Paranormal Activity in my Gut

I woke up this morning ravenous. This almost never happens as I need to be alert to be hungry and being alert generally takes most of my day. I can perform tasks for hours before I’d classify myself as actually alert. I have auto pilot. I have zombie efficiency. So it was a surprise to find my belly growling like a Satanic demon.

And a shock since I went to bed feeling like I was housing the entire world’s food surplus in my belly. I got all social last night and went for a dinner of junk food type deliciousness, which is always a damn fine treat, and which included a grilled cheese sandwich and sweet potato fries all healthily cancelled out by a giant Diet Pepsi. When I’d done I felt like there was possibly a full grown human curled up in my gut. Or at least the Olson Twins.

All this munching turned out to be a huge mistake as I went to the movies afterwards and it was some half price Tuesday nonsense, which sounds like a really good thing doesn’t it? Except it’s not really half price at all. It’s full price but you get a free popcorn and a giant free soda with your ticket. Which I didn’t know. Or particularly want after a belly full of awesome. I don’t even like popcorn much and I didn’t eat any of it. Really the half price ticket would’ve been a much better deal, you fuckers. This is the great thing about smaller inconspicuous states like North Dakota. They have cheap awesomeness up the wazoo.

I forgave them though because I got such a kick out of the movie. (“Paranormal Activity”) I’d seen so many reviews and I’d read all the hype and I thought “Well OBVIOUSLY it’s going to be a letdown because all hyped moves are!” but you know what? It wasn’t. I thought it was better than expected by quite a bit. And it’s a long time since I’ve gone to bed at night totally creeped out.

 In fact, it was scarier after the movie than during even. I like stuff that starts off really slow and unremarkable and gradually builds. The entire first half I was thinking “This is creepy but not really scary.” Then the last half hour happened. Holy fuck. The last minute or so almost gave me palpitations. I loved how there’s this crazy, tense, shock of a last scene then the movie just ends with no credits or anything and the lights come on and everyone’s just sitting there shell shocked.

Wicked!

I guess if you like your scary movies full of implausible slasher super killers, blood, gore, torture and predictable cliches (how many times can we see the whole ‘girl closes bathroom cabinet to see nasty entity in mirror’ thing?) you won’t like PN but if you like slow building, realistic, gets under your skin creepiness, you’ll probably love it like I did.

And I woke up every hour to check there was no one standing at the side of the bed watching me sleep, because if there was it’s possible I’d be on the news today for setting a new world speed record for sprinting.

Toot toot!

PB&J

I almost missed daylight savings altogether as my head thought it was all going down next week and, as always, I assumed it knew best.  Let’s hope my head never plans a bank heist. 

It was ok in the end though.  I got some extra sleep and managed to get up this morning without having an internal struggle, probably due to my small pea brain’s confusion.  Maybe I’ll make a morning person yet? 

Still, it might have messed with me in other ways.  For instance, it’s not even 9:30am now and I can’t concentrate on what I’m doing because I’m already fixated on the idea of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.  But it’s much too early to be thinking of such things.  It’s coffee and granola bar time really.  One doesn’t screw with societal convention.  Although I already eat breakfast food for dinner because I’m a rebel of society so this shouldn’t really be a great stretch.

Peanut butter and jelly together are two of life’s little pleasures.  A simple delight and a sticky one but sometimes those are the best kind.  Growing up in a country not bred on such mixtures, I was the lime in a bowl full of lemons as a kid because I was weaned on a strict diet of cheesy American TV shows and knew two things from an early age;  if you were anyone at all you ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and you drank root beer, two concepts so foreign to me they sounded almost exotic.  I’d never tried either. 

I eventually tasted root beer as a kid, during a family vacation to the States, during a heat wave, and after braving what seemed to be a 300 day wait in line at a cafe at the Statue of Liberty. When my dad asked what my drink of choice was I excitedly asked for root beer.  Because I was in the know with the cool kids. I was practically American goddamn it. I was fucking COOL. 

I took one sip of that root beer and pulled a face that suggested maybe someone had accidentally fed me a cup of salted duck guts. “What is THIS?” I said, disgusted.  “It tastes like hospitals!” 

To this day I can’t touch root beer.  Stuff is just NASTY.  People are just devoted to it and I can’t figure out why.  Unless they had some unfortunate taste-bud killing disease…

The peanut butter and jelly sandwich however did not let me down.  In fact, in my late teens my sister and I and some mutual friends used to frequent a local indie club together once a week. This meant drinking copious amounts of “Snakebites” (beer and cider mixed into a lethal pint-sized cocktail of extreme danger and flavoured mildly, in our case, with a splash of blackcurrant) and grabbing a taxi home in the wee small hours then trying not to wake my mum upon arrival with our rubber-limbed attempts at making a snack REALLY QUIETLY BUT NOT REALLY QUIETLY.

We were always ravenous and about as drunk as Nick Nolte at a titty bar. My mum could always assess our level of drunkenness in the morning by the debris we left in the kitchen at 4 am.  If there were cheese gratings we were coordinated enough to work the grill and make grilled cheese sandwiches – nectar of drunken bums everywhere.  However, if we were really incoherent and giggling, there’d be a peanut butter jar, a jelly jar and a half uneaten loaf and she’d know we couldn’t quite fire on enough cylinders to deal with actually cooking something.  On those mornings she took extra care to be noisy.  Who said mothers have no sense of humour?

Obligatory Friday Attendance

I am home, cozy, installed in some comfort-level, slightly worn pyjama bottoms and a big t-shirt, my reading glasses perched on the end of my nose like a disapproving librarian, my hair inventing angles that astound the geometric world, a big cup of coffee by my side, some tunes blasting in the background and a pristine, giant white canvas on my easel waiting for me to utilize the pots of pink, magenta, red and purple paints laid out in anticipation. Because yes! Once again I defy blue by attempting something in another colour spectrum – the spectrum of “offensive to the eyeballs”.

 There’s also the possibility that later I might bake something fragrant to nibble while watching a movie later tonight. So really, what’s not to like? Come on over and play. And eat a cupcake. Filled with lemon butter cream and joyous little exuberant calories.

I have a slight eye socket migraine going down behind my right eye. It’s nearly always my right eye, because Right Eye is a party animal. There’s all manner of chaos going on behind there. Left eye, in the meantime, is the serious one, the studious one, the one who wants to sit nine feet from the TV and use a glare screen on the computer. Left Eye likes early nights and gardening and possibly reading up on spiritual fulfillment, whereas Right Eye prefers strip clubs, hollering cheesy song lyrics and drinking a 40 in two minutes for a bet. Sadly, Right Eye is dominant. I am a slave to its every whim.

Anyway, I hope your spooky weekends go terrifyingly. My Internet is doing odd things – or rather, NOT doing them. Maybe one of the gnomes that runs on the treadmill to power it is sick today or something?

One Hot Mess

Hey, it’s the weekend (my weekend starts on Friday, I don’t know about yours). I’ve been crazy busy the last couple of days as all my spare time’s been used up painting a new giant canvas and playing cheesy playlists as I find cheesy songs fuel my painting process like the bejeezus. Or the Bee Gees!

Today I’m all sort of infuriated because I keep getting rubber shavings from my eraser in my white paint. They don’t add much to the painting at all.

You know, when I was at school erasers were called “rubbers”. I know! We said that out loud ALL THE TIME. Nowadays you’d get into all sorts of hot water asking an 8 year old if you can “borrow his rubber”, right? The sad thing is, he’d probably HAVE one. A condom I mean, not an eraser. Try to keep up here.

Talking of condoms, we used to call those, “johnny bags” and we spent many happy pre-pubescent hours sniggering about older boys who carried them in their wallets because oh my God, johnny bags were so DIRTY.

And then there was a big scandal in my school when I was about twelve because a gym teacher arrived to school early one morning and found the *bush outside the gym literally covered in hanging johnny bags! Just hanging from the bushy branches like mutant, latex leaves. I never did find out if they were used or not - because, let's face it, that's the first thing everyone was thinking - but by the time I got in there were, sadly, no hanging johnnies left to be seen.

 However, people were LIVID. You’d think we’d disembowelled a nun on school premises the way they went on. It’s only johnnies, people, jeeze, really.

*somewhere in there is a joke about a “bush” covered in “johnnies” but I’m too lazy to go find it.
Talking of condoms again, I once was out with my mother and her camera ran out of batteries when she was photographing some park or other and I accidentally said, “Oh it’s ok, I have a spare pack of Durex in my bag!” When I meant Duracell. Oops. Anyway…

I’m getting off subject here. Painting. I like painting and it relaxes me a lot except when I get eraser shavings embossed into the paint. And the little bristles from the paintbrush that you have to painstakingly pick out while mumbling things like, “Go fuck a cow you cocksucking little fucks!” and then it occurs to you that maybe expecting to do a professional grade painting using brushes you bought at the dollar store while you were looking for a rubber spatula, might not be the most genius idea you ever had.

So yes. I came on here to say I don’t even have a meme for you today, that’s how lame I am and I ended up posting this nonsense instead. However, if you’d like a nice, cool, refreshing beverage of the alcoholic persuasion this weekend, I think you should nip over HERE to Miss Buffy’s site where I am guest hosting a cocktail for her Cocktail Friday. Honestly Buffy is one of the most interesting people in the whole world! I believe it's written in stone somewhere. Her parents were bona fide hippy types and she’s a professional actress and bartender and once worked in an editorial capacity, at “HUSTLER” alongside one Larry Flynt. I mean really, how cool is that? Go check her out and while you're there, see if my cocktail makes your tastebuds swoon.

Toodaloo!

Spirits: And Not the Liquid Variety

With Halloween waiting in the wings, I’ve been in ghost mode lately.  Personally I don’t know what the hell I believe pertaining to supernatural beings. I’d call me a sceptic. I’ve never had a true ghostly experience of any sort, although I know lots of people who claim they have. I’m very curious about the paranormal – there seems to be a lot of stuff out there that can’t be properly explained, but I’m not sure I’m ready to believe there are spirits hovering around us either, haunting us or helping us, no matter how many “Ghost Hunters” type shows out there tell me otherwise.

Plus come on, if you believed the ghost of your dead grandmother was watching over you, you’d never do that thing with the whipped cream and the drilled out melon again, would you?

My only possible ghost experience was years ago, when my sister, our friend and myself were teens and were driving home from my grandmother’s house on the main motorway between Glasgow and Edinburgh.  It was night time and dark and the road where we were was starting to wind a little. We were in the middle lane of the highway and there was very little traffic ahead or next to us although there were cars some way behind.  We were doing probably 65 mph when we rounded the bend and suddenly, there in the middle of our lane, was the figure of a man in a long overcoat with his back to us walking down the road, with his head down. We had no time to really react, but we swerved hard into the left lane and onto the shoulder to stop, in order to miss him and when we looked behind us he was gone.  Just not there. And there were only fields around us. He’d been right there in the middle of the damn highway so if we didn’t hit him someone behind us surely would have, but there was nothing.  No one.  I never figured out if he was real or not but we all saw him and then he was gone.  It was just a weird experience.

I do enjoy hearing other people’s ghost experiences though, so basically if you have any stories of your own, feel free to leave them in the comments so I can be entertained.  It’s all about entertaining me you know, even if I don't believe that stuff. 

A Public Service Announcement

I was reading Becky’s post today about her allergy to gluten and thinking about how my stomach is made of asbestos, therefore, I am not allergic to anything (apart from winter and strenuous exercise) but then I remembered that I am, in fact, extremely allergic to Quorn.

“What the eff is Quorn, Veg?” I hear you Americans yell, as you’re all thinking, “Is that some fucked-up type of corn or some evil, determined, scarred Star Trek villain?”

Well let me enlighten you all. This is Quorn.

Let me recap for you slightly. It’s a man-made, laboratory-grown fungus, used as a meat (often chicken) substitute for vegetarians and is extremely popular in European vegetarian dishes, particularly in the UK. Doesn’t it sound attractive? Whenever my stomach starts to rumble I can’t get my mind off chowing down on some man-made, lab-grown fungus, can you? Nom nom!

Most people eat Quorn safely – my sister swears by it and every vegetarian I know in the UK uses it in some form or another. Me though? I don’t like it and it likes me even less. In fact, it makes me turn into a human Niagara Falls of puke. Every time someone is feeding me veggie food I have to be a total butthole and ask “Does this have Quorn in it, because you do not want to witness the aftermath, if so.”

Naturally, it took me a few severe vomit-tastic episodes to figure it out. I always knew it tasted weird to me and that should have been a clue. Well, that and the fact that not long after eating it I always ralphed like I was going for an Olympic medal in vomit. One time, I spewed forth on the bus and another time in my next door neighbour’s hallway. Surprise, neighbours!

My mum once gave the non meat eaters in our family Quorn turkey at Christmas, which they tucked into eagerly. I had one bite and knew I couldn’t eat it. Two hours later I blew chunks in an impressive display of ‘The Exorcist’-worthy mayhem all over my mother’s bathroom, complete with a noise that sounded like Satan was trying to enter the real world through my esophagus. I think that was the time I actually figured it out. No more Quorn.

So that really is today’s entry – beware of man-made, lab-grown fungus no matter how gorgeously appealing that sounds, because you might get to see your innards on the sidewalk.

I know, you’re all delighted I made this entry because I saved you all from a vomity evening as I can sense you were all dying to get some of that lab-grown fungus action, right?

Well that is why I am here.

Meme Me Baby

Hola fine people of blogland. Whoa, I have been MIA this week, huh? I’ve been busy as a fucking fuck the past week with a big project that hurt my head. And it wasn't even for money! It was for kicks! Busy as a little busy bee. Busy as a wall covered in neon-coloured paisley wallpaper. And also, on top of this, I’ve been busy getting some paintings finished and ready to ship to an actual gallery to display, because I am now famous in my own HEAD. Hell, you have to start somewhere, right? I’m also thinking about being pretentious full-time. You may call me “Claude” (don’t call me Claude).

So for now, let me give you a meme. It is Friday after all. I’ve told you all – Friday is for memes. Just like Thanksgiving is for turkey and Don Imus is for punching in the balls.

I got this one from the divine S.E. Sward whose name makes her sound like some awesomely accomplished novelist who writes about pirates on the high seas and swarthy men in billowy white shirts and leggings who go around fighting other similarly clad dudes with bandanas on their heads and who say things like “AAAAAARRR. Them be thine concubines I surmise! I will now duel to the death with you for the hands of thine wenches of ill repute!”

Something like that…

So, yes. The meme. As usual, feel free to do it yourself. I ain’t taggin’!

1. Where is your phone?
Two feet from me on the desk. It doesn’t work very well but I don’t care enough to think about upgrading it in any way.

2. Your hair?
Independent. Does its own sweet thing in its own sweet time. Sort of like the rest of me.

3. Your mother?
Great as the obnoxious answer to questions you don’t want to answer. “What were you doing last night?” “Yo’ mama.”

4. Your father?
In the 1970s he looked a lot like Fat Elvis. You know, if Fat Elvis chain-smoked, liked terry cloth shirts and enjoyed drinking gin a little too much. He used to make homemade potato chips and write short stories. Not at the same time. Not usually.

5. Your favorite food?
I’m a big fan of good garlicy Italian vegetarian food. I also like good cheese. None of that processed, plastic crap. I’m not a meat eater.

6. Your dream last night?
I worked most of the night. And I painted for an hour or so. I didn’t actually sleep till 9 am this morning since I have nowhere to be today, but I dreamt that I went to San Francisco for a conference about interior design and it was hosted by that jackass Johnny Knoxville (haha!) only his name was “James”. He liked pink shirts. Then I woke up and it was noon.

7. Your favorite drink?
Diet Pepsi is my beverage of choice. I believe it is favoured by royalty and cool people everywhere. I also enjoy a nice, icy Irn Bru. When I’m in Canada Irn Bru is readily available. When I’m in the States, it isn’t. I could become a famous Irn Bru smuggler and smuggle it over the border and be like… the North Dakota Queen of Irn Bru. I'd be the northern States Irn Bru dealer. Irn Bru also makes fabulous floats of the ice cream variety.

You know, unlike those other floats.

8. Your dream/goal?
To never live in a house stuck in one place forever. Or at least not until I find that perfect place. Oh, and to find a way to eat cake every day without gaining any weight. And to live somewhere where it never gets cold. And to sleep more than four hours a night. I used to be great at sleeping. Now I have to threaten myself to withhold privileges if I don’t get some sleep.

9. What room are you in?
I’m in the home office/my paint studio. OK, that was a bit grand of me. It’s a room with the computer in it and my easel.

10. Your hobby?
I guess painting has become my number one hobby. Painting, swimming and cake. And jewelry making. And blogging. And baking. And not sleeping.

11. Your fear?
Dissipating daily. I sometimes fear that I’ll wake up one day and find that I like Lady Gaga and have to commit myself.

12. Where do you want to be in six years?
On the road. Working from home all the time and not splitting my time between North Dakota and Manitoba or waiting in lines at borders.

13. Where were you last night?
On this very seat, being busy. And nursing a headache that had been lingering for about four days on and off. I also took a couple of hours off to watch some old “Larry Sanders Show” episodes.

14. Something you aren't?
Latina. Purple. Extroverted. Miserable. A fan of winter. Right-handed.

15. Muffins?
Safeway gourmet muffins from their bakery. They have a cranberry and lemon one that is to die for, but horribly hard to find. Usually though, I prefer cupcakes or pastries to muffins. Or pizza.

16. Wish list item?
I don’t really want much. I don’t have many belongings anymore and I’ve found that I’m fine with that. I want fulfillment. I understand myself more every day. I’m a lot more open than I used to be. A lot more positive.

Ah screw it, I want an Airstream and a big lottery win. :)

17. Where did you grow up?
I grew up in Scotland. Where it’s light till 11pm in the summer and dark by 3:30 pm in the winter. Where you’re never far from the sea. Where it rains a lot but will always be home. Where I learned to tell people to fuck off in Scots Gaelic.

18. Last thing you did?
Ate some banana and pineapple bread I baked yesterday. It was supposed to be banana bread but I ran out of bananas and supplemented with pineapple. It worked. Yum.

19. What are you wearing?
Some weird jeans I bought in Fargo that fall off if I don’t wear a belt.

20. Your TV?
By the bed. I like to watch it to unwind every night before I fall asleep. You know, assuming I sleep.

21. Your friends?
My friends are like Nutella, they are completely nutty. And like Nutella, they are spread all over the place. But less sticky. Than Nutella…

22. Your life?
Complicated yet fulfilling. And tranquil so long as my Diet Pepsi supplies don’t dry up.

23. Your mood?
Generally mellow and even. I went through a phase of being more uptight and stressed but I’ve learned to appreciate things and I find I’m quite happy and competent and stronger than I used to be.

24. Missing someone?
I miss my cat.

25. Vehicle?
Temperamental yet adorable, even that time I locked the keys in the ignition and had to walk home to get the spares.

26. Something you're not wearing?
Lederhosen. Not today. Lederhosen are for Wednesdays.

27. Your favorite store?
Target and Ikea. If you don’t love Target or Ikea you’ve had a brain injury of some sort which rendered your taste, null and void.

28. Your favorite color?
I’d have to go with that colour of blue the sky is on a late afternoon in July.

29. Last time you laughed?
I noticed some guy’s name on a list I was perusing earlier and chuckled because his name was Dick Boggler. That is just awesome.

30. Last time you cried?
I actually remember this. I had PMS a few weeks ago and was feeling belligerent and there’s this door handle in my apartment I am always smashing my elbow off of, so I went to great pains to thwart that stupid door handle, and I was so busy avoiding bumping into it and being smug, that I stubbed my toe on the bottom of the door instead. And it hurt. And it bled. My toe, that is, not the door. If the door bled it would be time to move.

31. Your best friend?
Knowledgeable, caring, smart and makes mean borscht.

32. One place that you go over and over?
Home. That’s why it’s home.

33. One person who emails you regularly?
Julia. With her wicked smarts and sassiness.

34. Favorite place to eat?
If we’re talking basic chain type junk food then I’d say when I’m in the U.S. I like me the occasional white trash hoe down at Ihop because in all seriousness, Ihop make the best omelettes known to mankind. When I’m in Canada I like me some equally white trash hoe down at the Salisbury House who have the best sweet potato fries and spicy dip, ever. If we’re talking eating out in general, Mexican restaurants are hard to beat. I just love Mexican food. North Dakota is oddly rife with Mexican restaurants and tasty margaritas. It doesn’t seem right somehow… Finding one in Manitoba though is a lot harder.