Creampuff Revolution

Creampuff to the Moon

I need to spend more time thinking about life in outer space.

Things Creampuff Enjoyed About Her Trip to the U.S. for Thanksgiving

We have returned from the wilds of Virginia!  And Pennsylvania! And teeny bits of West Virginia and Maryland!  After an creamy, buttery, sensational Thanksgiving feast provided by Katr's uncle, Katr and I drove back up to Canada to discover that our lovely and talented fish-sitter, Kism, had not only kept our fish alive and well, but had also apparently taught them to write messages of greeting on our white board.  It was a joyous homecoming, let me tell you.  These fish are going to make us RICH!!

Things I Enjoyed About Our Trip to the U.S. for Thanksgiving

Giant Inflatable Lawn Turkeys in Pilgrim Hats

We do not have these in Canada.  And as you can see, we are MISSING OUT.  Now that I've learned that our condo corporation cannot actually fine us for condo bylaw violations, I'm thinking of getting one of these babies to inflate and stick out our 9th floor window next year.  And then we could podcast recordings of the angry messages we get from the Board.

Dunkin' Donuts

Some of you (probably those of you who've seen me perform my Krispy Kreme donut sex fetish piece, The Dirty Dozen) are under the impression that Krispy Kreme are my favourite donuts.  This, in a sense, is true: Krispy Kreme donuts would be my favourite kind of donuts to RUB on myself.  But when I want to EAT donuts, I hit the Double D.  After a hard day of operating our car using only the power of my mind, nothing hits the spot like a coconut creme donut.  Or four. I've heard reports extolling the virtues of the DD's coffee as well, but to be honest, I find their coffee pretty hit or miss.  But when it hits, it hits HARD.  And donuts - sweet, sweet donuts - they soften the blow.

I know we have (or had) Dunkin' Donuts in Canada, because I remember seeing them in Montreal years ago.  But I find myself in Montreal even less frequently than I find myself in the States, so when I'm there, I really try to capitalize on DD opportunities.  Unfortunately, Katr's mom, who did much of the driving on our trip to Virginia, didn't take me seriously when I crowed "Dunkin' Donuts!!" from the backseat of her car whenever we passed a rest stop. She'd sort of chuckle, then keep on driving, but every now and then I'd catch her looking at me quizzically in the rearview mirror.  I imagined her thinking "Not only did my daughter turn out to be a lesbian, but her "friend" has "special needs"."  She's a very brave woman.

I Can Pretend I Have an Accent

The minute we cross the border, I start droppin' the g's off the ends of mah werds.  I develop the kind of accent that makes "ice" sound like "ass".  I occasionally address customer service representatives as "darlin'" and I seriously consider menu items ("ahtims") that include grits.  "Y'all" comes pretty natural, but my "yonder" needs work.

The thing is, I don't do this on purpose.  It's like I get down there and I just cain't help mahself.  I wonder if it's just my subconscious lesbian way of trying to fit in in Smalltown America. Also, I know that if I talk like that up here in Canada, everyone knows I'm probably faking.  If I talk like that down there, they just feel sorry for Katr's "special" sister. 

The Michie Tavern

Unlike Thomas Jefferson's home, Monticello, at the historic Michie Tavern, you can touch stuff.  Including the serving wenches.  Ours  was a cheerful young lass named Tiffany, a moniker I'm sure was popular when the tavern opened in the 1780's.  She wore traditional costume, including a frilly bonnet and lots of 18th century eye shadow.  We started with a buffet lunch at "The Ordinary", a spread which included Thomas Jefferson's favourite black eyed peas, stewed tomatoes, potatoes, bbq pork, rolls, fried chicken and probably the best peach cobbler I've ever had.  You could finish off your meal with a tankard of traditional Bud Light, but I stuck to my tin cup of black cherry soda.  You know, for the authenticity.  Tiffany made sure we never ran out of chicken and tried not to look askance at my "accent".

After lunch, we took the self-guided tour of the tavern and tried on all the hats.  As a play that I'm working on takes place in a 19th century tavern, Michie's Tavern was of particular interest to me and it did not disappoint.  I took many pictures and though she tried to flee, I managed to catch Katr's mom in some of them.  She made me promise I wouldn't post them on the internet, but I never signed anything. HA ha!

Jokes About Deliverance

HAHAHAHAHAaaa!  When you're in a rural American wilderness, jokes about Deliverance are funny.  Especially when your mother-in-law makes them.  Having spent nearly a week in the Blue Ridge Mountains, we determined that one of the nearby counties was, to quote Katr's mom, "a little more Deliverance" than the others.  We'd drive through this area and one of us would hum the opening line of "Dueling Banjos" and we'd laugh and laugh.  Oh, good times.

The Appalachian Trail

I loved Bill Bryson's hilarious and informative book, A Walk in the Woods, about travelling the Appalachian Trail.  So when we discovered that the place we were staying was quite close to the AP, Katr and I knew we had to set foot on it.  And we did!!  And then we got back in the car and drove away in a self-congratulatory manner.

I have fantasies about walking the entire length of the Appalachian Trail, fantasies that even Bryson's horror stories of rain and snow and back-breaking packs couldn't quell.  Because they're FANTASIES.  In reality, I know that hiking the Appalachian Trail involves camping, so that'll never happen. 

I guess the fact is that I don't want to BE a hiker on the AP - I just want to play one on tv. Preferably a hiker with a southern drawl.  And a frilly bonnet.  And a pack full of donuts.  And a giant inflatable lawn turkey tent.

Creampuff in the Mountains

I promised myself, and a choice few others, that once my "new" blog was up, I would become, if not "prolific", at least a more consistent blogger than I have been the last month or so.  Of course, I made that promise the day before Katr and I left to spend a week in Virginia with Katr's mom, checkin' out Monticello, kickin' back at the Wintergreen Resort and trying to find a Piggly Wiggly to mack on each other in.  So far, we're two for three.  Do they even HAVE Piggly Wiggly in Virginia?  American readers? 

The condo we're staying in is large, comfortable, and looks like something out of Married to the Mob.  The people who own it must be INCREDIBLY good looking, or just kinky - there are mirrors EVERYWHERE.  The bedroom, all the bathrooms, every closet doors, several walls.  HUGE. GILT. MIRRORS.  Also, there's a chandelier made of antlers.  Also, there are large paintings of zebras and other big game.  Also, the base of the dining room table is made up of big elephants.  The elephant theme continues in the master bedroom, where elephants grace the candles and the curtain pulls, which open onto another large set of mirrors.  It's a pachyderm passion pit, people.  My neopet, Phantmas, would be right at home.

Anyway - it's a snow day on the mountain and we're about to make the exciting drive into the countryside to track down a pottery place.  I'm hoping they'll have more elephants there, so that we can leave our hosts a gift.  I promise further exciting updates and a blow by blow description of lunch at an 18th century tavern when we get back home.  We drank out of tin cups.  There were serving wenches.  You won't be able to stand it.

Creampuff by Request

"So, how did you two meet?"

When Katr and I bought our condo, our lawyer was named Howard Stern.  I mention his name because a) it's funny and b) we liked him.  We also had an insurance agent.  I'm not going to tell you our insurance agent's name, but I WILL tell you that it rhymes with "Bammy", a.k.a. "Ol' Bambone".

Bammy was born to be an insurance salesman.  He was gregarious, laughed at all my stupid jokes, encouraged a culture of fear, was prematurely balding and nearly soiled his Dockers when a homeless guy looked at him funny through the window of the Second Cup.  He was a nice man, but the kind of person who makes you want to chew your foot off.  And then beat him with it.

Bambone liked to really get to know his victims and, in an effort to show how cool he was with his first lesbian clients (as he told us several times), he asked us when we'd met.  "Oh, you know, six months ago," says I, knowing that a guy who'd never had lesbian clients before might not understand our "we're buying property after knowing each other 3 months" U-Haul lesbian shack-up.  And then he asked "So . . . how did you two meet?"

Katr and I did not particularly want to tell Bammy how we met.  There was a short pause.

"Well," I said to Bambone, "it was like this.  I was walking down the street one day and there was this burning building.  There was a crowd gathering around it.  I stopped to see if I could help and at that moment, Katr came hurtling out of this burning building with a baby in her arms.  Well, she ran smack into me!  And the baby went flying! And I caught the baby!  So later, as the mayor was giving us both the key to the city, I leaned over to Katr and said "Hey, so . . . do you want to have coffee sometime?"

Katr had never heard this version of events before and the look on her face was more "Whaaa?" than "It's true.  I fell in love with her for her lightning reflexes".  Bammy looked from me to Katr and back.  "No," he says, "really.  Where did you two meet?"  Katr and I exchanged glances.  Bammy couldn't take it anymore.  "Sex party? Was it at a sex party?"

Oh, Bambone.  You should come into the city more often.

The true story, since NYEx asked, is this:  my friend Sura and I were single and we decided that if neither of us had gotten any action by a certain date (I believe it was July 28, 2003), we would get into the online dating thing.  One long weekend in May, my roommate Jesk was out of town and I was up at 1:00 a.m. reading the recaps for The Bachelor on Television Without Pity.  Now, as some of you long-time TWOP fans may recall, they used to have Spring Street Personals (the same as on The Onion and Nerve) on there, before TWOP went all Yahoo.  And so, to prepare myself for the upcoming online dating challenge, I did a search for lesbians of Toronto.  If you're not a registered user, only 7 personals come up.  I breezed through the first 6 ads ("I like cats!" "I like camping!" "What's in my bedroom? An econo-size bottle of lube!") and almost skipped Katr's, which was the 7th.  But then I noticed, in the course of my prefunctory glancing, that she'd answered "What book are you reading right now?" with "For some reason, every summer I have to re-read Microserfs.  Very geeky."

So I sat there and read her whole ad.  And even though her ad included a mention of cats and also the outdoors, I started blushing like crazy, by myself in a dark room, and I could hear my heart beating in my ears and I thought "Well, clearly she is my girlfriend. If I can just convince HER of that, we can get this thing going."

I spent my entire Sunday painstakingly crafting a personal ad that I hoped would appeal to her.  And then I spent $25US to buy credits so that I could e-mail her.  And then I spent most of the night painstakingly crafting the e-mail that I would send.  And then I sent it.  And I am happy to say that it was the best $25US and 36 hours I ever invested.

So basically, I got lucky folks!  If she had happened not to update her personal that day - if I hadn't been reading recaps of crappy reality shows late at night on my roommate's computer - if Jupiter had been in the 8th house instead of the 5th - we might have missed each other.  Buuuut hey - we didn't.  Woohoo love!

And that, my friends, is the story that one of you wanted to hear.  And that some of you know by heart.  I never tire of telling it.  Especially the part about Bambone.

As an addendum - Sura too met a young lady before our action plan deadline.  But Sura, unfortunately, did not fare as well as I this time 'round.  I ran into her ex-girlfriend a couple of months ago and had the extremely uncomfortable experience of not remembering her real name but DEFINITELY remembering the mean nickname I had invented for her.  Which was "Boozehound".

Creampuff Welcome!

Hey!  Welcome to the new Creampuff Revolution!  Thanks for stopping by!

Seriously.  Look how cute my Neopet is. How could I not want to spend hours and hours of my time playing games to earn points to buy food to feed her?

Oh. My. God.  Somebody stop me.

Brand new, Neopet-free posts to follow.

Creampuff Gets Back on the Horse

Phew. Now that Hysteria is over, I FINALLY have time to get back to the things I truly love:

a) Responding to New York Ex’s tag (the topic: 5 Women Who Have Inspired Me the Most); and
b) Bitching about local merchants.

Cleary, more than five women have inspired me in my life. I was thinking about how they should be divided into categories: women I actually know, women authors, public figures, fictional characters, religious leaders, Oprah, etc. But I don’t really have that much time on my hands these days - after the lead-up to Hysteria, I’ve got a stack of Starting Over on the PVR and as a certain monkey once told me, that shit’s not going to watch itself.

And so, in no particular order:

1. My Mom

Obviously, your mom teaches you lots of things growing up, some directly and some by example. I think that the coolest thing my mom taught me by example is the following: 1. You CAN figure your shit out 2. It’s TOTALLY worth it 3. Staying in a soul-sucking job is NOT worth it, so even if it means sacrifice and hard work, get the hell out and do what you love. I look at my mom now, with her thriving practice and enjoyment of life and I am very proud of my mom.

She also told me to never EVER use douche. I believe her exact words were “Sounds like it’s time for Massengill - to FUCK RIGHT OFF.” Good tip, Mom.

2. Fat activist Marilyn Wann, author of Fat!So?

You know, I was already on the road to feeling good about being a creampuff when my good friend Deye lent me this book. But Marilyn - she took me the rest of the way. It’s one thing to not apologize for your size - it’s quite another to have a vocabulary around that. Also, I have to say, the Venus of Willendorf paper doll and outfits - AWESOME.

3. Lucy Maud Montgomery.

She and her “bosom friend” characters, with their corsets and their passionate avowals of love and their constant use of the word “pussy” turned me gay. I find it both sad and very interesting that a woman who felt she had so few choices in life and who proceeded to MAKE choices that left her feeling trapped and stifled, wrote such funny, wise, occasionally sentimental, but occasionally inspiring books about women who broke with convention and lived their lives to the full. Maybe if she’d been living the kind of lives she wrote for her characters, she wouldn’t have written the books. And then I’d be a heterosexual.

Ha ha! Just kidding. If Anne of Green Gables didn’t turn me gay, Molly/Sally from the Neuromancer trilogy would have. Mmm-HMMM.

4. My third year directing prof whose name rhymes with “Penis".

This woman was hands down the worst teacher I ever had. She was manipulative, nasty, dismissive and felt threatened by women. I think she was just trying to cover up her own fear that she was a total fraud, but that’s no excuse for the crap she pulled on students. Being a masochist, I generally enjoyed being put down in the name of art, because when I was 19, I thought that’s what it took. A year of this woman’s constant put-downs and sarcasm, however, cured me of that notion. Do ya have to suffer for art? Possibly. But if you choose to suffer, it should be at your OWN hands, not in the hands of someone else. Some good learning there. Thanks, Penis.

5. Katr.

For many reasons, but at the moment she’s influencing me thus: I am occasionally afraid to try new things and am occasionally stingy about giving or sharing credit. Katr - isn’t. And she doesn’t really *get* people who are. I’m pretty good about taking risks on a personal level but she makes me want to take risks on a professional level. Which is exactly the kind of “Seriously? Just get ON it” energy I need right now.

She also taught me that New England is not actually a state - a piece of information that I know I will find valuable in the future, like at job interviews or when I apply to Mensa.

Looks like I’m going to have to save the bitching about local merchants until next time. As for tagging other bloggers to answer this fascinating question - I’m always shy to tag others. Berin - Chezza - Winter, if you feel like procrastinating from your thesis - Melissa, if the monkey feels like it - and I’m too shy to tag anyone else. NO PRESSURE, ladies.

8 Comments:

1. That shit WONT watch itself. Well, it will, but that’s like someone staring at their own navel. The fun only comes when the staring occurs with other people’s navels as subject.

   I will play! I play well with others! I don’t even threaten to take my ball home. But this weekend, when I come back from the shopping vortex that is NYC.

   Comment by Melissa — Wednesday, November 9, 2005 @ 8:43 pm

2. I saw a commercial for Starting Over on the NYC NBC affiliate. It was cut to appear all ominious and threatening, like the show isn’t a piece o’ fluff. It was AWESOME.

   Comment by Melissa — Thursday, November 10, 2005 @ 11:33 pm

3. The 5 women who have inspired me most…. hm I will have a go at this tag.

   Comment by Winter — Friday, November 11, 2005 @ 1:21 am

4. Well,you two are very good sports.

   Melissa, that’s HILARIOUS about the ad for Starting Over. Clearly, the NBC affiliate finds personal growth frightening. Perhaps they could use a stint at the Starting Over house. Have you sent your art in yet?

   Comment by roro — Friday, November 11, 2005 @ 4:50 pm

5. nice list…though god knows, I wasn’t sure what was coming first. Armageddon or your list!
   now it’s time to update, girl! how about going on and on about how great your gf is? or giving me the story about how you met–I read a little somewhere on your blog…a personal ad and boom! you’re in love. it can’t be that simple!

   Comment by newyorkex — Sunday, November 13, 2005 @ 12:39 pm

6. Roro, this is HARD! I will try.

   Comment by E-dawg — Sunday, November 13, 2005 @ 9:11 pm

7. I’m on it! Ok, maybe in a week or so I’ll actually do it, but I’m ON IT!!!!

   Comment by Chezza — Monday, November 14, 2005 @ 3:21 pm

8. Oooo .. post the story about how we met. The “insurance guy” version

   Katicus (the gf)

   Comment by Queen Katicus — Monday, November 14, 2005 @ 5:09 pm

Creampuff Eschews Cheap Candy

I . . . hate Hallowe’en.

I blame my hatred of Hallowe’en on the following:

a) Costumes. Growing up in Alberta, there was usually snow on the ground by October 31st and some years, flesh could freeze in 30 seconds. This meant that no matter how elaborate your costume, no matter how long you or your mom laboured on it, every kid basically looked like an Eskimo-something. Eskimo-clown, Eskimo-vampire, Eskimo-ballerina, Eskimo-judge. I remember one year where I just stopped fighting it. I wore a long skirt over my snowpants and strapped a black kite with eyes to my parka. No one even asked.

b) Candy. As some of you may remember from an earlier post, holidays that involve candy were always traumatic in some way, mainly because I wanted to eat all the candy, RIGHT NOW and my parents weren’t into that. At Easter, they could give me books in the Easter basket but at Hallowe’en, there’s no denying that it’s all about the goodies. In order to calm our appetites before going trick-or-treating, my brother and I each had to consume a giant, steaming bowl of red cabbage. The cabbage was both filling and warming, but it also tended to repeat on you. The resulting BRAAAAAAAP! noises issuing from us were far scarier than any of the spooky Hallowe’en records playing in the neighbourhood. And my brother found out the hard way that sweet Mrs. Russell tends to give you less candy when you belch big cabbage in her face.

c) More about the candy. I’m sure this only happened a couple of times, but in my kid-brain it was a yearly thing: my mom would not get enough candy to hand out to the neighbourhood kids. So my dad, Jaro and I would come home from a tour of the block and while we were swinging our arms around to get the feeling back in our frozen hands, my mom would refill our bowl by TAKING OUR CANDY, often (and this is the real indignity) with little or no regard of the quality of the pieces. Our spoil thus reduced by half, Jaro and I would head out again into the frigid night and hit a different street, hoping to god that someone on this block was handing out the full-size Oh Henrys we’d had wrested from us earlier.

d) Candy again. I think our folks were trying to teach us will-power and responsibility by not locking the candy up once the night was over. We got the keep the candy, but had to hang the bags on the outside of our doors so that they could make sure we weren’t having all-night kitkat fests in our rooms. I can’t remember if my parents began this practice before or after the year Jaro ate EVERY LAST PIECE OF CANDY in his bag on Hallowe’en night - I DO remember being disappointed when they decided that being horribly sick was punishment enough. Clearly, I was a terrible sister.

e) In the days following Hallowe’en, the candy on the outside of my door became an obsession and a source of friction between me and my parents. How much could I eat and still get away with? I developed a technique whereby I would eat a piece and then re-fashion the wrapper to make it LOOK like there was still candy in it, so that my parents couldn’t tell, on their nightly check-in, that I’d eaten it. When they took to judging the bag of candy by WEIGHT instead, I started to wrap up erasers and pennies in the discarded candy wrappers. Hee hee hee.

Obviously, I was completely insane. When I get around to having a little past life regression, I’ll be interested to see if I grew up in extreme poverty in a former life, because little else would account for that wholly consuming fear of deprivation. I mean, seriously. If I had devoted that amount of time to schoolwork instead of devising ways to hoodwink my parents in the Yearly Affair of the Hallowe’en Candy Bag, I would probably be a brain surgeon by now.

Anyway - now that I’m a grown up, I can have all the Hallowe’en candy I want! But the candy has changed since I was a kid. I know we’ve all commented on how, as we’ve grown bigger, the candy has gotten smaller (because it HAS. “Fun size” my ASS). The candy has also gotten more expensive and now costs so much BEFORE Hallowe’en that I am tempted to ask the cashier if I’ll be getting a handjob along with the candy. Usually, I wait until AFTER Hallowe’en to stock up on tiny packets of M&Ms and I was fully planning to this year. But then Katr and I got all gung-ho and went to the gym this morning at 6 a.m. and now I don’t feel like eating my weight in Rockets. Interesting.

In other news, Hysteria is still happening over at Buddies! It occurs to me that since my piece is on Saturday, I should probably get to learning my lines. Ha ha . . . yeah.

Comments:

1. oh my god… that is pee-my-self funny.

   I too had a candy-nicking-mom… albeit of a different stripe. Try this on for size.

   My mom, a candy addict from way back, after berating me mercilously for wanting to sort my candy… (I’m a big geek), she used to “help” me. Often leaving me wondering why the load felt lighter after being sorted. Until one year when I got up halfway through and found a stash of the good stuff hidden behind her back where I couldn’t see it until I stood up. And thus the reason she didn’t want me sorting… ‘cause I counted too.

   Comment by Lex — Tuesday, November 1, 2005 @ 7:20 pm

2. Eskimo-dyke.

   Butterfingers hand job. Yum. Except that shit sticks in your teeth.

   Comment by New York Ex — Wednesday, November 2, 2005 @ 1:11 am

3. I had a Halloween in Alberta in 3rd grade. Damn-damnity-damn it was cold! First time I had to get the costume over the snowsuit and then my mask almost froze to my face. I remember it as one of the worst Halloweens, mostly because of the cold but also because we didn’t know where the ‘good’ neighboorhoods were to score the sweet loot.

   Comment by Chris Nolan.ca — Wednesday, November 2, 2005 @ 3:50 am

4. In my old age, I have become a Halloween scrooge. I purposely don’t purchase candy, and keep my downstairs lights turned off.

   Halloween candy, and I really didn’t think this was possible, but Halloween candy, the dedicated, Halloween-only candy, that is, is even worse then Easter candy. Everything tastes like plastic.

   When I was wee, the Smiths from Smith and Smith and Red Green fame lived on my best friend’s street. They gave out jumbo European chocolate bars. Now THAT’S a giveaway.

   Comment by Melissa — Wednesday, November 2, 2005 @ 4:35 pm

5. Lex, how sneaky and devilish of your mom! “Helping” during the sorting - how calculating. Hilarious.

   Chris - your mask freezing to your face is giving me flashbacks. Good to know I wasn’t alone.

   NYEx - if only I’d been “out” back then! Then again, probably best not. We are talking about 1980’s Alberta, after all, and it’s hard to flee for your life in snowpants.

   Melissa - SWEET.

   Comment by Rose — Wednesday, November 2, 2005 @ 6:44 pm

6. um..creamypuff…you’ve got a meme waiting for you!

   Comment by newyorkex — Thursday, November 3, 2005 @ 8:29 pm

7. Ooo! That’s a good one. I’m all over it!

   Comment by Rose — Thursday, November 3, 2005 @ 8:56 pm

8. Wish I was around to see the hysteria show. Sounds hilarious. Do you have them in full Victoria garb? That’s going to be one hot reenactment.

   Comment by Chris — Saturday, November 5, 2005 @ 6:15 am

9. Ah, I like Halloween, but I think it’s a lot more lo key here in the UK. As a kid I LOVED dressing up, so Halloween was always a welcome opportunity for costume adventures.

   Comment by Winter — Saturday, November 5, 2005 @ 4:18 pm

10. Fantastic! I had to repress the urge to hand out my own kid’s candy when we began to get low this year. I’m glad I resisted and chose to turn the outside lights off instead–he might have wound up in therapy over it years later! Thanks for the laugh.

    Comment by Katie — Sunday, November 6, 2005 @ 7:45 pm

11. Chris - they WERE in full Victorian regalia. And it WAS hot. I wish I had taken pictures . . .

    Winter - loved the pumpkin photo on your blog. Was that this year’s costume?

    And Katie - good for you!! I hope your son knows how lucky he is.

    Comment by Rose — Wednesday, November 9, 2005 @ 6:20 pm

12. Heh heh, no. It was only my costume for as long as I could hold it up in front of my face for the camera…which wasn’t long because it was very heavy. After that I just watched the film Halloween with my sister. Then she had to drive home alone and all scared.

    Comment by Winter — Saturday, November 12, 2005 @ 8:17 pm