Creampuff Revolution

Creampuff Gets What's Coming

The dog dropped an prodigious deuce in an unfamiliar residential neighbourhood today and left me holding the bag. We walked for ages without encountering a trash can or a dumpster and after several blocks, schlepping this turd around was taking its toll on creampuff morale.

Finally, I spied a garbage can. The only catch was that the garbage can was in the courtyard of a seniors home and I was about four feet away from the garbage can, behind a wrought-iron gate.

It looked like an easy shot and I nearly made the junior girls basketball team in seventh grade, so I was confident I could pull it off.

I lobbed the bag of dog shit over the gate. It flew in a graceful arc before completely missing the garbage can and landing in the middle of the courtyard instead.

The bag did not remain intact.

It's hard to know what to do once you've flung a bag of dog shit into the courtyard of a retirement home in broad daylight. While my first instinct was to flee, I hung around for a few minutes, hoping that a senior would come out and, mistaking my tears of mirth for the remorse that most certainly came later, forgive me for my thoroughly disgusting random act of vandalism.

Sadly, all the seniors remained indoors, no doubt calling the fuzz to report that they'd been shit-bombed by some fat girl with an emo dog.

Since being arrested for smearing an old folk's home with dog shit is not on my bucket list, I decided to hightail it home. Emmy Lou did not feel my urgency and tried to slow down my flight by lunging at various fire hydrants and lamp posts. I finally gave in a few blocks from the scene of the crime.  And as I was standing under tree to let the dog do her sniffin's, some bird took a big, long, sticky crap all down my new sweater.

Karma. It's real. So, you know...next time you're about to shit-bomb the elderly, think about how great your sweater is.

UPDATE: Bevin, I never made the basketball team. But I was on the soccer team in seventh grade. Behold.

Creampuff Experiences First World Problem

It's a good thing most of you were up already - otherwise my howls of agony may have awoken you from your sweet, gentle slumber. Because at 6:12 a.m. on this frigid dark morning, I discovered that our Black & Decker Versa Brew coffee machine, which I prepped last night, was no longer working.

I wish I had a good story to tell you about the coffee machine. I wish I could tell you that it went down fighting - that I plugged it in and heard a roar, that glass shattered, sparks came out of its ass and that a harsh voice filled the kitchen saying "I reclaim this machine for my people!"

The reality is that I plugged it in and pressed the on/off switch only to find that the button was...flaccid and unresponsive. I proceeded to do what any considerate lover would. I plugged it into a bunch of different sockets. I fiddled and jiggled and coaxed and encouraged. I used a variety of exciting instruments to perk it up, to get it clicking again...to put the snap back in its turtle. And then when my efforts were met with naught, I gave up and loudly berated it for its weakness.

I'm ashamed to say that I called it a cheap piece of shit. Which is true, but still...a low blow. Particularly since I bought it specifically for its cheapness nearly two years ago and until this morning it worked just fine.

We've rummaged through our obligatory lesbian tea cupboard and unearthed some caffeinated tea - chai for Katr, China Black for me. And while the sudden and unexplained demise of the Versa Brew was extremely distressing in the short term, I suppose that when my wrath subsides, I will appreciate the opportunity to get a better, more versatile coffee machine. You know, "for the office".

In the meantime, the only soothing balm I had was this post on BLIOTD, which contains not only cute pictures of an adorable child wearing a hat I knit, but praise for the hat itself, which appears to have grown with the baby. Thanks to BL's Male Handler for brightening a very dark Monday.

Creampuff's Open Letter to Virgin Mobile (who sucks)

Dear Virgin Mobile,

I think you will agree that in the beginning, we had a good thing going.Your kicky start-up music, sardonic voicemail guy and low commitment pay-as-you-go plan was attractive to a "occasional text and emergencies only" cellphone user like me. I knew you only wanted me for my money but I fooled myself into thinking it was more.

I let you get away with a lot, Virgin Mobile. Rate changes, network issues, I overlooked them because I was happy. Happy to keep it simple. Happy not to think about things.  

I can't remember when you first started giving me less and less time with my own money. When I first got the phone, my pre-paid balance would last for 90 days. Then, one day, it was 60 days. No problem - even with my minimal phone use, I can see going through $20 in two months. Then, it was 45 days and I started to feel...used.

When it slipped down to 30 days, I registered the change, but in my heart, Virgin Mobile, I didn't believe it. I just couldn't accept that after three years together, you would pull something like this.

Oh, I know our arrangement was open - that we had no strings attached, no contract. But my own inertia and your more generous balance times of yore kept me hoping that you'd see the light. That you'd recognize that a 30 day limit was assaholic. That a 30 day limit on my balance made us BOTH look like idiots.

Because, Virgin Mobile - you seem young and in good shape. Can you really only hold on to my $20 for 30 days at a time? Is it really that taxing on your hipster computer system? Does it chafe your tight-fitting corduroy pants to carry that kind of jack around for more than a month?

Or was this all a ploy to drive me from our loveless pay-as-you-go marriage of convenience into the arms of your brother, the myPlan Monthly Package? Or worse, to your bastard cousin, the Auto Top-up, who automatically tops up my account when my balance is about to expire after only 30 fucking days, so that I can spend MORE money for a phone I RARELY USE so that you can save up for your new corduroy pants?? Fuck you, Virgin Mobile! And fuck your cousin!

The thing is that I might have considered some of these options if you hadn't pissed me off first. If you hadn't left me hanging at several key moments over the last couple of months with your sudden dropping of my calls, your life-endangering midnight expiration dates and your cocky attitude. But now I just hate you and I hate your ass face. It's over. Just...it's over.

Thanks to my ire and number portability, my meagre business and I are leaving you, Virgin Mobile. Perhaps I'll join my wife's "Family" plan. Perhaps I'll switch to a mobility plan that lets me keep my balance for 180 days and features the same calling rates. All I know is that this relationship, while toxic, has taught me some valuable lessons about misplaced loyalty and style over substance. One day I may even bring myself to thank you. But until that day, Virgin Mobile, I leave you with this:

You suck, Virgin Mobile. Good day.

Notes from Creampuff's Office Safari

The rumours are true. I recently spent nine days in Toronto, commuting to Mississauga and working IN AN ACTUAL OFFICE. Jealous? You should be. It was fucking AWESOME, or, if you will,"f 'awesome".

I made some notes about the experience, which I plan to include in my ongoing anthropological study of office life vs. my actual life. I find it helpful to compare and contrast the activities I participated in at the office with my usual work from home routine.

Lest you fear to join me on this journey into oft-charted waters, let me assure you of this: I wore pants the whole time.

 

Activity	Working from Home	Working at the Office
Getting to work	Get up at 6:00 a.m. Make coffee Start working	Get up at 6:00 a.m. Groom Put on the pants Go down to lobby for hotel breakfast Take 20 minute walk to Union Stn Buy GO ticket Get on 7:55 a.m. train 30 minute ride to Clarkson Stn Knit Get picked up by lovely, accommodating co-worker Go to Tim Horton's Get into it with douchebag who tries to cut us in the line Get to the window and find that the lady in front of us in line has bought our coffee Feel warm glow Consider paying it forward, then realize that would mean we'd be paying for the douchebag's coffee DENIED Arrive at office at 9:00 a.m. Start working
Meetings	Take place in office (i.e. our dining room) Include whole team (me and Katr) Often feature hand puppets Possible snacks (fruit, carrots, fuzzy peaches candy, black licorice cigars)	Take place in boardroom with projector Include whole team (~10 people) Often feature slides, charts, spreadsheets Ice cream cake is served
Bathroom breaks	Frequent and lengthy, due to variety of enticing reading material	Rare and harried, due to there being one single seater for 60 women
Lunch	Good days: Leftovers, salad, sandwich, Daily Show Bad days: Chips	Good days: Delicious meal at nice restaurant Bad days: Harvey's (still pretty good)
Work	Far less slackery than you might expect	Oh, hell yes
Distractions	Hilarious co-worker Cute dog Being felt up Facebook	Hilarious co-workers Ice cream cake Inflatable driving range in the parking lot Being told by tech support that Facebook is not allowed at office, even though it is a valid social media tool, but WHATEVER, this shit would never fly at MY office
Getting home from work	Look around Note that I am at home Continue working	Get ride to train stn from lovely co-worker Get on 5:38 p.m. train Get close-talked to by stale-breathed, spitting, deaf, irate GO train aficionado Try not to gag Feel gum getting stale Remember what happened last time I spit my gum out at the GO Stn Swallow gum Get to Union at 6:10 p.m. Take 20 minute walk back to hotel, constantly tugging at the back of my shirt, which my laptop backpack is causing to ride endlessly up over my ass
Nickname assigned by boss	Redacted	"Poopsie"
Less than stellar moments	Injuring my shoulder while punching the air and chair-dancing to Eye of the Tiger	Using my own blog as an example in my Windows Live Writer presentation. The client informs me that "Rock Out With Your Cock Out" is not a category they use on their corporate blog.
Triumphs	Getting key tactical information without any Bothans dying Not having chips for lunch Getting the dog to sit in the park	Not getting any significant food stains on my office clothes Not referring to the bathroom as "the ladies shitter" Being there the week they had ice cream cake

Please note that this is only the first draft of my report. I hope to produce the definitive work on the subject. Stay tuned for my next anthropological study entitled: Pants. Why?

Creampuff Dream Dates

I apparently had the best date of my life over the weekend. Thanks, Ben! The Buffy, the donuts, the wrath, the snuggling - you sure know how to treat a creampuff right. I'd offer to fill in more of our date details, but I'm not a girl who likes to slam donuts and tell. Though I notice Ben left out the part where we flew to LA to egg Elvira Kurt's house.

I had another dream date over the weekend with my friend Jeba, who complained about my paltry posting progress this month. And to her I say...shhh. There's a reason I'm not posting. It's because I'm too busy reading and I CANNOT STOP.

That is all. Proceed.

Sniff.

I lost my engagement ring.

It's been missing for a few months now, but I kept holding out hope that it would turn up. That elves would replace it on my nightstand. That the drawers, coat pockets, endless laptop bags, purses, cosmetics bags, bundles of loose socks, jars of peanut butter that I have searched over and over again, would suddenly return its garnet-y glory to me. That I would be bathed in the fire-like glow of its stones and my heart would be warm once more!

I really can't tell you what happened to my ring. I hadn't been wearing it very often because it had been giving me a rash (I KNOW! What?? It's true.) I FEEL like I stashed it somewhere "clever" but clearly I was too clever even for myself. It's also very possible that I didn't stash it and someone made off with it. Once I saw that it was missing, I took my time looking for it because I didn't REALLY want to admit that it was gone. But after tussling with the dust bunnies under the bed while wearing my headlamp earlier this week and finding no trace, I was forced to concede defeat.

You know...it's a ring. No one's going to die. Far worse things have happened to far better people. But still, I am sad and deeply annoyed with myself for treating it in so cavalier a manner. Because I really really loved that ring. On the other hand - it WAS giving me a rash. And not a love rash.

I was torn about telling Katr about losing my engagement ring. Not because I thought she'd be mad but because I felt like a dingus for losing it. But for a yap-tastic lass like me, the news was difficult to hold in and it wasn't long before I tearfully spilled. And, instead of making me feel like the dingus I am, she had the phone in her hand, ready to call our ring designer to get me a new one immediately. Why? Because of the love. Sniff. Because she's the greatest and stuff.

I am one lucky doofus.

In the spirit of celebrating lucky doofusness - Katr and I did an interview a few weeks back with the lovely Robert Allen and Holli Ehrlich of the Wedding Podcast Network for their Newlywedcast. They are the cutest and it was lots of fun to talk about our lurve and the iPod proposal and planning our nuptials and our talented friends (yeah, I left out the part of how I LOST MY ENGAGEMENT RING).

Let me tell you - no one loves talking about their wedding like people whose wedding is OVER. So if you want to hear us going on and on about how great our wedding was (and why wouldn't you? We're so delightful!), check out our chat with Holli and Robert on Newlywedcast.

And if you have any suggestions for my new ring, let me know. I'm thinking maybe this time I'll go with something like this:

Because clearly, I can't be trusted with nice things.

Creampuff Musical Memory

You might think that because I was listening to Love is a Contact Sport by Whitney Houston on my walkman right before I was mugged by a gang of girls near the West Edmonton Mall years ago, I might not like that song any more.

But you'd be SO WRONG!

That's the power of Whitney Houston, people. Know about it.