The Dudess Abides


I know what you’re thinking: this is a blog about The Big Lebowski. There you’d be wrong. Or are you? It’s true, my love for Sam Elliott abides, in a pure and innocent way. But as we’re both married to other people, to covet each other would be wrong. But first, since I mentioned it….

The Dudess Abides

Alrighty, that’s enough. He’s mine.

What this is about is that I’ve been super bummed. Not totally depressed (that was before, when I wasn’t writing blogs… I don’t write when I’m depressed, I write after I’m better); but I’ve been bummed on so many levels and the bumtesence has slurred my crispy self into a mindless video game-playing mushpot (not real games, but silly tower defence games like Garden Rescue: Christmas Edition; but even that eventually bummed me out and I was busted down to PRIVATE from GENERAL.

Thankfully, I have my bae Paula to hold my hand through these dark times:



I left her a dirge-quality voice note thereafter. The vocabulary of which, I figure, only Joan Rivers (R.I.P.) would have been bold enough to share on a blog.

But as always, despite my whining, Paula was close-by.



I tried to explain the plants’ mission: to save the Christmas trees from the peril of marauding, thieving insects and annelids. I quickly realized this was a proverbial exercise in futility. And besides, Paula knew my malaise and my penchant for popping-off terrestrial crustaceans had something to do with each other. She’s good. My personal semiotics are not lost on her. I was fighting my own demons but needed some sort of tangible battle to express my inner turmoil.

Well, she would have said that but I like to put words into her mouth. She was going to go there, but I cut short our exchange to write the preliminary notes for this blog. Because you see.. I was suddenly all messed-up on something kinda nifty….

As I sat whimpering in my self-imposed but ill-fitting Weltanschauung (pronounce it just as it’s spelled), I discovered:

I sold a book this quarter.


My life, suddenly, got better. I didn’t even remember I still had a book out there. I put this travesty up as a lark one day, at least a year ago, to amuse a few colleagues. Don’t ask. If it were worthy of your scrutiny, I would have posted a cover reveal, the blog tour, reviews. You get the idea. It’s a short story collection I wrote as impudent fun one day (seriously, a cumulative one day) and posted. The characters are named for former clients who irked me. Corporate flash fiction, if you will, with a sexually inappropriate bend (to the left, if you please).

So on the very day I’m exchanging emails with a fellow walking-away-from-it-all writer, I’ll call her Dana, I discover that after I’ve turned out the lights, someone was home.

Elvis had NOT left the building.

In other words: I was still in the game. I was, once again, an author.

The prospect of holding what was left, after Amazon’s take, in my hot little hands grew almost too much for me. The answer was clear:

Paula and I had to get tattoos.

Ok, I made that up. Although we did get tattoos, they were BEFORE all this. It just felt like a nice narrative.

Having said all this, I did what any other author (I don’t really think of myself as author though) would do: I checked for a review. bupkis.

I’ll update you all if someone actually does write a review, even if it’s a troll.

So after six weeks of the blahs, I returned to the land of the inked (on two levels, for those who appreciate a pun). I may actually finish one of the other six manuscripts gracing my desktop.


Or not. Maybe I’ll just count my money ($0.35 CAD) and retire.

What I’m Listening to:

I’m all about audiobooks these days. So this month it’s been:

  • Diary of A Mad Diva by Joan Rivers (read by Joan Rivers, R.I.P)
  • 100 Ways to Simplify Your Life by Joyce Meyer (read by Sandra McCollom)
  • Game of Thrones by George R.R. Martin (read by Roy Datrice who is a freaking genius of a narrator)
  • Asapscience : answers to the world’s weirdest questions, most persistent rumors & unexplained phenomena by Mitchell Moffit & Greg Brown (read by the authors)

and PS to “Dana” who may be reading this… don’t worry, I’m still really out of the game. But that thrill… oh that thrill and surprise of seeing a sale… be still my foolish heart… 



Unicorn Farts and False Hopes

Unicorn Farts and False Hopes

I’ve been on a diet since the 70s. Well, just barely. But it started around there. I’ve done pretty well for myself til I had le bebe at 40. Then the next at 44.75 (not to put too fine a point on it).

Everyone needs the Hello Kitty Diet

Everyone needs the Hello Kitty Diet

I actually never had much of an issue with my weight. I’m just neurotic and self-loathing which is endemic and hardly worth saying, except to show my erudition by saying endemic (and erudition). I have always been active and/or hyper (as age-appropriate) and like being a gym rat. I boxed (real boxing), run as necessary (with our without a bear chasing me).

Then I had the kids.

My mommy group (The Momfia) has a diet sub-group (Skinny Cows) and occasionally I appear there, Google “steel cut oats” and look at pix of strange colourful food my fellow Cows are scarfing down and I wonder what will work? Steel cut oats? Egg white omelets (I call them Caucasian omelets but am not sure if that’s ok to say). I try to protein-boost, eschew processed foods, eat raw veggies.

And I gained 13 pounds.

My Sister-Wife is a cooking dream. Fortunately, we live 93 minutes apart and my car won’t go into any high gears so a NomFest at her house isn’t possible. But she’s totally dropping the baby weight (baby #4 no less) and living a GF and DF life.

In case you’re like me and just WTF’d? Gluten-Free and Dairy-Free.

And she’s not even a Cow. Dang that all.

Unicorn Farts and False HopesI can’t go without yogurt. Cocoa powder graces it by the tablespoonful. I love bitter chocolate. So that’s a wash. I bake. Lots. I don’t eat the baked goods, mind you.

I eat the batter.

But having said all this: if Duck Dynasty is on, I do get to the gym. Heck yeah I can run/walk briskly (super briskly) for 60 minutes if I know Phil, Si, and the boys are on the screen. And weights, I’ll do weights. I love weights.

But I’m 13 pounds up. Could it be the M-word?

M – E – N – O – P – A – U – S – E

Yeah, I said it. I’m getting there.

Some of you may recall my now-defunct “The Other 30 Pounds” blog of 2011-12. I’m back to that weight. In January 2014, I weighed 140. Of course I had suffered through three weeks of H1N1, then got whacked with pneumonia so that may have helped. But now I’m back to 153. The obvious strategy is to switch to kilos.

My New Diet

So I’ve cut back to living out of my Hello Kitty mug. If it can fit into the mug, I’ll eat or drink it.

Not a bad idea, really. Saves on dishes too.


Conversations with my Sister-Wife

SisterWife-001Conversations with my Sister-Wife

I think everyone should have a sister, or a wife. When both happens, it’s magic. I have three sisters, no wives, but I do have a Sister-Wife.

Unfortunately, she lives in another town. Far far away (my car is tricky and doesn’t want to go into 4th gear, making highway driving kinda scary).

I’ll call her JJ.

JJ is the most amazing woman whom I’ve only met once. Meaning of all the women I’ve met once, she’s the best. Kidding. Just making a grammar joke on myself (I hate the term “Grammar Nazi” but that’s another post). I’ve “met” her once, and she’s also the most amazing woman.

She raises four wonderful happy kids, does crafty cool things (singularly or with them), has a great sense of humour, a kind heart, and most importantly: she tolerates my whining insanity and actually seems to seek out my company.

She’s not really my Sister-Wife, but if I had one, she’d be it.

Now I know what you’re thinking… Sister Wives. Bad TV (but yum, on the right day) made worse by the fact that Kody is clearly a greasy creep. So perhaps Sister-Wife is a bad term (but see, I’ve hyphenated it so I’ve made the term “my own”). I use it differently.

What I lack in this world is female fellowship. I’m isolated and if it weren’t for the internet (and the Momfia, more on them later), I’d go semi-bonkers on those days I need, NEED, some sisterly companionship. So I think adding “wife” to sister a) is fun and b) makes the relationship more close. If I lived in a commune, JJ is the one I’d want living with me.

So our relationship takes the form of text messaging, “likes” and little hearts on Instagram, PMs. We rarely talk (between us we have six little kids… talk on the phone? As if!). So these “conversations” are sporadic, often unexpected. They’re good news, bad news, rants, fabulous typos (thank you Google Voice for making it so special).

Conversations with my Sister-Wife make my day. Thank you, JJ, for being there, somewhere, far away but always next to me.