Tuesday, June 30, 2015

Uncontrollable Pervert

Have you ever known the shame of having to register as a sex offender every time you move to a new neighbourhood? Or had to haltingly explain why there's a big black mark on your criminal record? Or had to make excuses every Sunday night when you slip off to the meeting that (hopefully) keeps your dirty compulsion in check?

Yeah, me neither. But that doesn't stop LegoLand from assuming I'm a pervert and barring me from their property.

Now, I do not having a burning need to visit LegoLand, thank god. I didn't grow up playing with it and haven't picked up the habit as an adult, which is a good thing because LegoLand doesn't want my kind. In fact, they prohibit me, and others like me, from entering?


Because I don't have kids.
And you know what they say about a couple of adults with no kids...they have lots and lots of disposable income.
Just ask Disney World, who recently got a whole truck load of cash from us when we travelled down to Florida and spent a week visiting their parks, eating their food (and yes, drinking what booze they have), and even buying souvenirs for the littluns back home. In fact, and this will come as a shock I know, we even paid a visit to the Lego store in Downtown Disney, where we bought, among other things, a big, expensive container that you can fill up with all the little pieces your heart can possibly covet. We have ten nieces and nephews AND COUNTING. Some have already been the recipient of Lego gifts (especially of the Marvel variety, if memory serves), but don't worry, Lego. We'll go spend our money elsewhere so you don't have to take it from our dirty, molesting hands.

Look away! I apologize for the graphic nature of this photo. Sean is pictured with a dragon made of Legos and there are NO CHILDREN IN SIGHT. You can practically see the beads of sweat on his forehead from keeping his hands to himself when really he can't wait to accost some little kid coming out of the bathroom. He's desperate! What a despicable human being. Thank god he can't get into LegoLand. Your children are safe from Uncle Sean, giver of amazing piggy back rides, pretend eater of all the pretend pie you can pretend serve him, contortionist willing to shove his 6'6 frame into a tiny plastic house built for those 3 feet and under.

Tuesday, June 09, 2015


Thank you to Adi who challenged me to the Freestyle Writing Prompt. She gave me 5 minutes to write about introspection, and so I did:

This is a weirdly loaded word for me.

First, as an insomniac, and as someone who believes that happiness is a choice, I feel my thoughts turn inward at all kinds of quiet times. Am I happy? Where are the weak spots, and what can be done about them? I might also use meditation to take introspection deeper, to get beyond the superficial questions about myself and explore my soul. This is the level where I might be able to touch my physical pain, to do the work required in sublimating it. It works for as long as I’m able to stay in this deep thought, and then vanishes all too soon when I’m pulled out. At what point am I experiencing happiness and pain at the same time? And how can I continue to make those two things coexist, since they must? Introspection can be a trap. It’s a dangerous hallway to follow because soon you’re opening up all kinds of doors, some which may be better off staying shut. And somewhere in there is the reason I don’t sleep. It’s never been easy for me to turn it off. I have taught myself a lot of relaxation techniques to flip that switch, but introspection is difficult to avoid. I think TV was probably invented for just this reason. And I don’t watch TV.

Second, as a therapist, I caution my clients against this time and again. A little is good, but way too many of us overdose on it, and that’s toxic. There is a fine line between introspection and rumination, and we must find it and respect it. Err on the safe side. We cannot live inside ourselves. Start a conversation with a real person instead, someone who can offer a different perspective. Preferably someone who could even be impartial. But don’t rely solely on your own thoughts. Magical thinking. Pessimism. Miscommunication. Negative thoughts. Identity issues. Traps. All of them.

Words: 324
I'm posting it at Saint Vodka rather than Assholes Watching Movies because it seems a better fit over here. Plus this old blog gets lonely...

Friday, June 05, 2015

Absolutely Necessary Dog Pictures

Sweet little Fudge
Gertie in her pearls
Bronx in a box
Gentleman Herbie
Smiley Gertie
Fudgie in the WILD
Bashful Herb
Fudgie and friend
Bronx-a-saurus Rex

Thursday, May 28, 2015

Dear Lebron James,

Congratulations on making the finals. I wish I could be happier for you, but the truth is, I'm holding a grudge.

Last summer, I happened to be in Cleveland having surgery when you announced your return. Literally in the operating room, my doctor and nurses couldn't shut up about it. The whole town was on fire because of your impending return, and my husband, as big a basketball junkie as there ever was, was stoked about the timing of our visit and your news.

It was a no-brainer that in December, for his birthday, I would get him the gift to end all gifts: tickets to see his two favourite players go head to head - Lebron James vs Kevin Durant. The tickets weren't super easy to come by, as you can imagine (epic match up!), and as soon as we bought them, Durant got injured. And then Westbrook got injured too. We thought about selling the tickets, but the team doctors estimated that Durant MIGHT be back in the game by the time we (and you) were there. Might. Injuries are tough things to gamble on but my husband wanted so badly to see you both play that he put it all on the line and kept the tickets. We booked flights and hotels and prayed that KD would be in. And he was! But we still had the toughest part ahead - the trip. We're from Canada, you see. A whole other country. Which means that to see you play we have to take a plane, cross a border, go through customs, all that mega fun stuff that makes people hate travelling. And to make matters worse, there was a big bad Canadian snow storm on the day of our departure, so even though we'd given ourselves plenty of extra time to make the game, the not-so-nice lady at the counter was telling us that actually, our flight was cancelled, and the next one wouldn't get us there in time. I broke down in the airport when I realized that my gift would be ruined (not to mention that the very expensive non-refundable game tickets would now go to waste). My husband, an optimist and champ, insisted that we try anyway. He asked if we could fly to Dallas, or Tulsa - he went through dozens of cities, calculating the amount of time it would take to then rent a car and race to OKC. No go, she told us.

While waiting for the flight that would get us there too late, my husband got someone on the phone who was a little more helpful. He switched us to a flight where we wouldn't get there in time for tip-off, but if we were very lucky, and everything else went smoother than smooth, we'd maybe get to see the last quarter. It was a paltry, paltry thing, but we took it. Even a glimpse of Lebron would maybe salvage this failed vacation! First we flew to Chicago, and while there my husband noticed a curious thing: another flight! Could we get on it? He ran the whole length of that damn airport trying to get us on the flight. Our tickets were not transferable, they told us. No problem. We'll pay. We can't do it at this desk, they told us. No problem, we'll run to the other end and get it done there. We only have one ticket, they told us. No problem. I can wait. Just please, for the love of god and the game, get my husband there in time. We can't help you just now, they told us, we have another flight to board. The flight we so desperately wanted onto ourselves was also boarding, without us, as we watched. And yet somehow, I don't know how and I'm not going to question it, we got on, just in the very nick of time. Both of us. We were wobbly and exhausted, be we were on a plane that was going to land in Oklahoma City in time to see you play.

Can you now start to appreciate how much this game meant to us?
So imagine our disappointment when we arrived in OKC only to hear that Lebron James wasn't there.
You didn't play in that game.
We came all that way, spent all that money, and you didn't play.
If I was a weaker person, I think my sanity may have broken in that moment.
But we went to the game. Tried not to be too disappointed since we'd come all this way.
Oklahoma won, Westbrook bringing in a lot of points, and Durant making a strong showing, especially in the second half.
But there was no Lebron. No epic match up. As far as birthday gifts go, it was an epic fail, a very costly, 2500 km fail.
The next day we rented a car and headed to Dallas, where we saw Golden State beat the Mavs. and extended their winning streak to 15. Great game.
And now you're playing them in the finals.
So here's what I'm thinking.
I'm sure you don't like disappointing your fans, and my husband is a big fan, not on their birthdays, not on a once-in-a-lifetime trip, that's for sure.
I've heard you're a nice guy.
So if you wanted to make it up to us, we wouldn't say no to playoff tickets.
If you had a couple to spare, we'd be there in a heartbeat. No hard feelings. That's just the kind of dedicated hard-travelling Canadians we are, basketball fans to the last, and always ready to forgive...and maybe, just maybe, even cheer.

Love and kisses,

Tuesday, April 07, 2015

The older I get, the more I realize my life is not about searching for love, or finding love, or falling in love. It's recognizing all the barriers that I've built up against it and learning to tear them down.