Miss. Shari & her pooch, Patron, like the Tequila. See why I love this chic?

My friend Shari. We met shortly after I moved to this fair city, introduced to one another by a mutual friend from the Wicked West Coast. That friend moved back to Winterpeg shortly after I did. And it turns out, Shari & I have other mutual friends because after all, the entire world really is just a giant fish bowl.

Shari is a brilliant, funny, sexy woman whom I am blessed to know. And I am thrilled she has chosen me to pop her blogging cherry! I want to see lots of comments on here people! Welcome Shari to the Wicked West Coast, Whimpering in Winnipeg…

My whole FUCKING life… by Shari B.

Sundays are my favourite! Typically this is the only unstructured day of the week. I wake up when I want. I make my own agenda as I’ve resisted all pressures to make any definite plans. I can go with MY flow.  If I want to be social, I visit. If I want to be a hermit I hole up at home. If I want to get shit done I do. 9 times out of 10 I make soup. If you end up getting to know me at all it won’t be long before you realize soup is another one of my favourites. I LOVE soup…recipes, making it, eating it (mmmm) and clearly even talking about. See…I digress.

Anyhow so I emerge from slumberland today (Sunday) thinking….yaay Sunday!  Had a chilled out evening last night with a friend and her daughter which did not involve the usual copious amount of wine (I’m a little ashamed about this actually). Okay that’s a lie. I’m actually feeling quite self-righteous not waking up with a case of the s’wine  flu! I might actually have a productive Sunday?! This is short-lived. Not the belief that I may be productive, but the self-righteousness. The phone rings and it’s my Mother. My peaceful re-entry into the conscious world quickly turns into Sunday, bloody Sunday. I will not bore you with the details of the conversation. But suffice to say we both had quickly taken our places on opposite sides of the battlefield safeguarding many self-sabotaging patterns that have carried us dysfunctionally through until this point in time. The end result was silence on the line and a pain in my gut (better than my ass perhaps?).

It was also the impetus for an a-ha moment. That my mother has spent her entire life – correction my entire life – trying to mould me into a likeness of her. And I have spent a good part of my life having to fight to find myself and be myself. Without knowing why it was SO hard to have to do this. The realizations run deep as I look up and see the mirror hanging by my front door with “be yourself” etched deeply serving repetitively as one last reminder before I venture out into the world. The realizations run deeper as I look within. For as long as I can remember (yes I may be aging but I can still remember pretty far back…shut it!) I have wanted to be a writer. I remember in my teens and early twenties (and for the record I can remember OTHER things farther back then that) talking about the book I would write someday. Instead of picking out names for the babies I would have someday I was the female who was thinking up potential names for my bestseller to be. But creativity was not something nurtured in my family. Those creative types never make a living you know! In fact it was looked down upon in others as I think back to many statements made. And I got busy writing term papers and essays. Because a university education meant validation in the eyes of my parents. Twenty years later I am writing “important” and “official” government documents. And rationalizing to myself that that is where my writing talent is best applied. My dreams and talk of writing fiction long since disappeared. There has been some talk of with Liberty of being a guest blogger but my fear of failing as a writer prevailed. As did my long time familial conditioning that being a creative type just isn’t who I’m meant to be.

Do you want to know what else is etched in that mirror by my front door? “Live life with no regrets”. And so I cast my fears and family of origin shit aside and take the leap. And I write purely for pleasure. Welcome to my first blog post. Thank you for reading. This Sunday is an extra special Sunday!

And in case you’re wondering what my Sunday soup will be here you have it…

I know, I have a lot of explaining to do regarding this prolonged absence. And I will make it up to you dear followers.

In the mean time, in honor of the official beginning of the holiday season, let me share one of my most favorite Christmas songs.

Those of you with teen children of a certain age may be familiar with ‘Fred‘.

And his irritating, annoying, nasally-get-stuck-in-your-head-make-you-want-to-gouge-your-eardrums-out-with-a-spoon-voice.

This song however, is truly… awesome.

And yeah, it’ll get stuck in your head.

I’ll explain why, in good time. 

For now I thought I’d share an essay from my past. I recently pulled up some of my old university essays. My kids are homeschooled & my daughter is at an age where research, writing, essay skills are becoming increasingly important. This essay was one I submitted as an example of a comparative essay, topic of writer’s choice…

Submitted for my English 353 Program: 

Which makes a better pet; cat or dog? Cats are commonly seen as the ideal pet for a woman while dogs are deemed not just the pet to have for men. I don’t quite know why this is although I’m sure I could speculate some rather unflattering reasons. The simple matter of grooming offers ample fodder for the debate. A dog can occupy itself for hours licking its crotch, but rarely have I seen a dog groom any other part of their body. When a cat grooms itself, particularly the aforementioned crotch area, it doesn’t seem to do it with quite the same enthusiasm that a dog demonstrates. When a cat licks their body it is clearly with the intent of cleansing themselves as they lick any part of their body they can reach. There does not appear to be the same level of self-gratification in the situation. Dogs on the other hand… But alas, this is purely based upon personal observation and cannot in all fairness be considered true evidence as to which is the better pet.

It is difficult to give an unbiased opinion when I am well, biased. It might be better perhaps for me not to try to determine which the better pet is, but rather to list qualities I have found to be appealing and disappointing in my own pets. I don’t think there is a real litmus test as to which is better (cat, obviously). To each their own.

I have found both a new kitten and a new puppy to be highly demanding. The first few days in their new home they are fearful of each unexpected sound and curious about each new item they encounter. The new addition needs constant supervision as they can be destructive in their explorations. Housebreaking a dog takes months of constant work for the new owner. You jump up and take them outside every time they look as though they might maybe have to go to the bathroom only to have them pee all over your favorite shoes moments after you bring them back inside. Any puppy I have had could not be left outside until they this skill. When left alone they cried in such a fashion as to make my neighbors think I was committing atrocious puppy torture on the wee animal. I have been able to train a few dogs in as little time as a few weeks but I have also had dogs that never did learn, even after a full year. As a result these animals were deemed farm dogs and passed on to friends who could accommodate the dogs as such. A kitten’s toilet training is usually accomplished by simply scratching their paw in their litter box. My kittens have always smelled their own way back to the litter box from there. While any kitten I have had trained this easily, as a new owner I still anxiously followed the kitten around for the first few hours until I saw for myself that the kitten was quite capable of dealing with this matter all on their own. All that was left for me to do was to scoop out the leavings once a day or so. With a dog you only need to clean all of the evidence from your yard once a week or as it bothers you, a cat however will not appreciate this laziness and may stop using the litter box and start to use your fichus instead.

Both animals frequently experiment with unauthorized dietary supplements. This includes food left unattended, household plants, furniture, shoes and anything else you may have held near and dear before adopting your pet. It is important with either a kitten or a puppy that you are alert for this as anything they eat may make a return visit. I have discovered that any animal vomit will be ingested by either animal if left long enough. I don’t recommend this as a method of dealing with vomit. Dogs do have an advantage over cats in the area of regurgitation. A dog will generally only vomit when they have ingested items contrary to their diet. Cats will vomit on a regular basis as a way of clearing out all of their hair that they have ingested in their never ending quest for the cleanest coat in the neighborhood. While there are treatments available for hairballs, these will only reduce frequency of the appearance of hairballs. According to my vet, sadly, there is no treatment that will eliminate hairballs entirely. You could of course shave your cat regularly or get a hairless cat but I wouldn’t recommend that either.

Both animals are loyal and loving to their masters. But there is no guarantee your cat will see you as its master. There is the possibility the cat will see itself as your master. I have found dogs to be quite dependent. None of mine have ever liked to be left alone for more than a few hours. My cats however have been left alone for several days (with no repercussions) if left sufficient food and water. You can always take your dog with you as I have found dogs travel well. My cats just don’t seem to appreciate the advantages of a motor vehicle. Dogs need regular exercise, the best method of which is to take them to a dog park or for several runs around the block. A cat is more independent and will exercise itself by playing rampaging beasts of the Serengeti while you sleep. This game is a favorite of my cats but is not conducive to anyone’s enjoyment of sleep.

Taking a dog for a walk does bring to mind a rather unpleasant side of dog ownership. If you do take your pretty puppy out of your yard, proper pet etiquette requires you to collect and then dispose of any solid elimination. Pet stores do offer a variety of methods to do this with as little contact between yourself and the item to be disposed of as possible. While my husband says this is no different than cleaning a litter box I myself disagree. I have never had to have actual physical contact with the contents of a litter box while it was still warm.

When trying to decide which is the best addition to your household I can’t say for sure which pet you should go with. Both pets offer great advantages and disadvantages. My own experience has taught me that if you are looking for a surrogate child who exhausts you with their needs but who loves you endlessly, get a dog. If however you would like more of a housemate who gives you dead rodents as presents and expects you to love them endlessly, get a cat. 

I *may * have come across as a bit biased, although I tried not to be. My professor was quite thrilled, any grammatical errors not withstanding, he said it was the best essay submitted that semester & he laughed himself silly. I received an A+ along with a recommendation to perhaps change my major from English/Educational Psych to Creative Writing.  I make people laugh with my writing. 

Who knew?!

I have spent the past week being ill. Again. With stomach issues. AGAIN!!!

The Dr., who doesn’t know a damn thing, thinks when I had the ulcer incident back in July, they should’ve looked further. As in looked further past my stomach and into my intestines. So he’s going to do that. Look further that it is. He’s going to shove a tube down my throat with a camera and take a little look-see. And possibly send a camera, not the same one, (I asked), in the other end to take a look there too. I agreed to this only because he promised they’ll give me drugs first. LOTS of drugs. So many drugs I won’t remember being doubly violated by cameras & tubes & gawd knows what else.

He thinks I have Ulcerative Colitis.

He’s clearly an idiot.

Cause that’s like a disease.

One that doesn’t go away after a few months of tummy pills & careful eating. It’s forever!!! 

He’s wrong of course. 

I think when they put that camera in (one end or the other) they’re going to discover that somewhere along the way I have eaten some bad parasite loaded sushi & a nice little tapeworm with big goggly eyes named Timmy is going to raise his head, grin and ask “Hey!!! Am I on TV?” Then Timmy the Tapeworm will proceed to entertain the medical staff with a little song & maybe a dance that will be so amusing, they’ll *almost* not want to kill him. 

But kill him they will. Because he’s what’s REALLY causing all this havoc in my stomach. Not some silly little life-long complicated disease that will require me to take 16 bazillion pills a day for the rest of my life while suppressing my immune system &  increasing my risks for a host of other diseases, as well as cause serious interference with my food-wine relationship. 

Denial is a lovely place. 

Although it is rather crowded here. Maybe some of you should face up to reality & leave those of us who just got here some space  

Seriously though. The Fates could not possibly be so cruel as to take away the two things in my life (aside from my children) that bring me the greatest joy. Rich, creamy, spicy, decadent food & luscious, heavy, full bodied wines. That would make the Fates Evil. And I am assured by the greatest authorities that the Fates are not Evil. 

Unless this is karma for a past life. 

Maybe I was Hitler.

Maybe I was Elvis! Then maybe… no, he wasn’t THAT bad.

Maybe I was Colonel Sanders. 

OMG!!! THAT’S IT!!

I created a convenient & affordable food that was utterly terrible for people, then managed to hook entire nations on it through marketing genius, jovial Santa Claus-esque advertisements, aiming at the poor, the weak, the gullible, poisoning them with my deep fried 11 herbs & spices,  laughing all the way to the bank with complete disregard for the health & welfare of BILLIONS!  

THIS is why the Fates are taking food away from me!!! 

Wait… he died three years after I was born. 

Well that’s not it then.

Timmy the Tapeworm it is!