Creampuff Revolution

Creampuff is Canadian

Tomorrow is Canada Day! Yay Canada! Oh, Canada - you're not perfect, but you are definitely worth celebrating. I plan to observe this national holiday by belting out my favourite patriotic tune, The Canada Song, and consuming unseemly amounts of our national drink - Slurpees. With just a touch of vodka.

Some random things I love about Canada:

Jokes about beavers - I totally love that our national animal is the beaver. Industrious yet dumpy. Suggestive yet ridiculous. They mark their territory with "scent mounds". It delights me.

The island made of chocolate - Did you know that here in British Columbia, there's an island made entirely of chocolate? It's true! It's called Denman Island and you can eat everything there - rocks, trees, garbage cans, you name it! Or so I HEAR. It's not too far from Saltspring Island, which is the island made entirely of pot.

Folk musicians - Speaking of pot, my parents are avid folk festival fans and it's thanks to them that I once ate lunch next to k.d. lang and touched the Violent Femmes. It's true that I love the crappy pop but nothing lifts my soul quite like Maria Dunn or Amelia Curran or Evalyn Parry or The Be Good Tanyas or... you get the idea. Canadian folkiness - you please me.

Things that are filmed in Vancouver -  I get a geeky thrill when I watch films and tv shows that are shot in Vancouver. The X-Files, Battlestar Galactica, Bionic Woman - it makes me feel COOL. I get an even bigger thrill when I recognize Canadian actors on the American shows that are filmed in Canada. For example, we recently discovered cute lesbian comedy Exes and Ohs, which was not only mostly shot in Vancouver but also stars Marnie Alton, who's from Edmonton and was in my very first play when I was 16.

Here's the scary part - it's been 17 years and she looks EXACTLY THE SAME. Totally gorgeous. Me, I look more an more like our national animal every year. Industrious yet dumpy. Also, strangely fuzzy.

Cake Beauty - It's summertime and the living is a little dry and flaky, especially around our ankles. I've been dying for some serious exfoliation and rubbing my feet up against the throngs of Cirque du Soleil patrons isn't cutting it. So Katr and I went a little wild in Cake Beauty's online store. We're getting some citrus squeeze brown sugar scrub and a few other deliciousnesses. I'm not going to lie to you guys - I've been thinking about it. A LOT. This shit cannot get here fast enough. And when it does...I might never leave the tub.

Anne of Green Gables - It's no secret that I believe Anne of Green Gables turned me gay. The close female friendships, the après-ball "sleepovers", Anne getting Diana drunk on currant wine while Marilla was out - let's face it, Anne of Green Gables was practically The L Word of 1908. That's right - 1908. That means that this year is the 100th anniversary of Anne!!

To celebrate this momentous occasion, Moynan King and I are co-curating a night of hot Anne lesbian cabaret action called Anne Made Me Gay: When Kindred Spirits Get Naked at Buddies in Bad Times in Toronto, November 28th. I know!! A whole night of Anne!! Be there - bring your gingham and your bosom friend.

I could go on, but it might take away from my pre-Canada Day Slurpee drinking (you have to lay a base). Instead, I turn it over to you, fellow beaver lovers! Happy Canada Day to all of you and may the Great Beaver grant your every desire!

Someone Almost Left Creampuff's Cake Out In The Rain

When my lovely and generous friend Ron Hudson told me he was sending me one of his signature lemon spice poundcakes of love in the mail, you can imagine my delight. Cake! IN THE MAIL!! Ron even made sure to send it so that it would arrive in time for Easter, so that we could celebrate the resurrection with style. The tomb is empty - He's eating my cake! I was very excited for cake and so was Katr.

Sadly, Canada Post had other plans for the poundcake. Plans that involved the cake not being delivered in a timely manner. Ron called me from North Carolina to see if it had arrived and I was chagrined to report it had not. Where was my cake?? Then, a couple of days ago, I got the delivery notice from the post office. My heart leapt! I dragged the dog up to Main and Hastings and triumphantly handed over my notice. The post office worker handed me an envelope from Indigo Books and nothing else. I stared at her. She stared at me. Impasse. "That's it?" I asked her, "Nothing ... ELSE?" She shook her head and indicated that my cornchip-smelling dog and I should beat feat.

Dejected, we returned home, only to find ANOTHER NOTICE from the post office in the mailbox! But the post office was closed for the day! Noooooooooooooooo!! CAKESPIRACY!!

And so finally, this morning, at the post office, I claimed my prize. I'm not going to lie to you - the weather was inclement:

but we were not downhearted! The cake box was the victim of heavy sleeting as we trudged home. Fortunately, Ron is a master of poundcake packing. Behold!

 

Not long now, little cake.

 

Wait a minute... how big is this cake??

This is several pounds of cake, Ron. SEVERAL POUNDS.

Obviously, we wasted no time slicing into this delicious, moist, lemony, spicy behemoth. I used Katr's grandmother's china, because I wanted the pictures to look like the beautiful pictures at yarnstorm.

I know - not quite. But the cake still looks gooooooood, Let's see it on its own...

Best. Cake. Ever. Oh delicious cake. Until you are finished, I will pretend you weren't made with 3 sticks of butter and 8 oz of cream cheese. Thanks so much, Ron! We are so honoured to be on the receiving end of your poundcake love!!

Because I am all about balance right now, I didn't want you all to feel jealous and deprived. So I thought I'd offer all of you a chance to get something lovely in the mail too!

My wife Katr is the queen of laptop bags. Did you know? It's true! Just go Google "laptop bags". The second or third result there? That's her. And she's having her very first laptop bag giveaway!

If you can guess how many soft, fragrant rose petals are in this bag, you'll win the bag! All you have to do is enter your guess and your email address.

The bag itself (it's called the Giddy Up) is pretty awesome - you can read Katr's glowing review of it on her Funky, Chic & Cool Laptop Bags Squidoo lens.

AND, because Katr is the queen of laptop bags and I am her court jester, she's offering a special giveaway just for you guys. If you blog about this Giddy Up giveaway on your own blogs and trackback here, Katr will enter your name to win another laptop bag. She gets many, many review copies of bags; if you win, you'll get to choose one from her magic bin of laptop bag love. There's some good stuff in there, people. Good stuff that I secretly covet.

I will keep my fingers crossed for all of you! Just as soon as I'm done savouring this latest slice of cake.

Creampuff Equilibrium

I have decided that, so far, 33 is all about balance.

Personal

Earlier on the same day I bought the best jeans ever, it turns out that I also bought the worst jeans ever. I knew they weren't great when I tried them on, but at the time, I felt I wasn't in a position to be choosy and they fit - kinda. Why didn't I return them when I found my perfect jeans minutes later? Well, because I always need shlumpy jeans I don't care about to walk the dog in and these were on sale.

Once I started walking in them, it didn't take me long to figure out that there is nothing right about these jeans. They're just a little too short. They're strangely slim-fitting around the knees. They grip my stomach tightly, yet they simultaneously try to claw my ginch off my ass. They bunch weirdly around the thighs, a few inches below the crotchal area, which creates a lot of angry friction (not the sexy kind, you pervs) and now I have a big welt on the front of my leg. The final straw came yesterday, when I wore them to walk the dog up to the vet. After helping the vet hold the Emmy Lou down for her various check ups (Lovely vet over the sound of Emmy breathing hard like a warthog while she injects a vaccine: "She really doesn't like to be confined, does she?"  Me, sweating and failing to grip my writhing, corn-chip smelling dog: "Nope.") I started to walk Emmy home and felt a breeze. Because my fucking fly was down.

These jeans make the Baby Jesus cry.

I can't wear them but I can't throw them out either. So I really hope that whoever ends up with them at the Goodwill finds them to be HER perfect jeans.

Professional

I submitted a short script for a festival here in Vancouver about a month ago and was supposed to hear about whether I got in this past Monday.

I was strangely excited about it - I thought my little script was a good fit and I haven't actually done any theatre in Vancouver yet and I thought this could be a fun way to start, yadda yadda. As the announcement date drew near, I found I was hanging around at home like a 10th grade girl waiting for her 12th grade possibly-maybe-quasi-boyfriend to call (mine always called - way too often, actually, but that's probably because he was gay too and didn't really know the protocol).

Yesterday, the phone finally rang - and it was one of my favourite Toronto theatre gals calling to tell me that an hilarious idea I emailed her about a couple of weeks ago looks like it's going to actually happen in the fall (I'll let you know what it is once we have an official title for it but trust me - you will ALL want to come.) We laughed our heads off talking about it and when I got off the phone, delighted, I noticed I'd gotten an email...rejection from the Vancouver folks. And I totally didn't care. HA ha!

Musical

I just noticed that the latest mix I made for my iPod includes both Choctaw Hayride by Allison Krauss & Union Station and Britney Spears' latest single Break the Ice. Maybe that's not balance, though - maybe that just means I'm a hick. Shut up.

Culinary

Some crazy lady liberated a chicken from me at the Safeway; International Carnival of Pozitivites founder Ron Hudson is mailing me a homemade poundcake (waaaaay better than chicken)!!!!

Talking Rabbit

I got Kate a Nabaztag for Christmas. Then she got ME one for my birthday! More on that later. The short version is: We're NERDS.

I've been yapping away to Katr about trying to find more balance lately, what with all the fun and frolic of wife life, work life, creative life, Dawn French, donuts, Gina Torres - and I've been having some success in these areas. So it's nice to feel that the universe is also supporting me in my efforts to achieve perfect balance.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go listen to Break the Ice while icing my welt.

Third Tag's the Charm for Creampuff

When people tag me to write certain kinds of posts, I don't like to respond RIGHT AWAY. You know, I like to let tags ripen, like a good cheese or a bold Shiraz or Olympia Dukakis. I also like to let them pile up. Every now and then I open the room in my brain where they are stored and I see them, glittering in the gloom behind a pile of unread issues of The Beaver: Canada's History Magazine.

So Sparkles, Whozat and recent birthday girl Becky - this 7 Things About Me (Food Edition) is for you! (Special to Kimananda - I haven't forgotten you - but I AM saving yours for the holidays. You know why.)

1. Rice. I do not care for it. Last weekend, for example, I spent a goodly amount of time making a delicious beef stew. Katr suggested I add "a handful" of rice to the pot, to starch it up a little. I thought she was being skimpy with the rice because she knows I do not care for it, so I decided to take one for the team and add a little more. The demon rice proceeded to suck up all the available moisture, turning the stew into strice. Katr was annoyed with me for not listening to her. I was annoyed with the rice. Fucking rice.

I do like rice pudding, but I really see it more as a delivery method for cream and raisins.

2. Raw carrots give me hiccups.

3. I have a chocolate ritual. Whenever I eat chocolate - every time - I always internally quote the creampuff kid in the original 1976 Bad News Bears who, when the coach suggests he lay off the junk food, replies: "There's ENERGY in chocolate. I NEED ENERGY."

4. I love disgusting diet pop. I remember my friend Chma recoiling in horror in the late '80's when we were eating fries n' gravy at Meadowlark Mall and I cracked a can of diet chocolate flavoured soda. 20 years later and fucked up pop flavours are still the first thing I reach for in the convenience store. I can't help myself. It's like Thrills or soap candy - gross and yet COMPELLING. I nearly lost my shit in the States one time when I found Diet Holiday Spice Pepsi. I bought up the 7-11's entire stock of Diet Strawberry Pepsi Jazz last September and my most recent obsession is Diet Dr. Pepper Chocolate Covered Cherry. It tastes like carbonated Tootsie Rolls. Mmmmm - gah.

5.  My first word was "guggen". What does that mean? It means "cookie". Because as an infant, I was German.

6. I am famous for this party trick. Once, at a birthday party when I was a child, I laughed so hard a whole maraschino cherry came out my nose.

7. I am a hick and like the milk. I know dark chocolate is sexy these days and has actual health benefits like anti-oxidants and shit but most of the time I'd rather hit myself in the face with a board than eat dark chocolate. There, I said it! And I feel free!

Tag complete! Now I'm hungry. I'm supposed to tag other people, but you know how that always turns out. Tears - recriminations - flaming bags of dog shit. So instead, I tag the first seven people who leave me a comment telling me they want to do it! HA ha! Hic ha! Hic ha! Fucking carrots...

Creampuff's Girlfriend a Radio Star

Jealous? You should be. Katr's going to be on CBC Radio's Definitely Not the Opera tomorrow!! Or, for some of you, today, if you're reading this on Saturday! Listening details over on her blog.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go conduct an interview with her myself. The kind of interview one does supine and topless and with a really big "microphone".

If you know what I mean.

And I think that you do. 

In fact, I have a feeling that you ALWAYS know what I mean.

Because you're not idiots.

Creampuff Destiny Fulfilled

I've been feeling kind of listless lately. Unmotivated. Laissez-faire, if you will. It took me a while to assess situation but what I finally realized was this: last week, my destiny on this earth was fulfilled and now I just don't know what the fuck to do with myself.

As some of you may recall, I did a piece called The Dirty Dozen at Hysteria a few years back where I "created a character" who had a doughnut fetish. "Her" ultimate sexual fantasy was to swim naked in a pool of warm, sugary Krispy Kreme doughnuts and rub those soft, pillowy lard wads ALL OVER. The "character", Mary-Pat, talked about how starting a new fetish is a challenge but that she founded the "glazer" community so that doughnut fetishists would know that they are not alone. Many people confessed their secret doughnut desires to me that night and I was honoured. And a little "hungry" for doughnuts.

In the three years since that piece, other than occasionally being referred to as "doughnut girl" by drag queens, very little has come of my doughnut fetish "performance". Until last week.

Through channels that may forever remain murky, I was contacted a couple of weeks ago by a film student at the Vancouver Film School who said:

I am making a documentary about doughnuts and I am interested to know if you would be interviewed. We have on board a doughnut philosopher and a doughnut poet and I think you would complete our film very well.

It would involve a brief interview, probaby take about 1 hour in all. We would  love if you were in character for the interview. We are trying to prove with our film that doughnuts can, and will, save the world. What do you say?

What do I SAY??

I met with the director a couple of days before the shoot. He was a very soft-spoken and intense young man who encouraged me to get to the emotional core of the character and warned me that he might ask her some very personal questions about her sexual relationship with doughnuts. I believe I blushed. What the doughnuts and I do is private. He assured me that he was not there to exploit me in any way. He was very compelling. Also, I was pretty sure he'd show up with doughnuts. I was right.

He brought doughnuts.

And a bunch of other guys.

And a lot of equipment.

The dog was very curious.

And ended up overseeing the whole endeavour.

I'm not going to lie to you. Talking on camera about the sexual thrill my "character" derives from rubbing herself with warm doughnuts was a pretty intense experience. Being completely real and sincere about it was even more intense, as you all know how much I fucking love to laugh at my own jokes. But in the end, we all managed to get through it with grace and dignity (except for the part where I compared soft doughnuts to boobs and made that classy two-handed honking motion) and I cannot wait to see this thing. CANNOT WAIT.

When it was all over, we had a snack.

And then they were gone.

I made them leave me the doughnuts.

So that's it. I was in a documentary about how doughnuts can, and will, save the world. Where do you go from there? WHERE??

Back to YouTube, I guess . . .

Creampuff Commute

It's been a long time since I had a really epic commute to get to work. For a few months many years ago, I was working as an off-the-books office manager for a meglomaniacal buttnut way up in the north end of Toronto and had an hour-long, three-transfer public transit ride to get up there. 

The subway part was fine (I was younger then and hated people less) but the part with the bus . . . sometimes I still hear the screaming. The bus was stuffed with teens every morning and they all disembarked at the stop AFTER mine, so I had to be in a certain spot if I wanted to get off . . . the bus. Thus, the most exciting moments of the morning occurred when I would engage in a battle of the wills at the bus depot with a little person, who wanted the same seat as I did. Some days, I would deke her out; other days, she would flash past me like tiny, bitchy lightning and smirk triumphantly at me for most of the ride. I've often thought about tracking that woman down and doing a TLC special on her. Check your local listings! 8 p.m.: Little People, Big World. 9:00 p.m.: Tiny, Bitchy Lightning.

Nowadays, my commute is pretty short and is generally accomplished in bare feet. But I got to relive some of that tasty commuter fun last week when Katr and I were in Toronto briefly for work. Of course, we were taking the GO Train against traffic and our hotel was right across from Union Station, so it was more like commuter-tourism than commuting. Like going on commuter safari, but with laptop bags instead of those big hats. We marvelled at the herds of people arriving into the city. We were trod upon by wingtips. I hummed that Carly Simon song from Working Girl.

On our first morning at Union, I found the "on-the-go" spirit of the commuters infectious and insisted that Katr and I both have smoothies for breakfast, because they are "healthy" and make me feel very efficient and no-nonsense. Also, I figured there would be less chance of dribbling on my "nice shirt" (which I subsequently dribbled on at lunch). This worked well for our first morning, but on the second day, it turned out we were hungrier. We both slammed our smoothies just before getting on the train and were sitting there discussing how we probably should have gotten something with bacon instead when another passenger joined us on the train. It was a man.

A man with a bag of McMuffins.

We were instantly riveted.

I know that McMuffins are wrong. But sometimes they feel so right. I was cursing myself for not acquiring our own McLardWads and heaving a heavy sigh of resignation when the strangest thing happened. This McMuffin man settled in a seat close to ours and then he got up, LEFT THE MCMUFFINS ON HIS SEAT and walked by us, in search of a paper. Katr and I cast sidelong glances at this man's abandoned breakfast. How could he just LEAVE them there, delicious and unattended? Words passed between us as we eyed the food.

Me: (barely a whisper) It's like BAIT.

Katr: (nodding vigorously, also barely whispering) Creampuff bait.

We teetered on the edge of indecision. Would we just leave the breakfast sandwiches alone and pretend that they weren't calling our names? Or would we teach this guy a lesson and have him return to find two creampuffs making sweet, sweet love to the lonely McMuffins?

Our hesitation cost us the prize. Just as I was about to make my move (and just as Katr whipped out her camera to capture the liberation of the McMuffs), the guy strode back to his seat, opened the bag and started to chow down. I may have shed a little tear. Thank goodness there were Timbits when we got to the office or the whole day might have been a wash. 

On our last evening in town, Katr took off to see her hairdresser (as she has yet to find one in Vancouver - part of our ongoing "failing to commit to our new city" issues, like how I still have a Toronto cell phone) and I took the train back alone. I had actually brought some editing work with me and was feeling quite fancy and just like the other commuters, on their laptops and Blackberries. I snapped my gum importantly as I circled formatting errors and scribbled notes in the margins.

By the time the train arrived at Union, my gum was stale and as I exited the train, amid a sea of commuters, I looked for a place to deposit it. I saw a garbage can and, in an uncharacteristic move, I decided to lean over and spit my gum out, instead of using my hands. Just as I leaned and spit, I was mightily jostled by a small woman with a large shopping bag and, in a glistening arc, my gum went flying into some lady's open purse.

I froze.

I've been known to perpetrate a social gaffe from time to time, but it's a rare day that I'll hawk into someone's purse. I had no idea what to do. Reach in and retrieve it? Apologize? Let the wave of commuters carry me away? My fight or flight response kicked into gear when the lady's friend said in a loud voice:

"Did she just . . . SPIT IN YOUR PURSE?"

Suddenly, everything was in slow motion. The lady bent her head to look into her purse as her friend raised her hand to point her manicured nails in my direction. I turned and, like a fat gazelle, leapt over some guy's briefcase and dodged a pair of Mormons. I made for the escalators, head down, heart racing, waiting for a claw-like hand to clamp down on my shoulder and rub my gum into my hair. I was almost at the hotel when I realized that I'd escaped.

I breathed a sigh of relief. Then I popped another stick of gum. And then I started laughing so hard, I choked on my gum.

So, purse lady, if you're out there - I'm sorry I spit my gum into your purse. I hope it didn't ruin anything (other than your day). And as for you, McMuffin Man - keep those sandwiches close. You might not be so lucky next time.

Creampuff WINS!! And Then Tries to Regift.

This Saturday, Katr and I attended the awards ceremony for ChicTech, a project which encourages young women and girls to expand on or develop an interest in Computer Science. Young ladies - it's HOT. Get in on it! Katr was there in her capacity as a website judge and sponsor-representative (kinzin was a sponsor) and I was there in my capacity as Katr's:

Me: "Arm candy?"

Katr: "Sherpa."

Me: "Oh."

When we got there, some young volunteers handed out tickets for the door prize, which I tucked into my pocket. I never win things. Also, Katr felt that because I was sitting at the judges' table, my winning a door prize could end up looking like the sponsorship scandal that toppled our country's government a few years back and no one wants that. I look enough like Paul Martin as it is.

I tell you, though, it was an exciting, inspiring evening full of happy high school girl web designers, proud mentors, encouraging female professors and kick-ass punch and by the time the door prize draw rolled around, I was too caught up in the moment to act cool. Katr's favourite thing is how, when she brings me anywhere new, I end up acting like a dork. The Chictech event was no exception.

As they started to call the ticket numbers, my hands were actually shaking. There was a moment when I thought I'd won, but it turned out that the Computing Sciences professor NEXT to me was the winner that time. "Ha ha ha!" she said to me, as she returned to the table, prize in hand. I swallowed the bitter humiliation of being trash-talked by the keynote speaker. And then, up the at the front, I heard Daphne call the magic number: 061.

"YES!!" I screamed, pumping my fists in the air and jumping out of my cafeteria chair. My only regret is not turning to the professor of Computing Sciences and yelling "In your FACE, Condon! You trash-talking hussy!" I bounced up to the front of the room to claim my winnings, urged on by bewildered clapping and nervous chuckling. "I never saw someone so excited to win a t-shirt before," quipped one of the judges. "JEALOUS?" I roared. She backed off and I fondled my prize.

Here's the shirt. I know. It's a Northern Voice shirt and it's beautiful in a way that only door prizes can be. Unfortunately, it's also "girl's large".

Just to give you some size perspective, here's the shirt on top of one of my shirts.

Needless to say, I won't be wearing this shirt, unless I slice open my leg in a horrible ice cream scoop debacle and need a tourniquet. But I WILL send this tiny shirt anywhere in the world, to the first one of you who e-mails me your list of favourite lesbians books and/or movies.

Remember back in February when I pleaded with you all for some lesbian book recommendations? Well, one of you - Smitty - actually WRITES lesbian books and she dropped hers off at my door in Toronto in March and I devoured them both, like a starving creampuff in a Tim Hortons. Of Drag Kings and the Wheel of Fate and Burning Dreams, both published by Bold Strokes Books, were, as I said to Smitty, fantastic and just the thing to be reading while I was away from, and pining for, my love. Because there's no better way to exacerbate your already frustrating desires and yearnings than reading hot lesbian fiction. I decided, while following the adventures of professor Rosalind and hot young drag king Taryn, that I need to start making a list, not just for me, but for all the other lesbians who are looking for some good fiction!! That's right - I don't do these things for me. I do them for YOU.

To that end, I've finally started my lesbian book list over at Squidoo (where my better half has the #1 "Shopping" lens at the moment). It's still a work in progress, obviously and I'll tell you now, I'm only listing books I actually liked. I hate to miss out on giving bitchy reviews, though, so I also started a lesbian film list. Because Katr and I watched Girlplay this weekend and while I'm glad Lacie and What's-Her-Name found lurve in the theatre, the movie sucked so bad I still have the marks.

Creampuff's 5 Reasons for Blogging

I'm part of the Lady Creators SaIon at Buddies this year. The other women in the group are mainly smart, funny, brilliant performance artists. For example, one of them is my incredibly sweet and lovely friend Jedo, whose last performance piece involved sharpening pencils with her vagina. Yeah, that's right. It was interactive. And then there's me and my linear, traditionally structured Victorian lesbian historical fiction. We go around the circle and talk about our work and I feel like an artistic Luddite.

During a recent salon, however, the tables were turned when we got to talking about online communities and social media. I realized that only one of these women has a website and NONE of them blog or have any real kind of online life (unless you count myspace and I don't, because it blows). And these women are very nice people, but I could tell they all sort of thought that having an involved online life was the last refuge of the anti-social loser. What?? NOW who's the Luddite?

I think I came off as a little defensive in my rebuttal.

When Cas over at Bright Meadow tagged me to write about my 5 reasons for blogging, I saw it as a welcome opportunity to refine my Lady Creators Salon sputterings so that next time someone doesn't understand the point of blogging, I'll actually have something articulate to say.

Reason #1: Instant Gratification

It takes a long time to write a play (well, it takes ME a long time) and it can be weeks, months or years before you get any feedback on it and then often the feedback is "It would be better if it was set in France, why not set it in France?" or "No grant for you!" or "Oooo, SPACE!! SET IT IN SPACE!!" It takes less time to write a blog post, I sometimes get feedback on the same DAY and no one in the blogosphere turns me down for grants. Although I think we can all agree that my blog would be better if it was set in space. With Gina Torres in tight pants. And me with no pants. Okay, I need a minute.

Reason #2: Community (and a little voyeurism)

My life has been infinitely richer since I blogged my way into this international community of incredible, accomplished, intelligent, hilarious people. In the two years I've been blogging, I've seen romance ignite, children conceived and born, knitting accomplished, Masters degrees, PhDs and bar exams completed, cross-country trips chronicled, goals attained, demons shared,discussed, dealt with, conquered and many, many photos of cats (CATSPIRACY!!). I've worried over people being hurt or ill or depressed, clapped my hands with glee at successful first dates and even been adopted. When I describe the kick I get out of peeking through these blog-shaped windows into other people's lives, it's like I'm giving my own teary-eyed version of the Rutger Hauer speech at the end of Blade Runner:

"I've read things you people wouldn't believe. Posts vaguely related to playoff hockey that made me cry. Women who do all their own home renovations. And Syd, who has more guns than I have bras."

Reason #3: Self-Preservation

I like to think I have a good memory, but sometimes, I am wrong. People with better memories than I will often remind me of hilarious stories I told them years ago in university and I won't have a clue what they're talking about. Without the blog, there's NO way I would remember things like:

• Accusing Katr of having an affair with someone named Louise; 
• How I want to be more like Ma Ingalls; and 
• That two Solstices ago, I planned to start a family band called Dr. K and the Repeaters. GOLD!

My last two reasons come via my favorite old Roman guy Horace. I aspire, through pretty much any writing I do, be it plays or marketing copy for industrial lubricants, to achieve the twin artistic goals of docere and delicare:

Reason #4: To Educate

I'm not stingy with my knowledge. It's been my privilege to share with you my online dating tips, my brilliant invention for staying cool in summer and that New England isn't a state. That's right - it's a BUNCH of states. Yeah, you're welcome.

Reason #5: To Delight

Seriously, I just want to entertain you with my stupid stories. A lot of people who write say they have to write, that they'd do it even if no one else ever read it. Not me. Although I do laugh a lot at my own jokes. If I didn't see it as a way to connect with people, if it wasn't about sharing instead of merely recording an experience, I wouldn't do it.

And now, for the tagging that must follow these types of endeavours. I tag zuhn, Melissa, Drew, Lex, and Whozat (or Shrike, you know, whichever). Answer! Or keep it a mystery. Or just post photos of sock monkeys. As you choose.

Creampuff Starts Off the New Year With a Bang! Followed by a Whimper. Then a Band-Aid.

It was a windy day in the city and after hours of trying to get my attention by flapping noisily, the vinyl cover on the grill on our balcony decided to make a break for it.

I looked up to see it heaving itself over the edge of the railing and instantly I sprang into action. I flung open the balcony door and leapt like a fat gazelle out into the wind, catching my foot on the doorjamb. As I tried to steady myself, a big gust of wind slammed the door. On my ankle.

Birds rubbernecked as I screamed the F word. Screaming was soon downgraded to a light whimpering as I limped over to the pile of vinyl, gathered it up and dumped it in the outdoor Rubbermaid bin. Then I came inside and had a little cry.

I suppose I was due a little pain, because so far 2007 has been good to me. First of all, in the last comment thread, Flippy made the brilliant observation that my site was actively discouraging indexing by saying, and I paraphrase the metadata, "Robots, fuck off!" Thanks, Flippy! You are a rock star! I investigated further and discovered that the tag was there because for some reason I neglected to choose the "Publicize this blog" option in Typepad when I switched over from WordPress. Yeah, that's right - for over a year now, you have all been reading MY SECRET BLOG. The secret? That I am a DOOFUS.

In the course of impatiently Googling myself long before Google would have had a chance to index anything, I stumbled upon Cream Puffs in Venice, a beautiful food blog with incredible food porn pictures. Seriously. I had to close the blinds and take a private moment. The whole thing made me want to sprinkle powdered sugar on myself and dab espresso behind my ears.  There are recipes too, if you are kitchenally inclined. I believe the Venetian "Cream Puff" (who actually lives in Canada) uses "cream puff" in the literal "A shell of light pastry filled with whipped cream, custard, or ice cream" sense, rather than in my euphemistic "delightful fat people like me" sense. Just to clarify. Anyway, it's lovely and I encourage the foodies among you to check it out.

Secondly, I was aided and abetted in my quest to become a sock knitter this year when my love (and hopeful future sock recipient) signed me up for the Petals Collection at Sundara Yarn as a Solstice gift! (Miss Sundara Yarn herself seems to be between websites at the moment, but her stuff is gorgeous, as you knitters all know - here's her blog). I tore into the package like a hoodlum but later, when the fondling was over, I took photos. They're a little blurry because my hands were shaking with excitement.

This month's petal inspiration, the lenten ROSE (Coincidence? I THINK NOT):

The actual sock yarn (photos never do yarn justice, but this comes pretty close):

The picture of the sock pattern. If I wasn't such a ham-fisted yahoo, I'd give it a go, but I think I'd better practice first. To the yarn store!

Thirdly, it's been brought to my attention that a kind reader has nominated Creampuff Revolution for The Lesbian Lifestyle's Lesbian Blog of the Year award.  Thanks, kind reader! I understand that the top five most nominated blogs will then be voted on starting February 2. My pomade-lovin' pal Curly's been nominated, as well as Ms. SassyFemme - so y'all should head over there and nominate YOUR favourite lesbian blog(s). That's where I'm headed - right after I dust this powdered sugar off. On the other hand, Katr might be home soon. And I DID buy whipped cream this afternoon. Hm.