons! I will always hate you Cedric Sneer.

It was a great look and although I had to explain that the rings were part of my motif as to not feel completely embarrassed, the outfit got rave reviews. Here is my photo-shoot after my breakfast at Grapefruit Moon with my friend Jen – can you believe we found this fire escape! There you go again, Jesus, just showin’ off…

So my moms left today – she had to split the vacay early due to circumstances already prearranged. I have to say I miss that little bundle of quirkiness and security and it’s been really wonderful reconnecting with her. We’ve had a tumultuous go since the family got it’s ass blown out and this was our first mommy/daughty trip in a long, long time. In fact it’s been a long, long time since I’ve spend this many consecutive days with her. During the past 5 years of awfulness with the fam damn, things have been volatile and our relationship was a bit of a touch and go, off and on mess – once having a blow out where we were quite literally estranged and didn’t speak for almost a year. However, I\’m so happy, relived and grateful that things are finally back on track! 

So anyway, it was a super great time having her here with me even thought it was short lived. We went out solo a couple of nights and hit up the cutest little martini bar that Playa Del Carmen has to offer – my mom doesn’t drink. like ever. so after two “lychee dynasty” martini’s (after math pictured below) we played the question game, where I asked her things like; what was your grandpa like, what’s the scariest thing that’s even happened to you, what nationality am I really (for years I was told English, Irish, Russian and French – then a few weeks ago after a Goodlife salsa class with her she told me that the reason I must be able to dance so well is because of the Spanish in me?!?! Que?), and how many people have you slept with (this question I regretted after asking).

Anyway, it was fun times all around and all I can say is thanks mom for saying I’m your favorite (just kidding she would never admit that).

I’m super busy these past few weeks mainly with my biz, but there also been lots on the family, friends, physical activities (barf) and freelance design work front. My schedule is insane at the moment which is totally helping out with the early to bed, early to rise program I’ve been working on. I’m tuckered out by 10pm (yeah, I couldn’t believe  it – I had my jam jams on and was in my bed at 10:30 last night – sure I watch HBO until 12 – but still it’s better than me making dinner at that time!) and thus I get up earlier too – 7:00 today! booya! (ok, sure, then I moved downstairs to my Sultan’s Den to have a nap from 7:15 to 8:09 – but still, these are improvements!).

Anyway, what I was trying to get out was that I was just approached again today to take on another design project and when I get asked to do more in a busy time my initial reaction that runs through my head is always, ‘crap, I want to do this, but can I take this on right now?’ – then my next thought that follows is from another more wise character in my head that says, ‘hell yes you can do this and you know what, it\’s going to help you get your other projects done too’. Which seems like a contradictory thing for that voice in my head to say, but in fact, it’s not. 

I’ve learned that the more I do, the more I get done. When I’m in high gear and have lots on the go, I need to schedule and be efficient and thus I’m extremely productive – when I don’t have a lot going on I procrastinate, waif around and everything seems to be a lot more effort and a challenge. Swear to god, it once took me six weeks to do a load of laundry. For the first week I thought about doing it, second week I sorted it, third week I put it at the top of the stairs, fourth week I took it down and put the load in, fifth it went in the dryer (yes, after a re-wash of having it sit there wet for the week) and finally on the sixth I folded it. Two days ago I did two loads of laundry while working on a freelance design project, sandwiched in between a morning finance meeting, a yoga class and an early evening pow wow with my manager.

I think it’s the momentum of it all that is that key. I mean as long as your not burning yourself out and know when to draw the line, then been busy is the bomb!

I have to say that me and my body just haven’t been friends lately. I’ve really been harping on it and totally not appreciating of it at all. Issues have arisen because I haven’t been feeling comfy in my jeans lately – they are a little snugger then I’d like and instead of rightfully blaming my demin, I take it out on my ass, thighs and muffin top.

I glare at myself from the torso down in the mirror with a look of disgust and then try to force my parts into my Citizens and when they don’t shrink on command I get all pissy, tell my body, “ok, fine asshole (no, not you – I wasn’t being literal…), be that way” and rip off my jeans, through on a pair of yoga pants and give my lower extremities the silent treatment till we have another awkward moment right before hoping in the shower. 

So I was thinking about this as I had to skivvy down and put on my hospital gown for my acupuncture appointment and realized that I’ve been having a lot of negative self thoughts and talk the past while.

Anyway, as Cindy was stabbing me I asked that she leave my one arm free because I for once planned ahead and brought my iPod with me to my appointment and I needed the mobility to scroll my playlists. She finished filling my face full of needles and left me alone in the dark to get my chi going for over an hour.

During the hour, some sweet hip hops beats came on (my current fav Atlanta Anthem is T.I. featuring Justin Timbytanks) and without even being aware of it, my arm and hand were thugging out hard core. In that moment, seeing the bad ass moves my hand was throwing out to my homies, I started thinking more about my sweet little body suit that I’ve been given and how it does so much for me and how miraculous it really is and what an ungrateful little brat I’ve been towards it. 

So as I got redressed I made an effort to give all my 2000 parts a shout out; ‘hey tits – haven’t acknowledged you in a while – you’re looking good  and you know what, tummy, you’re not so bad either – ass, what’s up baby – sure you’re not my ideal size but you’ve got shape and lord knows you can shake it like the best Polaroid picture this worlds maybe ever seen!’

Something just totally hit me just now as I was unloading the dishwasher. Allow me to unfurl my thought process…

So, I slept in today – like really slept in – till 11:45 in fact. Now I know that I must have needed it – I’ve been feeling run down and like I’ve been getting sick and so I on purposely ignored my alarm but knowing this still doesn’t help me with the guilty feelings I get from oversleeping, it just feels like an excuse to me.

I’ve menioned this before, how I fret over small stuff like that – I feel like anything that could be seen as a waste of time (a.k.a. a waste of my life) I don’t handle well. It’s like when I hear about those people that go on vacation and then the first thing they do is go to their hotel and take a nap – I just cringe. Like how to do take a fricking nap when you’ve just landed in Paris – I don’t care how jet lagged you are – get out there and sleep later! Anyway, it extends to all “time wasting” activities for me – like being at a resturant for too long when you want to leave, watching tv, viewing two movies in a row or too many in one week, smoking pot, napping, hanging out in a hotel room for too long, and of course, sleeping in. (Note: I do get that I have this frantic need to keep going in larger areas in my life and that I have an insatiable need to shake things up constantly and move from one thing to the next no matter how random or completely  life changing it is… but I’m working from the ground up here… so in the world of Dr. Leo Marvin, Baby Steps.)

Now, wheather or not I’m valid in beliving these things as time wasters or not isn’t really the issue, the issue is that I feel gross after engaging in one or the other and that’s not a good way of living life. I want to enjoy life and be content and happy in whatever I do – so I was giving this some thought.

As I was putting the dishes away I thought about the guilt that I felt while I was living in New York and how I would stay in and do nothing some nights.  Every Sunday I would order Dallas BBQ (full rack of ribs, side of fries, corn bread, extra sauce and a root beer) then I’d watch my HBO line up of Life of a Married Man, Curb Your Enthusiasm and the main feature, The Soprano’s. I’d love it up at the time, then just feel like ass as I’d drag myself to bed feeling like I wasted a night living in Manhattan when I could have done exactly the same thing living in Winnipeg. This went on for months.

Now looking back, in reality, I have absolutely no reason to feel guilty about this. I think if I didn’t stay in that one night a week I would have gone mental, literally (or more mental then I already am) because I was on total overdrive there. I really did live it up there. I had a cocktailing job at one of the most coveted celeb clad, oozing with money, night clubs at the time (once got a $1600 tip after serving some obnoxious 26 year old  dot com billionaire - I served up Snoop Dogg’s Birthday Cake, had Seth Green puke on my shoes (for real), flirted with Johnny Knoxville and the main man himself, Marky Mark and was a witness to Justin Timberlakes and Brittany’s first public encounter aprés their devastating break up – he sent over a round of shots to her and her crew and I secretly tried to lick his face while clearing his table – sorry Brit, he’s was a free agent and I was a slut. Just kidding… sort of.)

I worked there 3 to 4 nights a week and given that NYC didn’t have a last class, I ended up crawling into bed around 6:30 am most mornings. I’d then wake up at 10am and make my way into Brooklyn to my other insane job at Vice Magazine, which was 5 days a week. Being 20 years old (yes, I wasn’t leagally allowed to be working at a nightculb seeing as I wasn’t even legally allowed to be drinking) I soaked up all the bad influence I could. Let’s just say that the office “corporate culture” truly is in alignment with Vice’s magazine content – the sex, the drugs and the rock and roll. Once a gatorade bottle full of absinth was passed around on a Wednesday afternoon and it was ignored until someone said it was so strong it felt like doing crack – then everyone had a swig. I’d stay there till 7:00pm then go home, eat a bag of popcorn and make it back to the club for 8:30pm.

My life was insane – so yes, I should have taken my Sunday nights and been content to cuddle up and stay in however, I wasn’t. I felt slothy and gross and like I said before, I felt like I was wasting my time there – I could be anywhere and staying in like that. So it wasn’t until this moring that I realized that, no, I couldn’t have. 

I will never be in that exact apartment ever again, sitting for hours on that cozy army green couch. I will never be able to feel that kind of exhaustion and exhilaration after a week of insanity like that from those exact experiences.  I will never be able to have that same smug satisfaction of having the delivery man do my 5 floor walk up to serve me what might be the most delicious ribs on the planet. I’ll never be that excited about watching the Soprano’s as I did then – when the entire city was just as excited as I was (yes,Tony even made the cover of the NY Post for a great season premiere). I will never be 20 years old – wide eyed, young, stupid and (that) naive again. 

So when I looked at it that way, I realized that all this time spend on guilt should have been spend on being content and loving it up. So now when I look back at all these other instances that I feel guilt over – I just have to think that yeah, I’ll never get to be here in this moment again, so love it up. It’s finally hit me that I shouldn’t dwell on anything because it’s literally gone forever in an instant. 

I produced a theather show with my ex bf. The show was great, super funny but totally spiritual and thought -provoking at the same time. At the beinging of each show he would start off by telling the audience the date and would spit off a funny intro encouraging them to enjoy the show. I always thought it was clever but I never really felt the impact of these words till this very second. wow. when an ‘Ah Hah’ moment hits, it hits….

So ladies and Gentleman, there will never be another Thursday, March 5th, 2009, so enjoy.

One of my most favorite things to do in all of the land is to go to a cafe and sit there for hours and hours working on my computer; headphones on, cell phone away and I disappear for a chunk of time – emersed  in design work, writing or even busting out a suduko, which I happen to be wicked bad ass at.

I’m always on the lookout for the perfect cafe, one with ample outlets, wireless internet, a cozy feeling and a healthy  supply of decadent treats – I’ve got a running note in my blackberry for this titled “cute cafes”. Startbucks is a reliable back up but I love finding little gems in the city. The old Tequila Bookworm was my favorite – used to go several times a week until they moved and now it’s just not the same. Once I met Stuart McLean from CBC’s Vinal Cafe there, we were a table away and struck up a convo after I asked him to watch my laptop when I went to the bathroom. At the time I had no idea who he was – he told me about his show and I told him about my spa – he later dropping off a few of his cd’s at my shop (at this point we were now buddies and would email new cafes to each other that we’d descovered). I hate to say it but I never ended up listening to the disks and it wasn’t until I was listening to this awesome show one Sunday morning on the readio and was like, ’shit this show is great, who is this?’ – then I looked it up and realized it was Stuart’s show. I felt like such an asshole.

Anyway, today I’m at Zoot Cafe on Dundas at Gladstone – it’s aborable – really kitchy with super friendly staff and yummy homemade cupcakes. All these places have popped up on Dundas West and it’s awesome, every other day I’ve got a new spot to check out. 

This habit started long ago when I was working on my portfolio to apply for grad school for a masters in graphic design. I found I just couldn’t work at home – too easy to procrastinate by cleaning or eating or flipping on the tv. So I’d finish my real job at 5:00 – rush home, eat, pack up the lap top and head to the local SBucks and stay until they closed. I became such a fixtuer I was given free coffee all the time by my gay barrista that I had crush on (not in thaaaaat way, of course, but in the way of like, ‘hey, you’re so friendly and I just love that I get to joke around with you while you prepare my piping hot delicious beverage’).

Anyway, I had gone to school for graphic design at the International Academy of Desing and Tech in Montreal and during that year I totally fell head over heels obsessive compulsive over everything design: fonts, layout, colour, spacing, illustrations, pixels, shapes and lines; anything and everything to do with design I wanted to learn. So, having a long distance bf in NYC and missing living there, I thought a most perfect plan would be to go to the School of Visual Arts there and get my masters.

The program is amazing there – anyone who’s anyone in the world of design teaches or lectures there – like the guy that created the “I <heart> NY” phenomenon was going to be the one to review my portfolio and then hopefully be my teacher! I wanted to get in soooooo badly. To me it was the best program ever – at the end of the 2 years, you came out with all knowledge in the world of design, from web and print stuff to even doing those movie titles sequences or the all visual commercials that you’d see on MTV. Your final year was a thesis year where you produced a full marketable and sellable idea, complete with prototypes. I had always wanted my own business and I thought this would be awesome – either I’d come out of the program and open up my own design shop or I’d create a business from the thesis project. Either way – win/win.

So each prospective candidate had to submit a portfolio for review. At the time I had my old portfolio from the school year before and I also had some stuff from work that I’d done but I felt it just wasn’t good enough – I HAD to get in and I had to wow them. So I enlisted the help of my new friend at the time, Craiggy and set out to do up everything from scratch. I had 9 months till the admissions deadline and figured 9 projects would be good. I thought that since your thesis project was a product that I’d do 9 thesis type projects. Craig would assign me a new project each month and I spend every free second working on it. I did a series of maps for the city of toronto, box set for a DVD, menus, magazine layouts,  a line of skin care products, and a line of gourmet food items – everything I did I not only did the design for but I made prototypes of and then photographed the end result.

who doesn't want a wallet sized map categorized by cravings and desires?

I have to say that my obsessive compulsive nature does sever a positive purpose sometimes and because of it I even outdid myself a few times and went a little overboard on many occasions -ie: the DVD box I did was for a horror movie where the main character get buried alive, so my concept for the cover was to make the case a box coffin with fake mud covering the outside case, then you’d open up the coffin and inside would be the DVD and the pycho killers hand written journal of his killings. It was great. It would be 3 in the morning and I’d be outside spray glueing mud onto a miniature box coffin that I had made of plywood – all this just to have one photo of the thing. I had soooooo much fun doing it. It was like I got to create these mini projects one after another. I don’t think I’ve even felt more inspired and creative – I loved it.

In the meantime the long distance boyfriend and I had broken up, but of course it didn’t stop me from wanting to go, it just made the picture in my head of how things would play out a little different and was a little wired to fly into manhattan and stay at a hotel when I had my interview and tour of the school – but none the less I was going to this school no matter what.

Anyway, I finished up all the projects with a month to spare. I even made my actual portfolio into a project – I branded everything I sent in – one neat little package with a dvd of my work with a designed DVD case and matching disk, Kristen Gale stationary that my letter of intent was written on and hard copy print outs of everything I did.

Two weeks before I found out that I got in (and I did!) I was out for a piece of pie with Craig and I thought of my idea for the spa. I wrote the business plan that night and scrapped the idea of going back to school and used the line of credit I got from the bank for my school loan to put down my first and lasts month rent on the space.

I figured if my goal was to design something to create a business out of, I might as well do it the other way around and start a business to do the design work of. And so that’s what I did. My acceptance letter and portfolio are in a box somewhere in the basement of the shop and each month when it’s time to design a newsletter, print piece or new service menu for the shop – I take myself out to a cafe and work on it for hours and hours – loving every minute of it.

I don’t see my portfolio as a waste of time – in fact I see it a the exact opposite. I think that if I could treat every aspect of my life like I did my portfolio I think I’d have the key to life. To be in love with things just for the sheer joy of what it gives you in the moment with no attachment to the outcome would be bliss. It’s like what I hear of the Burning Man Festival – for a week all of these people come together and pour their heart and souls into the creation of art, buildings, costums, relationships, music, dance, performances and things I don’t even have words for - they create an entire magical Cirque du Soleil-esq world in the middle of the dessert – then they burn it to the ground on the last day, pack up and leave. Google pic’s of this if you haven’t seen it (my friend Annie Lalla wrote and article on it – check it out here)

Anyway, I think this is what the Buddha means by non attachment – just loving something and then letting it go. I think this is why I love art and creativity so much. It’s the only area in my life where I can achieve this impermanence and be ok with it – and in fact, love it. I’ll do my amateur art work – take a picture, make a painting, do a design, write something, make a video and enjoy each second of it – get a buzz off the inspiration that is flowing and then just forget about it after a little while, sometimes never taking a second glance at it.

God, if only I could love like this!

I don’t have a set schedule everyday, which means my days really vary from one day to the next – but the one thing that does seem to be a constant everyday,  is that I don’t end up eating until really late. I’ve never been a big breakfast eater and I just get wrapped up in things – multi tasking my day away – so that by the time I clue in that I’m about to pass out from lack of nurishments – it’s like 4:00 – 4:30 in the afternoon – sometimes even as late as 6 or 7pm. Brutal, I know. So if my first meal is at 5, then you guessed it, my second ends up coming in at 10 or 11, or 12:30 like last night. I am soooo off track with this whole eating thing.

So I’m making a real concerted effort to eat in the am. I think the main issue is that I have an anxious tummy in the mornings. Not sure what it is but the concept of eating first thing makes me gag – I sort of feel like I’m about to walk into a high school dance and I’m a grade niner. Ok, its not that bad, but I am defiantly not hungry first thing – that coupled with the fact that I’m not big on the breakfast food selections. I don’t eat eggs and that’s a biggy in the world of breaky. Neither do I do sausages, oatmeals, yogurts, bananas, cereal, milk – none of it really. So my quick and easy choices are limited.

Not that I don’t looooovvvvveeeeee the idea of breakfast and all it’s choices – it seems like such a fun and healthy thing to do – like your living in LA and just before you pop out to go for a run down the boardwalk of Venice Beach you have a bowl of granola, yogurt and fresh fruit –  instead of my New York lifestyle that I’ve never been able to drop – of hailing a cab, while forcing down the left overs from a bag of microwave popcorn that I had as dinner the night before (true story).

So in turing over a new leaf and striving for balance in all areas – I’m making a place for breakfast in my life. I was actually made  an incredible omelette one morning so I might try making it again and I’m really into smoothies now too. Get that nourishment in me one way or another! I attempted oatmeal, first try not so good, but I’m going to sess out a brown sugar sauce on the interweb to make it a little more appetizing and  I’m super proud to say that today I made myself a piece of peanut butter toast with a few slices of pear on the side AND I ate it! 

before

after - gone before 11:00am!!!

Finally I figured out how to add audio files to this damn bloggy blog – so here is my tooth story that’s gonna be on CBC’s Outfront as refererced in my previous post I’m gonna be on cbc.

Here she be:

Hoffenheim ? Nie gehört.

Ein Nest hinter den Bergen bei den sieben Zwergen ? Kann sein.

Die Zwerge sollen Fußball spielen. Und wie !!! Is das ne Verarsche ? Nein. Aber ein Märchen schon. Und was für eins. Da soll es in dem Fußballnest einen Dorfclub geben, der begeistert für seine Ballermänner die Fahne schwingt. Mit Erfolg. Die Dorfclub-Besatzung ist imstande, bekannte Mannschaften mit 5 : 0 abzufrühstücken. Keine Ente, es ist Realität. Da bleibt einem der Mund offen und Mainz macht die Grätsche. Ein herrliches Durcheinander. Die Qualität des deutschen Fußballs scheint in verschlafenen Nestern die wahren Reserven zu haben. Ein grandioses Reservoir. *grins*

.

Der Ralf von Rang nickte: Geschafft ! Riesige Gratulation !

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Es grüßt Dieter Raedel aus Berlin.

Wie mir soeben mitgeteilt wurde, hat die Volksrepublik China bereits eine Goldmedaille im freien Schießen erhalten, noch bevor den Besatzern das olympische Feuer unterm Arsch brennt.

Dieter Raedel.

P.S.: Mein Beileid für die Schießscheiben !

Der grausame Krieg war vorbei und wir Kinder hungerten. Langsam gewannen die Menschen neuen Lebensmut, doch es fehlte an den nötisten Dingen des Lebens. In meinem Heimatort Ohorn am Fuße der Oberlausitz, wohnten wir zur Untermiete in einem recht beschaulichem Haus. Die Hauseigentümerin besaß ein kleines Grundstück, das sich zirka 60 Meter entlang der abfallenden Straße ausdehnte, wo ein Einfahrtsweg zu einer Gärtnerei das Anwesen unterbrach. Das restliche Stück, eine kleine Wiese, befand sich unterhalb des Gärtnereiweges. Das Grundstück war eine mit Obst-und Kirschbäumen bepflanzte Wiese und gegenüber der abfallenden Straße erhöht. Bevor man vom Rasen die Straße erreichen konnte, musste man einen tiefen Straßengraben durchqueren oder diesen Weg benutzen. Die Eigentümerin nannte ich liebevoll “Tante Ella”.

Gegenüber dem unteren Auslauf des Anwesens befand sich die “Gaststätte Silberweide” oder wie es später in großen Lettern zu lesen war: “Gasthof zur Silberweide”. Rechts und links des gepflasterten Anfahrtplatzes der Dorfgaststätte standen zwei riesige Silberweiden, die in der heutigen Zeit der Straße den Namen gaben: Silberweidestraße. Langsam wurden die Kriegsschäden beseitigt und der “Kegelraum”, dem sich eine Kegelbahn anschloss, erhielt zur Straße hin endlich eine große, neue Scheibe. Man konnte die Freude des Gaststätteninhabers Harry Wünsche, der auch ein ausgezeichneter Fleischermeister war, gut verstehn und selbst wir Kinder freuten uns über die Veränderung zum Guten hin.

An jenem Tag stand ich mit meinem Schulkameraden Jürgen, der in eine andere Klasse ging und bereits damals “Franz der Große” hieß, unter einem Apfelbaum, der sich in unmittelbarer Nähe zum Gärtnereiweg befand. Dieser Baum war berühmt für seine saftigen Äpfel, doch zu jener Zeit bereits abgeerntet. An einem weit ausladenden Zweig hing zu unserer Überraschung noch ein Apfel. Wir versuchten den Baum zu schütteln, doch unsere kindlichen Kräfte reichten nicht aus, dem Baum den letzten Apfel zu entlocken. Alle Versuche, den Baum zu erklettern, schlugen ebenso fehl. Nirgends konnte eine Stange aufgetrieben werden, um an dieses leckere Exemplar zu kommen. Wir beschlossen, den Ast zu beschießen. Steine gab’s in Hülle und Fülle am Straßenrand. Zwar trafen wir ab und zu, doch der rosige Apfel blieb hängen.

Jürgen und ich suchten nach größeren Steinen und waren erfolgreich. Jetzt wird’s ihm an den Kragen gehn, der Wucht dieser Steine wird er nicht widerstehen können. Kurz Anlauf nehmend, schossen wir beide ununterbrochen mit aller Kraft in Richtung Apfel. Leider hörte man ein paar Augenblicke später die neue Scheibe des gegenüberliegenden Kegelraum-Fensters zerbersten. Jürgen machte sich sogleich aus dem Staube mit dem Hinweis, dass ich es gewesen sei, obgleich die Frage nie ganz geklärt wurde.

Schwer angeschlagen setzte ich mich an den Gärtnereiweg und dachte über die ständige Zunahme meines Sündenregisters nach. Heulend sah ich Tante Ella auf mich zukommen, die eines ihrer Schafe lospflockte und dem Tier ein neues Terrain unter dem Apfelbaum zu verschaffen. Von der kaputten Scheibe wusste sie noch nichts. Sie ging zurück zu ihrem Haus. Das Schaf schien sich über mich lustig zu machen und ich warf ihm ein losgerissenes Grasbüschel samt Wurzelwerk an sein Fell. Danach schaute ich weg, weil es mich so dämlich anstarrte.

Mein Blick richtete sich nun zur zerschlagenen Scheibe. Genau in diesem Moment hörte ich einen gedämpften Aufprall : es war der Apfel. Sofort stand ich auf und mein freudiges Empfinden gewann urplötzlich an Fahrt. Aber nicht lange. Das Schaf ging vorn in die Knie, kam so an den Apfel und fraß ihn mit grandiosem Appetit. In diesem Augenblick entgleisten meine Gesichtszüge.

LG Dieter Raedel.

Nachtrag:
Während eines Telefonats mit meinem Klassenkameraden Eberhard, Sohn des Gaststätteninhabers, kamen wir auf diese Story zu sprechen, weshalb ich mich zur leichten Veränderung der Geschichte entschloss. Eberhard meinte, auch er wisse nicht, wer die Scheibe ungewollt zerschossen habe und teilte mit, es lediglich scherbeln gehört zu haben.

Dieter Raedel : Eine Geschichte, wie sie sich eventuell jüngst in Brüssel abgespielt haben könnte.

Eine 80 Jährige beobachtet voller Argwohn ihren 88 jährigen Mann, der zitternd vor Altersschwäche nicht mehr weiter weiß.
“Ich habe Durst, Durst, bring mir doch ein Glas Wasser !”
“Hol’s dir doch, du hast doch zwei Beine !”
“Sei doch nicht so grob zu mir, ich habe keine Kraft mehr, bitte bring mir Wasser !”
“Du hast doch sonst immer den starken Mann markiert. Deine Wackelei geht mir systematisch auf den Keks.”
“Meine Kräfte versiegen. Hilf mir doch endlich.”
“Versuch’s doch mal mit dem Beten. Falls da oben nicht alle Leitungen zu Ostern besetzt sind, kriegste vielleicht einen Kräfteschub gratis. Haha !!!”
“Du erbärmliche Ziege, dich soll der Teufel holen !”
“Was du nicht sagst, du alte Großklappe. Und so einem Unhold soll ich noch helfen ? Nee, du alter Schrotthaufen, daraus wird nichts.”
“Hast du denn wirklich kein Herz mehr im Leibe ?”
“Hör’ mit deiner Quarkerei auf ! So langsam reicht es mir ! Ich kann kann dein Getue nicht mehr ansehn. Ich geh’ jetzt in die Stube.”

Als das nette Mütterchen nach ein paar Stunden zu ihrem Mann kommt, der noch immer hilflos am Boden liegt, bekommt sie einen Wutanfall.
“Du, du armseliger Haufen da unten, hörst du mich ?”
“Ja, hilf mir endlich, ich kann nicht mehr.”
“Du elendes Scheusal ! Ich kann deine Rumkriecherei nicht mehr ansehn ! Ich werde dir jetzt helfen und zwar mit meinem Spazierstock !”

Sie holt aus und schlägt ununterbrochen mit ihrem Stock auf den wehrlosen Mann bis er seinen Geist aufgibt.

“So, nun habe ich die Sache endlich erledigt. Der muckt nicht mehr auf !”

Nach ihrer Sterbehilfe für den einst so geliebten Mann, geht die 80 jährige Dame beruhigt schlafen.

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Diese fiktive Geschichte beruht auf einem aktuellen Mord.

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LG Dieter Raedel.

Satire aus der lieben DDR-Zeit. Clown-Duo “Boony und Kullebumm” im Hochwasser der Elbe bei Magdeburg.

Während einer Tournee des Clown-Duos “Boony und Kullebumm” über die Konzert-und Gastspieldirektion Magdeburg, sollten wir um 15 Uhr in Gommern mit unserem Programm die Kinder begeistern. Wir wohnten 14 Tage in Magdeburg und planten sorgfältig am Vortag eines jeden Gastspiels die Reiseroute – und zwar die kürzeste, sozusagen die ganz kurze. Bei der Fahrtkostenabrechnung hingegen war eine etwas längere Strecke vorgesehn. Schließlich musste man irgendwie kilometermäßig über die Runden kommen.

Auch an jenem Tag war alles präzise geplant und wir fuhren Richtung Gommern. Als wir eine tiefer gelegene Straße überqueren wollten, war diese durch den Rückstau des Elbwassers in einer Breite von etwa 80 Metern und einer Wasserhöhe von zirka einem Meter überschwemmt. Längere Zeit beobachteten wir die LKW’s, die durch das Elbwasser fuhren. Für PKW war die Straße gesperrt. Wir hatten an diesem Tag den Kastenwagen B 1000 im Einsatz, der zur Freude der Volkspolizei von allen Seiten groß beschriftet war: BOONY UND KULLEBUMM – BERLINER CLOWNS. Beschriftete Fahrzeuge in einer derartigen Größe gab es in der DDR nicht, doch die Polizei schien bei Clowns ein Auge zuzudrücken. Jeder, der die Schrift las, war sogleich begeistert. Die Erwachsenen dachten an ihre Kindheit und für die Kinder waren wir die idealen Ulknudeln vom Dienst.

Mein Freund Kullebumm, Werner Hassepaß, dem das Fahrzeug gehörte, zögerte noch und es fand eine intensive Beratung statt. Wir machten es mit diesem Lieferfahrzeug immer so, dass wir mal PKW und mal LKW waren. Clowns sind flexibel. War eine Straße für LKW’s gesperrt, waren wir PKW. Hier war die Straße für PKW’s gesperrt. Kullebumm schaute in den Rückspiegel und fuhr zur Straßenmitte und danach ab in die Brühe ! Vor uns teilten sich die Wellen und ich hatte den Eindruck, in einem Boot zu sitzen. Alles klappte wie am Schnürchen und wir beide schienen augenblicklich “Dick und Doof” Konkurrenz zu machen.
“Siehste, Boony, es klappt !”, sagte Kullebumm und ich nickte ihm zu.

Als ich zum zweiten Mal nicken wollte, blieb der Dampfer mit einem zischenden Geräusch stehn. Wie auf Kommando sagten wir synchron:

“Ach du Scheiße !”

Kullebumm ließ sich nicht lumpen und versuchte neu zu starten. Das hörte sich so an, als ob man mit einer Kaffeemaschine einen Milchkaffee zubereiten will. Ich öffnete rechts die Tür und stellte fest, dass das Wasser wie abgemessen kurz unter der Tür aufhörte.
“Siehste, Glück gehabt, es hätte schlimmer kommen können !” meinte Kullebumm, worauf ich ihm entgegenete: “Schau mal ! Sieht aus wie mitten im Meer !”
“Ja”, antwortete er, “wir machen hier Urlaub !”

Galgenhumor. Kullebumm holte in aller Ruhe belegte Brote aus seiner Tasche und begann zu frühstücken, während ich mir eine Zigarette ansteckte. Ich stieg auf die Außenkante, hielt mich oben am Auto fest und peilte im Stehen die Lage. An beiden Ufern hatten sich unzählige LKW’s gestaut.

“Kullebumm, ich habe eine Idee. Kremple dir die Hosen hoch und versuche die Karre rauszuschieben und ich setz’ mich ans Steuer !”
“Ja, ja, das könnte dir so passen, Boony. Die können ja uns von der anderen Seite rückwärts rausziehn. Eigentlich müsste das klappen.”
“Kullebumm, am besten wird es sein, wenn uns ein LKW von hinten rausschiebt.” Kullebumm stimmte mir zu und ich machte einem bereits im Wasser stehenden LKW-Fahrer gestisch klar, dass er uns eine von hinten verbraten sollte. Langsam näherte sich das Fahrzeug. Kullebumm aß in gespannter Ruhe weiter und verfolgte das Spektakel im Rückspiegel.

“Rummms !” Kullebumm’s restliche Schnitte flog aus der Hand und ich war begeistert. Langsam drückte uns der Fahrer mit seinem großen Laster durch die Furt und in uns machte sich die Hoffnung breit, doch noch rechtzeitig die Kinder in Gommern begeistern zu können. Am anderen Ufer angekommen, wurde erst einmal die Handbremse angezogen und Kulle stieg aus, um sich den Wagen von hinten zu betrachten, ob die Rückseite Schaden genommen habe. Abgesehen davon, dass beide Türen eingedrückt waren, machte das Auto noch einen gesunden Eindruck. Wir bedankten uns und überlegten, wie wir das Amphibienfahrzeug wieder flott kriegen könnten.

Vor uns war ein großer Parkplatz. Wir sprachen einen parkenden LKW-Fahrer an, ob er uns auf dem Platz anschleppen könnte. Er war sofort einverstanden. Das Abschleppseil hatten wir stets sofort griffbereit und die Sache konnte losgehn.

“Den zweiten Gang einlegen, die Kupplung drücken und bei Geschwindigkeit loslassen !”, rief der LKW-Fahrer. Ich betrachtete mir das Manöver außerhalb des Fahrzeuges und traute meinen Augen nicht. Aus dem Auspuff kam ein dicker Wasserstrahl rausgeschossen. Nun fuhren Abschleppfahrzeug und Clownkutsche eine Ehrenrunde nach der anderen und selbst nach der dritten Runde schoss noch Wasser aus dem Auspuff. Alles vergebliche Mühe, der Motor hatte Totalschaden.

Glücklicherweise bekamen wir bald danach einen neuen Motor, was in der DDR keinesfalls so ohne weiteres möglich war und wir konnten die Tournee zur Freude der Kinder fortsetzen.

LG Dieter Raedel.

P.S.:
Herzlichen Dank an Werner Hassepaß, der mir für diese Story wertvolle Hinweise gab.

In meiner Jugend war die Faszination Radsport allgegenwärtig. Radsport war etwas ganz Besonderes, vielleicht vergleichbar mit dem Interesse der Deutschen für die heutigen Biathleten, von denen ich ebenfalls sehr angetan bin. In der DDR wohnend, gab es eine Zeit, wo sogar die Omis und Opis von den Übertragungen der Friedensfahrt mit der Stimme von Heinz Florian Oertel total aus dem Häuschen waren. Die Radioberichterstattung war einfach große Klasse und wir lauerten gespannt auf die Zwischenberichte einer Etappe, konnten die Friedensfahrt-Hymne nicht erwarten und fieberten um die Platzierungen unserer Fahrer, an der Sitze der unvergessliche Gustav Adolf Schur, der bekanntlich zweimal die Friedensfahrt gewann und einmal WM-Gold holte. Damals schrien wir Jugendlichen vor Begeisterung laut “Täve ! Täve !! Täve !!!” Eine herrliche Zeit. An dieser Stelle möchte ich dem Super-Sportreporter Heinz Florian Oertel ganz herzlich danken. Ich habe nie wieder in Deutschland bei den Sportreportagen eine derart gepflegte Stimme gehört !!!

Da ich kein Rennrad hatte, veranstaltete ich in meinem Heimatort Ohorn bereits als Kind die seltsamsten Rennen mit dem Fahrrad meiner Mutter. Einmal kam ich vom Rathaus den kleinen Berg Richtung Mittelschänke runter, kriegte die Rechtskurve nicht und prallte gegen eine Kuh. Der Kutscher schimpfte, doch ich war froh, nicht seine Peitsche über den Pelz bekommen zu haben. Lasse ich in Gedanken diesen kleinen Unfall Revue passieren, spüre ich noch heute den sanften Aufprall an den warmen Tierkörper.

Die Radsportbegeisterung sollte sich als Sechzehnjähriger in Kalkreuth bei Großenhain fortsetzen. Wir fühlten uns mit unseren Drahteseln den großen Radsportlern verbunden und waren auch die Helden der Mädchen gegenüber anderen Jugendlichen, die sich nicht mit dem Rennsport befassten. Für mich kam die Sache gelegen, ein bisschen im Mittelpunkt der Mädchen zu stehn. Als schmaler Typ hatte ich sonst keine Chancen, von meiner Musikalität mal abgesehn. Fuhr ich mit “Conny” und “Pfuhle”, war mir stets der zweite Platz sicher, da ich stets im Windschatten von “Pfuhle” fuhr und mich vor dem Ziel unverschämterweise absetzte. Conny war wie gewohnt Sieger.

Einmal gab es einen Massensturz, das heißt, wie drei Übermütigen wollten links in das Dorf reinfahren, doch da kam uns ein Mähdrescher entgegen. Ausweichen war schwer möglich. Nun gab es da noch den Eingang zum Volksgut, wo Tiere gezüchtet wurden. Es ging alles sehr schnell. Pfuhle landete als Zweiter in den Sträuchern am Eingang, ich als Letzter auf einem Kartoffelhaufen und unser Radsport-As Conny überquerte den Kartoffelhaufen und knallte mit voller Wucht in die Misthaufenbrühe in der Nähe der dortigen Schweineställe. Bei der Rennauswertung der Mädchen hatte ich an diesem Tag erstmals gute Karten, denn Conny stank im wahrsten Sinne des Wortes ab.

Die Mitstreiter von damals: Konrad Damm und Roland Pfuhlmann.

LG Dieter Raedel.

Übör dü gar schröcklichön Folgön dös Onanieröns !! Spützt dü Ohrön !

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Als meine Nummer 94 von der Thai-Gaststätte langsam ihren Weg in den gefräßigen Schlund nahm, schielte ich auf ein Heft meiner Freundin und entdeckte folgenden moralisierenden Zeilensalat anno 1850 :

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“Ein natürliches Laster, die Onanie,

oder Selbstbefleckung,

deren schreckliche Folgen schon im Alten Testament

beschrieben werden,

dient besonders recht ausschließlich dazu,

den Körper zu schwächen

und den Geist völlig abzustumpfen,

ja das Subjekt, welches dem Laster ergeben ist,

ganz und gar körperlich,

vorher aber oft moralisch zu tödten.”

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Genau, das musste endlich mal gesagt werden !

Der körperliche und moralische Tod gibt uns nun zu denken. *grins*

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LG Dieter Raedel, Berlin.

P.S.: Mein Beileid nach 1850 !