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06 June 2008 @ 05:28 pm
I'm on the ball this week , at least in this itty bitty aspect of my life.

This week's blogger I found through a blog roll . I thought she was a mommy blogger, and she professes that it is a mommy blog . But I think it's way more than your typical mommy blog. Anyone can read this . There is a little bit that anyone can relate to , and alot that others can relate to .

This blog is raw and sometimes painful to read. At other times I want to stand up at my desk and cheer at the entry's end.  It's not a tale of perfect days that start with breakfast in bed and it's not a sequence of hilarity .
It's real .

So here she is , I Obsess . She can be found over at i-obsess.typepad.com Because you know LJ couldn't give me a link maker that works.

The entry that got me hooked :

Have been barely capable of lifting my ass out of bed in recent days, weeks, months; my writing has not just suffered, not merely lapsed; I didn't only privatize my blog (only, god, privatize?, jesus - sounds like I have hired an attorney to pen this piece), I quit participating with my insides.

Here, there, and everywhere.

The piles around the house that accumulate on a regular basis grow and grow; the until-recent cold outside has prevented planting a garden, and so I plant a garden of papers and envelopes and moldy catalogs that advertise things I do not require and will never acquire, stacks of yellowing receipts and recipes and requiems, aging piles of disks and cards and broken pieces of toys possibly mended but probably destined for a garbage bin at some distant date; lightbulbs gone bad, written directives to self to create order amidst the stacks lost, lost terrifically, lost desperately, lost quietly and mute and moot.

There is nothing and no one that brings my mind up to the point that I can feel energized to stop being sad.  Not a constant drone of sad, but a regular, soft, hidden beat, a hidden, cloaked pulse of sad that lurks beyond the windows, just beyond, and not further.  Hands pressed gently against the glass, indenting the surface, leaving pale almost-prints.

The list of to-dos is long, long.

The people wait.  They grow tired of waiting and they move on, away, beyond my outstretched fingers that I mask in the pocket of my pilled, clumsy sweatshirt.

I have love here, and I cannot sense, cannot scent, am indirectly sent, misspent; pent-up regret belies the bent of exchanges unmade, beds laid in and arms mislaid or lain away or flown not high, rather, low, low.

And the readers say, ugh.  This, this is more of what I cannot bear, your sadness, your fingers, your pale prints, and they abstain and there is no blame to shoulder, no shoulder to blame, and the words spiral across the page like bad dna, broken and lost to flame and bitter and bracken and sour.

There are chills here in this newly summer'd moment, there are quiet spells and deep danks and thankless hours of bruised ideas, ideals, things set aside, things to lay to rest in the unmade beds of the mind.

This is no time to fight.  This is time to cradle the stacks, to sidle beneath their disheveled bellies and close over the gaps with hands and fingers full of threads disowned.

This is no time to fight.

The above entry can be found at http://i-obsess.typepad.com/i_obsess/2008/05/fear-of-flight.html

The entry it inspired should be posted late tomorrow, early Sunday .

31 May 2008 @ 03:15 pm
* This entry is the first in what I hope will turn out to be a series of posts  that are PUBLIC. That's right not friends only.Scary eh?*

Sometimes when I'm starting at a blank text box, a blank document , watching the blinking cursor. Watching the screen wait for the words to concoct themselves in my head in the right order that when combined results in an entry .
Sometimes my mind runs blank . Sometimes I can't think of something worth writing about , or something that others would like to read about.
That is not to say that I don't write this journal for  me . I do but at the same time I write to get a perspective from others. I write to share it with others and for others to share their writing with me , hence the friends only. If you 're not letting me read yoru stuff, you're not reading mine .

Sometimes when my mind goes blank and I feel brain dead and stupid, I read other blogs . Tearjerking entries , memes, stories of their past and I'm intrigued and inspired. And of course happy to find a good blog to read.

So today , since I 've been inspired by other blogs so many times and written entries running off of their steam and energy so to speak . Kinda like a writing prompt , I figured I d introduce something new.
Weekend With A Strange Blogger .

How it works :

Every weekend I'll write an entry inspired by a certain blogger, give you a link and a fantastic entry from said blogger's journal. Perhaps you'll find a new blog to read and the Strange Blogger of the Weekend will get some new readers. Or maybe you'll just have an entry to read.

Because I'm a local kinda of gal , the first Strange Weekend Blogger is a Toronto gal .

I found this blogger in a strange way . I'm a long time reader of Dooce.com and if you're familiar with the blogging world outside of LJ ( its crazy on the outside guys really!  peopel are getting paid for this shit ) than you 've heard of Dooce , read her hilarious entries and seen her incredible photography skils . She has mad skills with balancing shit on her dogs head and photographing it . It's an art really . Ooh and she even has a verb named after her Dooced , wikipedia it , i sware its an internet verb ;)
Anyhow enough gushing over miss Dooce, from reading Dooce I entered the world of the Mommy Bloggers. I know what you're thinking , why krys ? Are you wanting children ? Why would a mommy blog interest you ? Don't you read about Britney Spears and puppy dogs?Vodka?
Ok so vodka really had no place in that paragraph , I just love vodka.

I digress, I entered the world of mommy bloggers and shocked to find these incredible blog rolls ( means list of bloggers, lj friend lists essentially ) full of literary awesome-ness.
These woman aren't just writing about diapers and cracked nipples. They're writing novels. They're winning awards. They're supporting their families by telling their stories and sharing their worlds.
Child or not , I was hooked.

So without further or do , Don Mills Diva .  http://donmillsdiva.blogspot.com/  
Yup . My lj link maker is still capooey . But click it . Really. You should. Get a drink first though because you're going to get sucked into thi
s girlie's archives before you know it .

The following can be found here :

Julie and Me.

We had big dreams, Julie and I.

She was going to be an Oscar-winning actress and I was going to be famous the world over for writing that would make people laugh with joy and weep with empathy.

Instead I today mark the 12th anniversary of her death by trying, in this humble space, to use my words to pay some kind of tribute to her and to our friendship.

Julie and I met nearly 20 years ago in my first year of university. I was in full party mode, enjoying a concert by a band I can’t remember, when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned and there stood a tiny, doll-like girl with a big, tipsy smile.

“I’m ever so short,” she said. (Really). “I can’t see the band. Help me out?”

She gestured to my shoulder and I burst out laughing at her audacity. When I regained my composure I stooped down and up she hopped. We were pretty much inseparable from that moment on.

I don’t know exactly how tall Julie was. Four feet, ten inches maybe? Four feet eleven? Surely not five feet. She never discussed it so I’m not sure how I came to understand that her growth had been stunted by treatments she endured to successfully fight leukemia as a toddler.

No matter. What Julie lacked in stature she made up for in attitude. She was startling beautiful and she knew it. She turned heads wherever she went. She would insult you in the most outrageous fashion and then charm you a second later with a conspiratorial wink and a flip of her hair.

We had a shtick, Julie and I. She was drool and I was goofy. I told corny jokes and she made cutting observations. We were partners in crime, kindred spirits, two peas in a pod. We got each other.

A few years after graduation Julie moved Los Angeles to pursue her acting career. I took a road trip to visit and fell in love with Arizona on my way through. I moved there not long after and we visited between Scottsdale and Los Angeles regularly.

What a heady time! She acted bit parts and I worked as a freelance writer. Drunk with youth and possibility, we attacked the world the only way we knew how – full tilt. We narrowly avoided a dust-up with a member of Faster Pussycat at Whiskey a Go-Go. We danced on the tables at a sushi restaurant in Venice. We traded jokes and insults behind the microphone at a house party we crashed in West Hollywood.

Superbowl weekend rolled around. Julie had vague plans to visit me in Arizona. I didn’t hear from her, but wasn’t overly concerned. Then her mother called in the early evening.

I’m in Los Angeles dear,” she said. “With Julie. She’s dying. She’s asking to see you. You better come right away”

I have often tried, during the last 12 years, to recreate how I felt to hear those words. When the picture I carry of her in my head gets blurry or I can’t quite hear her voice, I force myself back into that dark moment, hoping, I guess, that fresh pain will somehow make her seem less distant.

And so I drove, tears streaming down my face, across the desert in the middle of the night. I remember the moonlight on the palm trees and the warm wind and the feeling that surely I must just be playing a part in some cheesy movie of the week – the kind Julie would eviscerate with one pithy blow.

But it wasn’t a movie of course. Julie had visited the doctor just a few weeks earlier about a nagging cough, which was, it turned out, symptomatic of imminent heart and lung failure. Her respiratory system had been compromised by the very treatments that had saved her life all those years ago.

I got to the hospital and went in to see her right away. I remember thinking how glamorous and beautiful she looked laying there, her hair artfully fanned out around her pillow: a tiny, perfect doll.

“Tell me a joke,” she said. And, because she asked me to, I blinked back my tears and did just that. Then I told her I loved her. She smiled like Cleopatra on the Nile. Of course I did.

One after another, the people who loved her filed in to say goodbye. Her parents went last and came out an hour or so later. She was gone, they said.

Julie was gone.

Afterwards I went to a Denny’s on Sunset Blvd and ate pancakes and drank Irish coffee and cried. It seemed fitting somehow and I lingered, knowing Julie would revel in the curious glances I drew with my smeared eyeliner, disheveled hair and tragic demeanor.

Some days I can’t believe that how much the world has changed since Julie was in it. How can it be that Pulp Fiction was the last movie that she saw? That she never got to make fun of Paris Hilton or weigh in on reality television. That September 11th

I carried Julie’s lace handkerchief down the aisle with me on my wedding day. And on her birthday every year her parents treat me to dinner at her favorite restaurant. But I feel her loss most keenly at times when her memory sneaks up on me. Like on my 30th birthday when I couldn’t stop crying because it didn’t seem fair that I got to turn 30 and she didn’t.

There are so many, many things that Julie didn’t get to do and even as my life moves happily forward, I am haunted by each and every one of them.

Because we had big dreams, Julie and I.
was remarkable to her only because it’s my birthday?

Stay tuned for tomorrow 's entry . The second part of the WWASB , the entry it inspired.

Of course as always I would be thrilled if some of you wanted to take part in WWASB. By intoducing your own Strange Blogger, of going and reading another persons inspiration . Be sure to comment on their blog and tell them how much you love it ..

30 May 2008 @ 07:21 am
Its Friday and despite having a lot to say , my attention span and patience levels aren't very good today .So here's a pointless meme , that I've dubbed Five Things Friday ..

1/ A picture of D that I had long deemed lost .
It's him at an apple orchard last fall . Hes crouched under the tree because my neice is making him go where she goes despite the fact that shes 3 feet tall and hes over 6 feet. He is a good sport.

2/ The Friday Night Knitting Club by Kate Jacobs.
I looked for this book for a long time after reading a review of it in a gossip magazine. Probably People, judging by the contents of my overflowing magazine basket. I found it in the bargain section of Chapters yesterday and despite being a ways into THe Heart is A Lonely Hunter, I started reading it and couldn't put it down last night.
THe title and cover are misleading. A book about a bunch of knitters? boooooring , right? It focuses on the characters and the knitting is basiclly the glue that keeps them all going even though everyone is going through something different and equally hard. The women in this book are all vastly different and live very differnet lives , but Friday night Knitting Club is their solace , connection and comfort.

3/ Nativa Organics Blue Tortilla Chips
What can I say ? I love these chips and yes the blue ones are soo much better IMO than the plain ones although the plain ones aren't bad but they're not blue and you don't get to say that you are eating blue chips .

4/ Glade Clean Linen Candle
I usually don't buy my candles from the grocery store but this one was in the laundry soap aisle and it caught my eye. It smells like clean laundry and I love it .
Usually I am a food scent candle person , but this one is pretty good and it doesn't even smell like Gramma's Banana Bread or Raspberry Torte. Who knew.

5/ Desktop
This is my current desktop image. I downloaded it from a site that I don't recall the name of . I think its written in the bottom right corner of the picture though , so if you squint hard enough I'm sure you can see it .
Its an awesome website for stuff like desktops, and icons to replace the boring provided icons on your computer. Not awesome enough that I can remember the name though .
I think it feels spring-ish even though we 're almost summer-ish . The weather has other plans apparently.

So whats your Friday Five??
15 May 2007 @ 07:57 pm
I'd head to the clouds if I thought it would be any better there. I've lost hope in even them.
28 March 2007 @ 08:19 am
I didn't think I could feel worse but I do.
I am so frustrated.
27 March 2007 @ 07:01 am
ugh i feel worse today. Going to go to work though, and see how long i last. I really don't want to miss work.
26 March 2007 @ 07:07 am
My throat hurts. It feels like its bumpy and has junk in it and I am sneezing like an allergie ridden florist.
Fucking Mondays.
11 February 2007 @ 07:07 pm
Im a fucking mess
for no good reason and ugh
11 February 2007 @ 04:24 pm
I'm sorry.
13 December 2006 @ 10:03 am
my xmas stockingCollapse )