Briefs.

This weekend I have a visitor of the cousin kind.

Tonight we shall drink disco vodka, watch boys play with sticks, and eat hip-fattening happiness.

Prepare yourselves for the onslaught of pictures.

Later.

I have no time for blogness right now.

Good day to you.

Monologue Dialogue

If I were to speak to myself from a year or two ago, I wonder how it would pan out. Pretty sure I'd hate the bitch.

For shits & giggles (or yawns and boredom), allow me to guess how that conversation would go.

Older Kris vs. Younger Kris:

Younger Kris - Hey.

Older Kris - Hello.

YK - You go out last night?

OK - Nope. Fell asleep watching the Raptor game with Craig.

YK - Holy crap. What time did you get up?

OK - Just after 6am, I guess.

YK - You're insane. When was the last time you were out all night?

OK - Can't remember. A few weeks ago. Maybe. Maybe not.

YK - What the hell happened to you? Where'd this chick go?


OK - That's you. And you look like an idiot. Your shirt is too small.

YK - Ok, Grandma. I'll go get you a cardigan. This this is what I become?


OK- What's wrong with that?

YK- You look dead. Remember being fun? Like this birthday that you hardly remember?


OK - Yeah. I out-drank a small country. And I'm still fun.

YK- Yeah, sounds like it. Hey, how's that new guy you're dating? The way older one that everyone's giving you shit about?


OK - Craig? We live together. No one gives me shit about him anymore. The age thing has long blown over.

YK - Ah. You're all domesticated. Do you still have friends at least?


OK - You really are a bitch. Yes, I still have friends. Those ones just live back home.

YK - Of course. Hey... old lady... Remember when people liked you? And thought you were funny?


OK - Judging from this conversation with you, I see I wasn't so funny after all. I was apparently just unable to make normal faces in pictures.


YK - Yeah. Now everything is about your dogs and boyfriend and boring shit no one cares about.

OK - Grow up.

YK - No thanks....

Hey. Do ya want a beer?

OK - Yes. Yes I do.

YK - Aw, maybe you didn't change too much after all.

OK - Nope... Maybe not.

She's Baaaack....

After a re-vamp of the Love In Toronto site, my advice column is back.

Yeah, that's right.

They're still allowing me to give advice to people.

It was between me and an un-trained chimp.

The chimp had troubles with the law, so I was the obvious choice.

*whew*

She Holds Her Head So High, Like A Statue In The Sky

Months and months ago, I posted about the different art we had on the walls of our apartment. Looking around these digs, I realize we have an abundance of random knick-knacks as well.

So, my blogerrific friends, here is yet another tour of "The Crap In My Abode". Single-file line; no pushing please...

This is a turtle from Cuba. I think his accent is fake. He drank my rum.

The boy's golf award. Placed on our bookcase because it is a known fact that golfers are very literary. By "known fact", I mean "I just made that up now".

Yet another sports trophy. A plaque to show his first ever goal as a Parkdale Hockey Lad. He also won 'Rookie of the Year', but I'm not showcasing that trophy at this time.

Why? Because it's sleeveless and has a Harley on it.

A model of a 1969 Pontiac GTO Superjudge. A little birthday gift for Craig.

Because, if you didn't already know, he is Superjudge.

Tony Esposito - a relative of the judge who is super.

I think he comes alive at night and torments my dogs, along with that golf guy.

This is a little statue that was brought back for me when a friend went to Haiti many many years ago.

I dig it.

Buddha in the bathroom, please talk free.

The door is locked, just you and me.

(What, you don't like The English Beat?)


This little guy sit on top of our TV and judges us by what we are watching. He watches us watch.

Lastly, this is Jim Morrison.

Jim, this is everybody.

Jim lives in his plastic home, and has for many years. I was told that he holds value when left in the packaging. Seems I just forgot about him.

Perhaps it's time to let Jim out.

If only to watch him fight with Tony Esposito and the golf guy.

Place yer bets!

The Underestimated Plus/Minus

Awhile back, I promised that I'd try to be as positive as I can during hard times. Some of you guys were concerned, so I said I'd make the posts happier.

So, here goes an attempt to see some silver lining.

The Upside To Being Broke - I can't afford to smoke, and therefore rarely do. I haven't bummed a cigarette in about 3 weeks, and haven't actually bought a pack in months. Yay me.

The Upside To The Boy Having Bronchitis - I get to have him at home with me, while I nurse him back to health. Not that I'm happy he's sick, but it's nice to have him around.

The Upside To Having Two Crazy Dogs - Cuddle time, when they're calm and sweet as hell.

The Upside To Being An Annoying Photo Whore - Priceless pics of Jack with his tongue out. (Yeah, I'm reaching....)

The Upside To Wanting Dark Hair, But Having Two Different Hairdressers Refuse To Do It - I don't have to get used to a new hair colour and possibly hate it.... yet.

The Upside of Having a Female Jack Russell Currently In Heat - Seeing her in little SpongeBob Square Pants underwear with her cute little wiggly tail sticking out.

The Upside of Being One Half of a Silly Couple - Ah, who am I kidding... it's all upsides...

The Upside of All The Negatives That I Don't Blog About - Sweetly captured moments like this one that will never fail to make me smile.

Hey, Mickey

Lately, me and the boy have been taking in a veritable crapload of films. Some good ones, some great ones, some disappointing ones.

7 Pounds - we liked; Benjamin Button - kinda disappointing; Taken - not bad; Gran Turino - surprisingly good, etc, etc...

But out of all of them, The Wrestler made me think of actual people, who had similar paths.

Few people know this, but when I was younger I watched a bit of wrestling. I wasn't a huge fan, but there was the rare occasion that I'd voluntarily watch to see what the fuss was about.

Mickey Rourke's character reminds me a lot of Shawn Michaels and Ric Flair.

Shawn, "The Heartbreak Kid", used his badboy persona and female following to his advantage. I had a friend in grade school who was obsessed with him, and it is because of her that I still remember his theme song about how he's "not a boy toy", but is "just a sexy boy".

Still makes me laugh. And no, I don't think it's supposed to.

He more or less personifies Mickey Rourke's stage show in the movie.

Ric Flair, on the other hand, was a bit more flamboyant with his act. He wrestled into old age, like in the movie, and is now still one of the best-known wrestlers ever.

But he's a great example of a performer who has a hard time letting go of his career.

Great movie, with a pretty thought-provoking story.

Goes to show that wrestlers aren't all flash and wasted muscle. Some live and die for their sport, and there's nothing fake about it.

Goatkeeper's Pie

Anyone who knows me (or reads this blog) knows I don't cook.

Before I moved to Toronto, the extent of my cooking ability was limited to boiling things and microwaving like a pro.

Times, they are a-changing. With a spatula in my hand and recipe in my brain, I attack the kitchen more than you'd think.

For those non-believers, I decided to take pictures last night to prove it. (Mom, Steph, random stranger I've never met - this means you.)

Everyone is familiar with Shepherd's Pie, right?

Well I more or less made that.

But with different ingredients. In other words, only crap I like best.

The only vegetables that go NEAR it are mushrooms.

I am not-so-secretly in love with my garlic press.

Garlic makes the ground beef, tomato paste and mushroom base BETTER.

I add cheese to everything, whenever possible, wherever there is room.

The mashed potatoes have sour cream in them.

And then, again, more damn cheese.

Somehow still not enough.

Never enough cheese.

Outta the oven - doesn't look that great.

But trust me, it's edible.

See Mom? It's not pasta or pizza pops.

Does this mean I'm all grow'ed up?

Shit. I hope not.

Where Was I A Year Ago?

Yet another reflective day.

But really, so much has happened in 365 days... where was I, and what was I doing a year ago?

Starting a new and strange year. 2008 became a rollercoaster.

Asking questions, and searching for non-existent answers. Who, me? Never.

Getting to know what would eventually become my amazing little family.

Making new...
....and awesomely chimp-like friends.

Wearing cowboy hats in public because I was told to. (Trust, that's pretty monumental. You hear that, Craig?)

Deconstructing and quietly observing those around me, like the fly on the wall that I am.

Spending all the time I could with my wonderful friends, which also meant infiltrating The Mansion House (our watering hole) one day at a time.

I think we did well.

Going through the usual self-identity questions, without allowing the answers to surface.

... and falling in love with a sweetheart.

Where am I now?

At my computer. Wishing that the boy would get better, working on random writing jobs, and searching for a full-time gig.

And thinking that this might be a good day. If only I allow it.