Category Archives: Uncategorized

04

Sep. ’11

Singing The Labour Day Blues

I hate this weekend. Every second that passes fills me with dread. It’s like death spread over three days. Labour Day weekend. I can’t even say it out loud. In fact, it’s so quiet out that the cicadas, those bugs that `sing`with that constant white noise, are fading, the buzz is no longer long and shrill but short and abrupt. For them, it’s last call at Squirrely McMaggot”s. The cold is coming, so it`s time to drop some eggs and squirt some juice or whatever it is an insect will do to keep next year’s Bugapoolaza a happening event. Finish your concert and take a short flight off that tree you’ve squatted on for 3 months. Jackie Frost is making his way to town. His fat ass is white and fluffy, charming and delightful at first but after a few weeks, he becomes mean and slushy. We hate him. And when he comes, it means we have to wear socks. And when you wear socks, you are also going to have to wear proper shoes. And when you wear proper shoes, you might as well just sign your organ donor card. You know it’s over when the fat wasp can’t even make it into the beer can to drown. Sadness. I love summer so. And flip flops.

But you know what? I’m not going to get all bummed out or ruin your weekend because while summer is great, autumn has its perks. It’s a new start, a chance to reinvent yourself. I remember in Grade 8 was my turning point year of taking the new school year on by the short and curlies. I was a gawky, awkward nerd in Grade 7. But after that summer, I had a new haircut. Short and sassy. A peasant top tucked into a pair of high-waisted white washed super flared jeans. Some kind of leather twine necklace that some boy gave me that summer in Cape Cod. If I could only remember his name, I would be all over his Facebook. Oh you know me too well…of course I remember his name: Brian Bohane from Boston, there’s more than one and I am sure I am just another one his disposable “cicadas.” He was 16, I was 14, and it was my first romance. Ish. And when I say “ish,” I mean he would stare at me at the tuck shop and I would look back, and he would look down at his feet. I would look away, and look back, and he would be looking. When he caught me looking back, he would look away. I would look away. Then when I looked back, he would be looking away. Then when I looked away, and looked back, he would be looking.. This safety dance led to one make-out session on the eve of the end of the vacation that included a one-way genital grope, not mine because earlier that day he saw me at the tuck shop buy a box of Tampax. My first! Tampon! Ever! A bone in the hand is worth a ‘pon in the bush` became my motto. That gave me the power to trot through the hallways in September. It`s all about what you wear, inside and out.

So fall will always be about wardrobe planning. A pair of Frye boots might not make me a different person but it make trudging through the snow a far more powerful beast. So will the cashmere sweaters and the Burberry scarf.

Cicadas, shut your pie holes. Your shrilling vocal text messages disturbs my television watching. And the rest of you bugs and birds, take your business down south via the I-95. Make your needs known down there with the snakes and lizards because it’s over in this neck of the woods. The mice and the raccoons have their own pension plan up here in the north but that`s okay. I got some traps and poison.

And I leave you with this:

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09

Jul. ’11

Searching For Mr. Tenant

If somebody in Toronto spots this man, tweet me pronto.  Not for me, perv, for my daughter.  I might be in my cougar years but I’m not on the prowl for young prey.  Please.  But daughter is a big fan of his work.  Although we would both love to get a real-life glimpse of the enigmatic (and by enigmatic, I mean: What’s the story, morning-glory? Is he gay or straight?) Robert Pattinson, the sparkly star of that heinous Twilight franchise.  He’s in town RIGHT NOW filming “Cosmopolis.”  He wasn’t at the Pride Parade on Sunday, but then again all those oily young bucks looked alike in blazing sun.  He doesn’t seem to sleep or eat anywhere, so he could possibly really be a vampire.   So yeah, if you spot a Cosmopolis film truck, call me, and we will put our slap on, change our shoes, and Scionate on over to the locale and pretend we are part of the makeup crew.  Hilarity would ensue, it would be like a hybrid episode of Gilmore Girls meets I Love Lucy. It would make our whole summer.

And speaking of slippery young men, last week my tenant gave me notice that he was leaving.  And by “notice,’ I mean a text on July 1;  “Just a head’s up, Kristin, I’m looking for a cheaper place.”  Me:  “You mean September 1?”  He: “Well, like, kind of like August 1, I’ll let you know.”  WHAT DO YOU MEAN “LET ME KNOW?”  You’re leaving or you’re not, and you’re only giving me 30 days notice, JESUS MO-FU!   I didn’t say that to him, instead I remained calm and told him I would have to advertise it right away, blah blah, but inside I was seething with the usual fear-based rage I have become so accustomed in the past year.  As much as I love my tenant, and by “love,”  I mean from afar, from very afar, because he spends most of his time in Woodbridge.  And for me, there is no better tenant than the absent kind.  But he was having problems with rent, so, maybe it was really for the best.

So onto to Craigslist I went.  It’s a scary place, that’s for sure.  Last year I put 8 harp-backed dining room chairs for sale.  Those are those ubiquitous chairs that every East York gramma has but I put the clever spin on it in the ad:  “As seen on Sex and the City.”  It is true, when you own these harp-backed chairs, you can spot them a mile away anywhere.  So I noticed in the episode where Charlotte wants to convert to Judaism and she barges in on the Rabbi’s Seder, she is offered a seat on a harp-back when they say their prayer.  Funnily enough, the person that answered the Craigslist ad, was a woman named Esther, who came to see them one evening with her husband.  They were a young Jewish couple from Bathurst and Lawrence and they drove all the way to the beach late at night   She was wearing a long black wig ass-length wig that made her look like pole dancer in a witness protection program.  She was  painfully thin and covered up in a button down shirt and one of those long, ankle length corduroy skirts that Ralph Lauren still puts out for that particular demographic.   He was all conservative, also,  wearing a yarmulke and suit and was non-stop finger fucking his Blackberry the moment he stepped out of the mini-van.  I took them to see the chairs which were in the empty dining room of the apartment that I hadn’t yet rented out to the current dingle-douche. It was way past my bed-time and one of those sweltering hot Tennessee Williams-style July nights that make sensitive souls such as myself want to ruminate in the dark with a wet washcloth and sweating glass of icy vodka-laced lemonade bed-side.  It took these two wretched characters the better part of an hour for them to fight over whether to buy the chairs or not.

He:  These chairs are UGLY!

She:  I like them, I want them.

He:  You just like them because you want to buy them.  You`ll hate them when you bring them home.  You do this all the time.

She:  No I don’t, I haven’t done any decorating in that apartment!   I really like them.

He: You don`t like them,  you just like buying things.

She:  They’ll fit perfectly with the table.

He:  WHY?  They are UGLY and they are too small!  We have fat relatives! (and he turns to me and says) I’m sorry, lady, but I know my wife and she just likes to buy things even if they are ugly.

Me:  But she likes them…..But you are right, she married you and you are ugly (haha, I don’t actually say that part)

He:  SHE DOESN”T LIKE THEM!  YOU’RE NOT HEARING ME!  I KNOW MY WIFE!

And so it went.  I shut up and just watched this post modern, twisted version of “Fiddler on the Roof” play out until she finally complied right around the time his Blackberry ran out of battery.  Off they went, chairless, into the sultry hot night.  When they got home, they probably had negotiated sex:  “I’ll buy you an ottoman,” he said,  After he planted his seed into her bony loins, he rolled over and said, “If you have a baby, it better be a boy,” as he plugged his Blackberry back in the charger.  Stupid Craigslist, creepy people, dumb chairs.  A week later, the good folks at Frontier Sales ended up taking them off my hands.  “These chairs are a dime a dozen,” Frontierman said, ” But I will give 50 bucks.”  Sweet!  Deal!

That was a year ago.  So when I reluctantly put the apartment up on Craigslist this week, I was delighted with 8 responses in one day, and 6 people came.  It turned out I had my choice!   Everyone was so nice!  There were ladies and couples but I ended up choosing the single, mid- 20s male, once again, to replace the old one.  The house is top-heavy with both fresh, ripe, and spayed estrogen (poor 15-year-old Freddy, even the dog is a girl)  that the virile testosterone of a young buck can be the only remedy to make the house feng shui balanced.  That is my story and I’m sticking to it.

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24

Jun. ’11

Scratch and Sniff This

I would pay money to have my sense of smell eradicated.  I don’t care anymore about the beauteous aromas of warm chocolate chip cookies, lilacs, a freshly bathed baby, or my all time favourite: a lumber yard.   I am tired of malodorous scents wafting through my house and then becoming permanently embedded up my nostrils so that I become immune.  And blind and deaf.  But not so deaf I didn`t overhear two ladies talking, 4 aisles away at Loblaws.

Lady #1:  The woman across the street got arrested for having too many cats.  Some of them were dead!  Her house reeked!  And she had chin hairs!

Lady #2: She must have been an animal hoarder!  That’s so sad. 

Lady #1: I could see that happening to Kristin.  That dog of hers pisses on the carpets and she doesn’t notice all the fecal nuggets imbedded in that shag rug in-lay.  Although she herself is impeccably groomed. I’ve heard she’s had Botox, a Juvederm injection, and a series of photo facials.  She looks fabulous!

Lady #2:  And laser hair removal on those chin hairs!   Imagine never having to pluck them out!  But I can’t stand that dog!  Is it Betty?  It ate an entire chevre log from the coffee table.  Thank GAWD she’s not in our book club anymore!  Although she did make a mean Negroni cocktail!

Okay, I’m making this up.  But it could be true.  Betty has lived and peed and barfed and pooped on the carpet in my living room for 6 years and I have developed selective smelling.  Some areas are more pungent and damp than others.  I move around them, hopping over furniture, avoiding the living room altogether.  I know what you’re thinking:  GET YOUR DOG TRAINED but we’ve been over this a few posts ago:  We are a family of bad doggie behaviour enablers and rather than get us trained, I’ve made a decision to get rid of all the carpets and slap on some hardwood, literally and figuratively, as a part of Project Mojo Rising.  This time-flying business is ridiculous and blows you downhill pretty darn quick.  So if you don’t grab on something and forget to put lipstick on one day, you will be on The Humane Society Public Enemy List.  So yeah, home improvements this month, stay tuned for more details. 

In the meantime, I am taking care of my nephew’s dog, Riley (that white long piece of business whose butt Betty is sniffing in the photo above) for the “weekend.”  In nephew lingo, weekends start on Wednesday and end some time on Monday (‘not sure when I get up” he said).   Riley, unlike Betty, controls his bladder and sphincter in the house.  He doesn’t chew things or bark or rearrange the furniture.  He doesn’t jump on you or eat off your plate when you’re not looking.  He is mild-mannered and mellow.  If I were to have a man in my life, he would be much like Riley.  In fact, Riley has taken over the bed much to Betty’s outrage, and she has been sleeping by the door.  When Riley went to sleep last night, he had me pinned in one spot with his long snozzly snout propped on my inner thigh.  I couldn’t move without him freaking out so I just lay there, praying he change spots so I could do my usual “thrash 3 times and settle” manoevre.  But no, he stayed still.  He snored, he farted, he whimpered in his dreams.  Only when the claps of thunder hit at dawn, he tried to bury himself under my head.  Betty stoically stayed away the entire night, not a peep or a poop out of her.  And I did miss her in the bed, her tiny little paws smell like corn chips.  Sweetness.

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04

May. ’11

The Witch is Dead, The Douche Abides

“I mourn the loss of thousands of precious lives, but I will not rejoice in the death of one, not even an enemy. Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.” — Martin Luther King, Jr.

My first thoughts when this appeared on my Facebook page:  What a Buddhist buzzkill! Osama bin Laden had it coming!  This is the best day ever!  I can’t stop watching CNN!  I want more pictures!  I want to see the dead body!  I want to see him dumped in the ocean!  I want a Navy Seal for my birthday!

And then I thought:  Settle down.  Let’s not forget the images we saw from the Middle East the day of September 11, 2001.  The crowds rejoicing waving doo-rags looked pretty much the same as the ones at the White House on Sunday night.  Furthermore, President Obama is being praised for this as the best thing he’s ever done in office so far.  He had a terrorist killed and took down some human collateral along for the ride.  It’s not a video game, it’s real, and there will be consequences so don’t get too smug, my American friends.  I still want a Navy Seal, though, my birthday is next week.  Make it happen, Obama, since you’re on a roll.

AND SPEAKING OF SMUG, here in Canada, we woke up to the same old, same old.  Not only did Stephen Harper win, the Conservative party took a majority.  Boo, yuck, and UGH (Under Government Hostage).  Do you know how long it took me to learn how to spell “Ignatieff?”  Do you know that women talk about politicans the same way men talk about women in general?  Here is the converation I had in the whirlpool at the gym today:

Me (always forthcoming, I’ve had Botox!):  I voted Liberal but the NDP won in my Beach riding.

Lady with fake boobs:  I’m in the Beach, too.  I voted NDP because I really liked Layton in Quebec.

Me (I hate Layton but that’s a whole other post and I keep it to myself):   I love Ignatieff (pronounce: Ig- NA ‘(pause) tiefffff)

LWFB:  Really?  You’re probably the only person I’ve ever met who likes him.

Me:  It’s those dirty ads the Conservatives put out!  They make him look sinister with his crazy eyebrows, wackadoodle snaggle teeth, and stroke mouth.  In that commercial where he says: “I won’t take another GST hike off the table,”  that was edited out of context. He was probably just telling a joke about a priest and a rabbi in a bar.  He reminds me of John Cassavetes, I’d totally do him.  And he’s smart.  Stephen Harper has that dumbo look and a smug smile I just want to wipe off with my fist.

LWFB:  Oh!   Well, I just would have voted for anybody but Stephen Harper.  He’s a tyrant.  It’s going to be just awful.

Snap, sister!  And he needs to trim his nostril hairs.  But we Canadians have been known to be compliant, the cards will fall where they may.  Until then, Iggy:  Call me!

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03

Mar. ’11

Guess What, Chicken Butt? I Got A New YouTube Sensation

I don’t really enjoy children that much.  Yes, I have two of them and I can say from experience that the old adage is true.  Children are basically like farts, you can stand your own but others cannot be tolerated.  And who am I kidding?  Even when my own kids when were little, I wanted to hide from them and light a match.  In my previous post, I described my daughter as ‘Satan’s spawn.”  My son was no cake walk either , he had some piss and vinegar running through his veins.  His tantrums were legendary, ask any crossing guard in the East End.  You could never get him from Point A to Point B, but when finally got him to Point B, he never wanted to leave.  He’s going to make a difficult husband for some poor woman, I just know it.  Anyway, now both are teenagers and you’d think they be even worse but they are totally cool.  They are actually people that I want to hang out with (but not necessarily together because they squabble like an old married couple). 

Yesterday, Oprah featured a show on young “talent.” and I am using that word loosely in particular with Willow Smith, who was her cohost.  She has a new song out and you can see her perform it here (but why would you want to?).  Her best trick is swinging her head around like she is giving herself shaken baby syndrome.  Do it.  And it seems like there’s a new child YouTube sensation every week that we avid television viewers must contend with.  They are like pimples on the face of media.  The Bieber aside (because he is awesome),  most of these “sensations” need to just do their homework and wash their hair (I’m looking at you, Simon Cowell’s latest cash cow).   And Lady Gaga needs to get out more is all I will say about her little mini-me. 

And speaking of kids on YouTube and parent pimps, here is my son, Freddy’s latest short film entry for The Sprockets Children’s Film Festival this Spring….he won first place last year in his age group (mama pride!  It was just like he won an Oscar).  He is the future Quentin Tarantino (they have the same birthday).  Enjoy:

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18

Nov. ’10

Gibson’s Canadian Whisky: Only in Canada…Pity

Gibson’s Finest Whiskey: something old, something rare. something sterling, and something you might regret later:  pace yourself

I’m a little foggy today.  Last night the girls at the Martini Club in the Distillery District hosted a party featuring Gibson’s Finest Canadian Whisky.  There is nothing more fun than a Martini Club party, last one had me drinking Hendricks gin, and I hate gin, or I thought I hated gin.  What I really hated was the thought of gin, it turns out the actual drinking of the gin is a lot of fun.  And also because Laura and Michelle are incredibly innovative mixologists.  In fact they contribute recipes for the LCBO magazine.  Their current mission is to get women drinking whiskey.  Twist my rubber arm, ladies, I love a brown drink.  Bourbon is very cool and I have created a few interesting cocktails of my own featuring Wild Turkey:  try drinking it with chocolate soy milk, yum!  Last night’s drinks included the classic Manhattan along with some new ideas:  Mint Divine which was lemonade and mint, and True North,  which was a sour mix with blueberry juice and ginger beer.  They also served it with heated apple cider.  Most fun (and educational) was trying the whiskies straight up.  Gibson’s has a range:  Sterling which is great for mixed drinks, the 12-year-old which is barrel aged and ultra smooth, and Finest Rare which is the one you give to your favourite blogger for a Christmas present.  If tequila makes people crazy and vodka makes people promiscuous, then sipping whisky makes you smarter.  Did you know that “whisky” is Scottish English and “whiskey” is Irish English?  I have been spelling it both ways.  Anyway, thanks to Steve Wright, Gibson’s Finest Canadian Whisky Ambassador, and Michelle and Laura for a really fun party and a new appreciation for Canadian Whisky!

Dennis, serving us straight whisky.  Mixing in a bit of water is not considered wimpy, in fact it helps the taste buds by minimizing the burn.

Drinking the Mint Divine:  Gibson’s Finest Sterling shaken with fresh mint, lemonade, and wild cranberries

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09

Sep. ’10

How Now Brown Drink

Whiskey Sour

I feel all displaced now that the weather has gone from sultry hot to cold and freaky and this back to school business is ridiculous.  I’d home school my kids except I’m dumber than them.  Anyway, I’m trying to roll with the times and embrace the cold and the loneliness.  I’m still wearing sandals but that England World Cup tshirt is for the gym only.  The fall wardrobe is still up in the air.  I read in the Toronto Star last week the camel coat was the autumn must-have.  I told this to someone at a wedding on Sunday and they thought I said  “camel toe”…of course they did…but camel toe is always in season.  Enough of fashion.  I do like a change of season  because you can change your eating and drinking habits.  Fruit:  be gone and take your little flies with you.  Vodka, you’re starting to bore me, there are only so many flavours of Vitamin Water to disguise you.  Bring on the gourds and the brown drinks.  Yesterday I made myself a “whiskey sour” while I hunkered down in my ashram to watch Episode 7 of Madmen.  In a flurry of inspiration, I have started another blog call “My Tv Fez” where I will invite discussion of what I watch, instead of just falling asleep afterwards, click here for the link….it’s still a baby so it’s not on google-able yet.  Anyway, Don Draper drinks a lot of Canadian Rye which I think is hot.  Bourbon is good too.  Here is the recipe:

Shot of brown drink (bourbon, rye or whiskey)

Squeeze in a half a lemon

Simple syrup…sugar dissolved in water…to taste and serve it on ice, with or without the cherry

And let the autumn come!

Posted by . Categories: Eat & Drink, go girl, Hanging Around, Uncategorized. Tags: , , , , , . 2 Comments

16

Mar. ’10

Kristin`s Guide to Going Green

The Ceili Cottage

Some people wait (and train) 364 days for this day to come and most of us think it should be declared an international holiday…March 17, St. Patrick’s Day! Get your green on (loden and camouflage don’t count, people!), your elastic waistband pants, and your dancing shoes and pick a pub and celebrate the man that drove the snakes out of Ireland. You have to love an event that encourages drinking before noon….the only time you can really get away with that aside from mimosas on Christimas is with kahlua in your coffee on snow days and on vacay with breakfast time mojitos. Of course there are loads of places to go in the East End but here is my driveby pub crawl: The Ceili Cottage at Queen and Leslie….I love this place even not on the High Holy Day… the inside always smells like burning peat ( an aquired taste) and it has an outdoor fire pit in the front that brings all pyros together in a huddle. The best pubs have little rooms and areas where you can socially compartmentalize or hide. The Cottage has areas inside, the prime spot is the bar where there is an oyster shucker shucking oysters. I love oyster shuckers the way other women love firemen….I don`t need to be saved but I guess I like to be shucked…

Then there is Murphy`s Law at Queen and Kingston Road…lots of levels, lots of space, get your spot early, it gets crowded! And also The Roy at Queen and Logan, it`s cute and the food is good. further east there is Fitzgerald`s at Queen and Scarborough Road and northe of that at Kingston and Willow is Mullin`s. Have fun and for Godsakes, pace yourself!

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