Tag Archives: Friendly Butcher

Desperate But Not Serious

I spent this morning with my soon-to-be official ex-husband and our lovely lawyers going over our divorce agreement with a fine tooth comb, some lint brushes, and finally, a Shop-Vac.  We used his lawyer’s office as our pow wow as it is in an elegant old building in the Annex.  Also she serves cookies and fruit, and coffee if you need it.  It all started out jovial and polite, with some LOLs here and there.  I didn’t really know what to expect before I got there but I wasn’t as nervous as when we started crafting this proverbial quilt a year ago.  Divorces take time and I have had time to think, re-think, and re-master the soundtrack in my head.  It was a long year of some back and forths until we decided it was best just to go over it all together and get ‘er done.  It’s done.  I had only one little mini breakdown which was diffused by my earring falling into my bra. I’m kind of happy I boo hoo’d instead of ranted because I had a whole speech that I practised in my car on the way to the meeting, using the Romanov family as a metaphor.  There’s no point in being an angry bitch.  Did you know that if you make a sourpuss face, it will stay that way?  True story:  I just found out that this wretched, flat-assed “see-you-next-Tuesday”  who I used to play tennis with had a stroke!  And not only is her face in a permanent grimace, it is lopsided and she has to eat her salad from a blender with a straw!  Remind me to send Karma Claus a bottle of hooch for Christmas this year!

Anyway, when I left, I felt both heavy and light, a combination of relief and embarrassment (almost everything embarrasses me, by the way, including this blog).  All the wisdom I’ve gained is empowering but also encumbering.  Now what?  What will I do with all these life lessons?  Am I able to Be A Better Person in another relationship?  Do I even dare try or am I too scared?  Am I just one of those people who should just be single?  I do love animals.  Should I get bangs or just keep growing my hair out?  It’s getting pretty long and I can fit most of the front in my mouth so maybe that is a cue that I should get a haircut or stop trying to eat it.  I am starving!  Should I keep going down Bloor Street, the traffic is INSANE, or should I go down Church and cut across Isabella?  Or is it one way?   It’s 2:00, way past lunch, and all I have eaten was a cookie and a grape.  Ok,, 8 cookies and 4 bunches of grapes that I painstakingly peeled and pretended were my own eyeballs and rolled them around my mouth while we went over a 30 page document, line by line,  LOL by LOL.   Fruit is not a food, it’s a substitute.  Ask Freud.  I also had a banana this morning, in the car, driving up Coxwell in rush hour.  I”m not sure I even bothered to peel it.

Sometimes in times of stress, my stomach gets all knotted up in a nervous knot.  Nothing wants to go in but everything wants to come out, hence my verbal diarrhea blogging impulse.   I think it was a good sign that I wanted meat.  And a cocktail.  Duh.  No fetal positions for me, when I get home.  I picked up a purse sized vodka bottle and a ham and cheese on an onion bun from my favourite band of merry men, The Friendly Butcher.  They do make the best sandwiches, the kind where you’re not having to pick out strange bits of alfalfa and burnt eggplant.  Sometimes that’s all you need.  And a cocktail, and a really song.   With that,  I leave you with this twist on the classic Thelma Houston”s “Don’t Leave Me This Way”  by Black Grass:


My Organic Secret Meat Swanepoel

Spanx fishnets:  Victoria’s Cougar Mom’s Secret

I feel like I have a lot to say because I haven’t posted in a week but most of my adventures have been internal and not Toronto East Hood-specific.  Since last week, when the household was declared “organic meat only’ by Righteous Teenage Daughter, aka. Evangeline, I have been complying.  On Saturday, I found The Friendly Butcher on the Danforth to be easy and convenient, the butcher was pleasant enough but not so sure about what “friendly” means, I will definitely go back this week and check what’s up now that I have my mojo back.  Yes, last weekend I had a mojo upset…didn’t know who I was, I wore sweatpants with those grey socks, let my hair go all porcupiney, and I think I was speaking tongues.  And this is the week that filming for my realty show, The Agents, resumes.  On Monday I got my wardrobe instruction :  “It doesn’t matter what you wear on the bottom because we are only doing head shot.  And because you are shooting with a troll shorter agent, we need you to wear flats so you don’t tower over her.”  And there was more:  “Wear something neutral and not a sweater because the troll other agent is wearing one, wear a button down.”  Seriously, does Joan on Madmen wear a button down?  I have to wear flat shoes and a collared shirt?  Am I the dude in this bitch fight?  I got my balls back and channelled Joan Crawford and countered with “I DO NOT WEAR BUTTON DOWNS!”

So we are settling on a v-neck cardigan, the other whore agent is wearng a turtleneck so for sure I will fare better.  As for “it doesn’t matter what you wear on the bottom”…well, if I have learned one thing in my ladyhood, yes it does.  Apparently, foundation garments are the key to success.  Do you know that with the plethora of internet porn that is available today, the men are still using your Victoria Secret catologs to supplement it?  And there are no nipples in Victoriaville, so what up with the man you married 20 years ago who can’t remember your birthday but knows how to spell ” Candice Swanepoel?”  It is all about the power of imagination.  This is why I will be wearing fishnet Spanx on my shoot tomorrow.  Nobody will see it, but I will know and you will know because I just told you.