Creampuff Revolution

Creampuff Presents Wintersea 2019: We're In The Navy Now

It's that magical time of year again, where I dig through our various cupboards and closets and make my careful selections for this year's vignettes. I wanted to use some buildings I haven't seen in awhile, PLUS I got a new one for Christmas last year that I had totally forgotten about, so in Wintersea (aka the top of the filing cabinet and the windowsill in our office), I decided to go with a nautical theme.

Here is the nautical part - the Queens Port Naval Academy! Established in 1734, this venerable institution has been turning out the finest seamen in the land and also, surprisingly, some of the tenderest lovers in the Royal Navy. Rear Admiral McKay and his "assistant", Sub Lieutenant Barnes, gives lectures and demonstrations on consent and ass play to cadets. 

Today the Academy has received a visit from the Queen herself! That's how they refer to First Sea Lord and Admiral Rupert Delares, who wears his hat in a rakish fashion and has a fetish for the thick ropes.

The First Sea Lord, exhausted after letting loose some first sea loads, is also stopping off at the carriage works to see if he can get bouncier springs in his carriage, for when he has Jolly Roger with him. 

Wintersea townsfolk are always impressed by a title, so Sir Edward Shaftsbury's out by the carriage works with the Ladies Auxiliary Brass Band, singing his heart out in tribute to the First Sea Lord, whom Sir Edward fancied at school. Will the First Sea Lord recognize him, 30 years later? Will Sir Edward's baritone echo through the village tonight for...other reasons?

Not everyone in Wintersea is a big mo, however, Seamen who prefer the company of women can often be found making time with Mrs. Lemon at the Three Lemons Inn up the road. She provides a friendly port to any wandering ship, with the stipulation that her husband gets to watch.

The place is called the Three Lemons Inn because the family name is Lemon but also because Mr. Lemon, or "Ol' Three Balls", as Mrs. Lemon calls him, has three balls.

Chief petty officers awaiting their visit with Mrs. Lemon can get in the mood over at Leeds' Oyster House, or shop for nautical gifts at the Octant Navigational Device shop upstairs. If you ask nicely, the proprietor, Mrs. Sexton, will show you into a back room where ... other devices are for sale. She'll give you a knowing look, but no judgment.

The Lemon children are often at loose ends when their folks are entertaining. Here they are by the village Christmas tree, just waiting it out, like when you're in first year and your roommate is getting laid and you most certainly are NOT.

Tomorrow - Rosewood Cross!

Creampuff Sneak Peak

I set my village up today and let me tell you, construction work is exhausting. Here is a sneak preview; tomorrow, the annual crappy shots of my Dickens Village!

Creampuff's Dog's Not Super Bright

Effie is a fan of toys. She's not a real chewer or destroyer - she likes to run around with them, shake 'em like she's trying to kill them, wrestle us for them, occasionally, she'll take them to one of her three beds to give them a good mouthing.

What's hilarious to us is that, once she's done with the toy, she'll leave it on her bed and then, when she returns to her bed, the toy is still there and she's like "Oh shit, this toy is here on my bed." And then we're like "You brought it there. You moved it there, with your mouth. Just move it again and your bed will be clear!" and she goes "Nah, it's probably here for a reason, I'll just work around it" and then this happens:

I have no idea why she feels she can't just move the toys off her bed - or why she doesn't just lie down on the toys and reclaim her bed, because I'll tell you what, she has NO boundaries in OUR bed.

Weirdo.

Creampuff's Village Planning Begins

We usually put up our tree and set up my Dicken's Village the weekend of our wedding anniversary, but this year I had an event to attend and now we're almost a WEEK behind our usual festive decor schedule.

When I got home from my walk with the dog this morning, I noticed a suspicious-looking mound of sheets on the dining room table. 

Me: "What's that?"

Katr: "I dunno, some guy named Master Potts was here..."

Me: "AAAAAAAAAAAAA!!"

Get ready for some shit to get real at Cratchit's Corner, gang.

Creampuff and Dog Were Fans

Like all good Canadians, I am a huge Spirit of the West fan. Save This House was the soundtrack of my youth. Home For a Rest was (and still is) the song that got everyone out on the dance floor at a family wedding. So when news of John Mann's passing hit my feed yesterday, I was very very sad. 

Since moving to Vancouver, I got to meet John Mann a handful of times; he played M. Thénardier in a local production of Les Miz and I got to fangrrrrl at him at the opening night party (he could not have been more gracious) and I was in a writing group with his fantastic wife Jill, so I saw them together at various events a few years after his diagnosis. But my favourite memory of him is this:

Back in 2013, Katr and I and our cantankerous pooch Emmy Lou went to Galliano Island for a small conference and John Mann was the featured performer. He gave a wonderful, intimate performance and it was a magical night. The next morning, I was waiting for Katr in the hotel lobby with our cranky-ass dog and John Mann walked in. He was immediately taken with Emmy Lou and started rubbing her wrinkled head. 

And she LET HIM.

Emmy Lou didn't really enjoy being touched. She ruined a lot of people's days by avoiding their attempts to pet her and barely tolerated physical affection from us, the people who fed and housed her.

But she was INTO John Mann. Like, looking lovingly into his eyes, trying to get her junkyard face close to his, her tail wagging gently. I could not believe it. But then again, I COULD believe it, because John Mann had this great energy and Emmy Lou was in thrall, like the rest of us.

This dog petting went on for several minutes and it was fucking adorable. 

I'm sorry I didn't get a photo of the moment but also not sorry, because sometimes you just need to remember things. But after it was over, I gave Emmy Lou an extra big treat for not embarrassing me in front of John Mann.

Rest in peace to the great John Mann. Katr and I loved you, Canada loved you and our crusty shar pei Emmy Lou loved you too. If you see her up there, please give her a rubbins from us.

Creampuff's Right to Bare Arms

I made the totally rad decision to stop hating myself almost 16 years ago now and guys, it was a good call. Hating yourself is exhausting and time-consuming and also, just really fucking boring, honestly.

While I did go from being ashamed of my goddess-like behind to embracing it, I still tended to wear loose and flowy attire, because that's my preference, and I ALWAYS wore something with a sleeve. Unless I was in a bathing suit, drunk in Mexico where I didn't know anyone, my upper arms and, ideally, most of my lower arms were covered. Even in the summer.

I was self-conscious about my arms for two reasons:

1. I had somehow internalized the fact that it was unacceptable to reveal my arms unless they looked like Linda Hamilton's arms in Terminator 2. 

2. As I have mentioned in passing here before, I was SUPER into cutting in my twenties (most people do it in their teens, but I was a late bloomer) and sometimes the scars on my arms freak other people out. 

As a result, I haven't owned a tank top since I was twelve and I usually pass over them entirely when I'm shopping, so I don't know what it was about this pink polka dot tank top I saw last summer but I felt like I had to have it.

"Why?" I thought, "Sure it's cute and the little ruffle is adorable. But you'll never wear it without something over top of it. Just get a t-shirt."

"Maybe," a little voice said, "You COULD just say FUCK IT and wear whatever the hell you want to."

I put the shirt in my cart. And then, when it got hot, I put it on. And then, I WENT OUT IN PUBLIC. And NOTHING HAPPENED.

Here are some great things about not wearing sleeves:

1. It's cooler.

I am now the proud owner of FOUR tank tops and every time I put one on, I feel like Linda Hamilton's cute, chubby cousin who carried the snacks and a grenade launcher and it's awesome. Free the arms!!

Hilariously, I don't have a photo of me wearing one of them. Maybe next year.

What the Fuck Has Creampuff Been Doing For the Last Ten Years?

There are a lot of memes going around right now about the fact that the decade is ending and WHAT HAVE YOU ACCOMPLISHED??

Hands down, my favourite response is this one:

there’s ONE MONTH left in the decade. what have you accomplished? more than that month has. that month didn't even begin yet, and it's November. fuck you, December, you worthless piece of shit

— Sandra Newman (@sannewman) November 14, 2019

I find this question very panic-inducing for some reason - what HAVE I been doing?? AAAAAAAAAAAA!!!

It's obviously time for a narcissistic clip show. BUT, instead of jerking off to my own blog reading ten years worth of posts, I decided that I would try to remember - without looking at the archives - one random fun thing I posted about for each year. 

2010

I volunteered for the Olympics!

2011

I couldn't remember a single thing from 2011 and I refuse to look it up.

2012

We went to Hawaii! 

2013

I was the oldest nerd at a young adult fantasy fiction book signing.

2014

My play Camp Victoria opened at Lunchbox Theatre!

2015

My play The Good Bride opened at Northern Light Theatre! Also, we got a puppy but I didn't post about that until 2016.

2016

We got a puppy.

2017

Katr saved the house from burning down.

2018

I introduced readers to Beaver Mews, where the ladies go for love.

2019

I shared the one lifehack I've ever come up with on my own. I donate every year...but I've had the same poppy for five.

Anyway, I think focusing on what you've accomplished in a ten year period just leads to comparing your accomplishments with others and comparison is the thief of joy, so fuck that. 

 

Manic Creampuff Monday

We tried to upgrade our internet today and that's not something you should ever do while Mercury is in retrograde or really any time.

After Katr spent a full day troubleshooting, the internet is back and we are down a couple of pot brownies.

I was out running errands this afternoon and thought that, for what I knew would be a very short post today, I would take a photo of a cute restaurant name I'd never seen before on Commercial Drive and then on the way home I remembered another errand, crossed the street, missed the restaurant and then, by the time I remembered, it was raining and I was like "fuck it!"

The name of the restaurant is Ugly Dumpling and that's just adorable. It also looks delicious. Good thing it's closed this week or you would have seen two slightly stoned creampuffs on the news, having eaten all the dumplings and trashed the place looking for more.

Creampuff's 12th Anniversary

As of today, Katr and I have been married for 12 years.

Twelve years, motherfuckers! 

So many people (no one) have asked us how we do it; how we live together, work together, write screenplays together and then sit on the couch holding hands and watching terrible Christmas movies together without straight up killing each other.

Well, folks, it's time to come clean.

We do have a secret.

It is a secret about the bedroom.

And that secret is:

.

.

.

.

.

Separate. Blankets.

The Scandinavians know what's up; every time some dipshit North American on House Hunters International goes into a master bedroom in Finland, there are two separate duvets on the bed. Well, that's how we do it, except our duvet is too hot, so we each have our own sheet and blanket.

No fighting over covers - no one sneaking their cold ass feet onto anyone's leg - no disturbing the whole bed when you get up to go to the ladies' shitter in the night. Magical.

Some couple asked me, concerned, if sleeping under separate sheets led to less "doing it" and all I will say is that if you can't figure out how to slide a hand under your wife's sheet, you've got bigger problems.

Anyway, apparently the traditional 12th wedding anniversary gift is linen, which, as it turns out, couldn't be more perfect for this year's celebration of our ongoing lurve.

Many moons ago, before we met, Katr fell in love with these cotton sheets in marbled colours from a place called Kama Design in Guelph. I also found them delightful and even after we moved to Vancouver, we still ordered our sheets from there. But Kama closed several years ago and we've never found their like again. Slowly, over time, we wore out the fitted sheets and pillowcases and now have only a few flat sheets left from those glory days. 

A couple of weeks ago, I was angrily walking down Broadway in Kits, pissed that the Starbucks on my Google map had become a JJ Bean. As I stomped fatly along the street, I passed by a random store window and stopped dead.

OMFG THERE WERE OUR SHEETS!!!!!

Technically, just that orange pillowcase, but I had a good feeling, as I peered into the closed shop like a psycho. This was it. We'd found them. Or rather, THEY HAD FOUND US.

Once they were open for the day, I went back and discovered that the store, Bed, was actually descended from Kama and that it's the same product. Say a prayer for the poor saleswoman who had to listen to the gripping tale of how I found their store that day and how bad we've missed the sheets, but not too long a prayer, because the sheets aren't free (though the pillowcases were) and I gleefully ordered two sets.

They arrived just in time for our anniversary. And they're very reminiscent of our wedding colours! Because the times have changed but our love of bright colours most definitely has not.

Happy Anniversary, Katr. You are my favourite human and I am extraordinarily lucky to call you mine.

I look forward sliding my hand under these sheets later.

Creampuff's Shar Pei Less Hippo-y Than Usual

Poor Effie sometimes gets the shar pei fever, an autoimmune disease where her hocks swell and she shivers and can't get comfortable and it's terrible. This is the second time she's had it this year, which isn't TOO bad; some shar peis get it a lot more frequently and a lot worse.

We took her to the vet recently, so we knew there wasn't some horrible underlying condition causing the fever. But it is, hilariously, often brought on by stress and, while nothing TOO crazy has been going on here at Casa Creampuff, the time change plus a few sets of dinner guests must have put her over the edge.

Someone's dog is a delicate flower.

Sunday morning, I was walking her and realized, a half hour in to our hour long walk, at the furthest point away from the house, the fever was upon us. Effie slows down to senior speed when she gets sick, so it took us over 45 minutes to get home. She spent the rest of the day pretty zonked out after we gave her some medication and before long, she was on the mend but still very slow for a few days. 

I'd rather she wasn't sick but I won't lie, once she's over the worst, it is very relaxing; she's so chill in the house, doesn't give a rat's ass about other dogs or noises outside, still loves to walk but just real slow. My dream is that this is how she'll be as a senior.

By far the most upsetting thing about the fever, though, is that a few days after she recovers, her beautiful hippo face shrinks and she looks like an idiot.

It took several weeks for her snoot to puff back up after she was sick in April - send fat thoughts to our little pudge!!!