Bonus whine

I hate shaggy beards. I'm fine with a short, well-trimmed beard but man I hate the shaggy ones. Why do women* have to go "down there" and keep up the curb-appeal when men get to sport those revolting messes on their faces?

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*the young women. Glad to have pre-dated that trend.

Is it Mueller time yet?

I still have faith that Mueller is coming, and that he is bringing a whole world of hurt down on the #trumpcrimefamily and a few other who have been more than complicit (I'm looking at your senate majority leader Mitch McConnell). I just hope it comes soon. I want to know that DJT had to pee in a prison toilet - and Jared, and Jr., and Ivanka, and Mitch...)

I'm worried about the fallout from the far-right, though, who learned they can shit on absolutely everyone who isn't white with impunity - just like I used to worry about what would happen when Hillary won (remember when we used to assume Hillary would win?) But whatever happens, I think it has to happen. Because these thugs aren't mellowing out on their own. And I'm so frightened for my US friends. <3

Stop touching all the women!!!

I'm not a wine snob by any means. I like wine, I appreciate it. I like twirling it and sipping it and I learned a long time ago that it gives me a pleasant buzz better and faster than other drinks. But I'm not a snob. I can't describe it in terms of how caramelly or oaky or fruity it tastes, and I'll drink it if your made it yourself (after 2 glasses they all taste good), and lately I've been buying it in a carton*.

But there is a winery in the county** that sells the crispest, most delicious chardonnay, and I will gladly make the trip two or three times a year to fork over $40 each for a bottle or two. It's my wine. It speaks to me. It makes me, briefly, into a wine snob before I revert back to my cardboard carton wine.

And now I can't have it anymore. Because the owner has been stripped of his winemaker of the year award. Because, like so many other successful, talented white men with a tiny bit of celebrity, he decided he could grope and grind against his young, pretty female employees as the urge hit him.

Fuck, guys. Get your shit together.
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*Because it lasts longer and fits in the fridge better
**Prince Edward County - a large nearby island full of hippies and artists that was discovered about 20 years ago to have the perfect landscape/climate for growing grapes.

Who needs more than 2 hours of sleep?

I worry about everything. Why relax when I can stress over things that are out of my control? So when I spoke to my daughter last night, who is juggling two jobs and is in full-blown anxiety mode because both jobs have scheduled her for the same day and neither feel it's their problem, I decided that since there is nothing I can do to help her, I would lay awake all night worrying in solidarity instead. So this is the best post you're getting from me today.

Savage little monster

A mosquito has bitten the bottom of my foot. Unlike some, I have plenty of sharp knives and two sharpeners. The foot may have to come off.

Gardens

Why do they need me to water them? Why are the weeds so good at growing without water? Why are personal gardeners so expensive? If I pull a weed, why isn't it gone forever? So many unanswerable questions.

Anxiety? Depression?

We found out this weekend that one of my husband's cousins went through a dark period a few years ago. Her mom described it to me and it sounds so much like what we have here. It was caused by a chemical imbalance in her brain that is managed through medication. Now she is married, working, raising 3 daughters and going back to school. She was willing to see a doctor, though. My son considers it an insult that we even question the way he is living. Does everyone need to hit rock bottom before they get help? Do we have to actually kick him out and have him living on the street for a while? I don't want to. Does that make me an enabler? He lives with us and yet I feel like I haven't seen my son, other than glimpses here and there, for year.

Someone take the wheel. Jeeezus.

If someone else wants to guide this ship please be my guest.

ugh

I can't tell you how exhausting it is to have your 25-year-old, brilliant son living in your basement, sleeping until noon, bathing occasionally, not working, not looking for work, too old to force to see a doctor, to smart to fall for empty ultimatums. I'm tired of advice. If the stuff that works for neurotypical children worked for him, he would be fine - because we've tried all that. He needs counselling. He needs to understand his own wiring. I need to time-travel to the future, just for a minute, to see if this all works out. Does he, one day, gain some insight and pull himself out of this rut he's dug for himself? Do I even want to know?

Facebook

I've slowly abandoned facebook. Mostly. I still have my business page, and I can't leave that since most of my orders come from there, but the social stuff I mostly skip. It was making me feel so bad about myself. When my son was sucking the energy out of my home, everyone else was posting pics of their sons smiling and happily posing with them. When my flower beds look sad and abandoned, theirs look like they've hired full-time gardeners. When I hope no-one shows up at my house until I can get the disaster of a kitchen cleaned up, their homes look ready for a magazine spread.

FTS, M.

Chores

Am I the only one that can pick up a sock or clean a toilet around here?

Twitter

"Sorry, Donald Trump, you cannot have your wall in exchange for freeing the children. The United States does not negotiate with terrorists."

Is this the end of the world?

Every time they cross a line, I think this is it. This is the line that is too despicable for the American people to tolerate. But they are ripping children - toddlers - away from their parents, flying them hours away, and sticking them in cages in a no-contact-allowed prison for babies. No hugs. No comforting. Older children and changing the diapers of the little ones. And I'm reading tweets of support from the deplorables.

This wasn't the line.

WTF?

After six weeks of rehearsals, and one week frantically getting ready for the art show, it has taken me all morning to get this house looking like humans live here and not a bunch of vagabonds and their heavily shedding dogs. Just sat down. WTF is that crazy sound coming from my dishwasher?

Dogs

I love my dogs. My home is happier because of my dogs. My son, who struggles to connect with people, connects with my dogs. But one, the dog I still think of as a puppy, even though he is about to turn two years old, has decided he's a front-door dog. We let them out through the patio door, and when they are ready to come back, they are supposed to use the same patio door. But Rudy now uses the front door. Like he's a guest or a vacuum cleaner salesman. So now I have to go to the patio to let Hazel in (good girl Hazel), then to the front door to let Rudy in.

I suppose this seems like a trivial whine. It is. My life is pretty good.

Saturday

Saturday I took part in an Art Show that was so perfect in every way I'll have to post about it during another month that isn't reserved for complaining. Rather than bitching about the show, I'll talk about the person who was in the stall beside me. It was two persons, actually. They shared a space (saving one registration fee), then complained that there wasn't nearly enough room for all their stuff. We all were told we had a 10x10 area - so it wasn't like she should have been surprised. She and the other woman spread their stuff into the area in front of their stall and around.

People who can't follow rules drive me crazy. I mean I get seriously uptight about this kind of thing. If felt for the people who run the show, since I knew it would fall to them to confront these women. In the end, no one did. And I have to say, it made our area of the property look nicer to have their stuff out there.

I have to learn not to be so uptight.

Coworkers

I once worked with a woman who bought a Big Mac meal every day for lunch. Every day. Somehow*, she maintained a thin frame. I hate that.


*not a total mystery. She also smoked non-stop.

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Last night I dreamed about another former coworker. In the dream, she wanted to take up running, but at a yoga retreat she learned that the motion of crawling exercised all the major muscle groups much better than running. So she started crawling around Kingston.

Yesterday

I saw a friend yesterday who is always angry at someone. She was doing me a favour, and I'm super grateful, but it's really hard to listen to someone complain full-time. It's exhausting.

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I'm sitting on my bed writing this and there is a perfect breeze coming in the window. Cool mornings are the best.

Draining

I'm finding this month to be draining. Sitting down each morning to come up with something to whine about is making me realize how many little things tick me off. So to balance this off, I'm going to try to sneak in something I'm grateful for, too. I know it's cheating, but otherwise I'm starting to feel like I start the day off on the wrong foot.

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Rudy - He's asleep on the chair across from me. He is a complete knuckle-head, but he is just the knuckle-head we needed after Howie died. He didn't care how sad we were - he is determined to walk around with that goofy, happy-dog look all day, every day. I don't think he cares about Trump at all.

#boycottusa

As of today I'm joining this movement. Nothing made in USA, no travel to USA until this asshat is out. And it hurts my heart.

Twitter

I think I just go on twitter to make myself mad.

*#$%!!!

I woke up this morning and my coffee grinder won't work. It was fine yesterday. I'm drinking 3-month-old decaf, because it's the only preground coffee in the house. Thanks Obama.

The morning after the apocalypse

Well we did it. Congratulations Ontario. We just voted in a conservative, self-serving, silver-spooned, entitled, drug-dealing, privileged, middle-aged white man to serve as premier. Trump is gonna love this guy.

I wake up this morning feeling bitter, but the person I'm most mad at is Justin Trudeau. JT promised us, that at least at the federal level, we had experienced our last first-past-the-post election. And had he stuck to that promise, rather than abandoned it a the first sign keeping that promise wasn't going to favour his own party, maybe - just maybe - the provinces would have followed.

I would be very much in favour of a system that allowed the pendulum to swing gently around the centre, but when has that ever happened in Ontario? Somehow, in 1990, we swung wildly to the left, and had a New Democratic Party government, followed by a crazy swing to the right that brought another lunatic Conservative to power, followed by a 15-year swing to the left that brought in the Liberals, and now we're back to a whackadoodle Conservative party. Cross your legs, girls. These old white men are going to be all up in your reproductive business.

Any kind of proportional representation model would still have the conservatives in power, but with 40% of the seats - not the 62% they ended up with. And like I said - I favour a gentle swing around the centre. I think it's healthy. But last night wasn't gentle. It leaves a moron, strutting about like a fat white peacock, thinking he accomplished something when one of the only platform positions he could think of was to promise cheaper beer.

Am I out of words? Cuz I could go on and on and on.

Background noise

I think I've become addicted to noise. It occurred to me today that I always have a podcast playing, or music, or the TV is playing something in the background. And I think it is impairing my ability to be creative, and probably my ability to think in general.

I used to write all the time, and when I wasn't writing, I would be thinking about my characters and plot holes and my next project. Now I just listen to background noise, and I imagine my brain, if plotted on some brain-plotty machine, would show a relatively flat line. I can't think of words... I can't follow a conversation... I can't resolve problems like I used to... I have almost constant anxiety... I can't sleep at night unless I have my phone on low playing whale sounds or rainy forest sounds. I used to feel ahead of the game and now I'm constantly playing catch-up. Maybe I've had a stroke, but I feel it's more likely I've allowed my brain to go into permanent retirement mode.

Resolution (day 1): Put down the fucking phone and listen to the birds, and the wind in the trees, and the train off in the distance. Think about maybe picking up a pen and writing something again.

Tech stuff

We did our cue-to-cue on Sunday. All lighting and sound cues are in place, looking good. This isn't an easy show in terms of lighting cues, and I'm a little worried our lighting guy isn't up to the fast-paced sections. We'll see soon enough, I guess.

Whatever

The "actor" is giving me nothing but snark, and apparently sees nothing odd about an old man insisting on changing in the same room as a 12-year-old. I wish I had listened to people and refused to cast him.

Still on the play...

I was warned about one character who was cast in this show. He can be difficult to work with, they said. But he auditioned well, and he was polite and seemed quite reasonable, so I cast him. And for the most part, he has been pretty great. He learned his lines fast, throws himself into the nasty character he is playing, and I think he has created an entire back-story for this guy that is a bit out there, but hey - whatever it takes. But now, a few days before opening, he's complaining that he doesn't want to handle the cigarette AND lighter AND jar the character carries around to collect the ashes. And he has moved all his stuff into the change room designated for the women (only 2 in this show, but one is a 12-year-old girl who should not have to watch 50-year-old men get changed). He's starting to act a little bit pissy at every directorial suggestion, so I know he isn't going to take it well when I tell him tonight he has to move his stuff back into the green room with all the other men. Thankfully, I know the other men will back me up. And the stage manager (see day 3 whine), is a retired police officer. She won't be taking no shit from this guy. 

Speaking of stage managers

Thank goodness my stage manager is rock solid. She is there every night, on time, prodding people to do the shit they said they would do. She brings her dog who is a wonderful, joyful, always-smiling golden retriever that greets us all individually with a wagging tail and a kiss. Did I mention she's a trump fan? Yeah - she's Canadian but she supports trump and is amazed at all he has accomplished despite the obstructionist Democrats and fake media. Sigh. And she cannot wait until Doug Ford - drug-dealing older brother to the late mayor of Toronto, Rob Ford, is elected as Premier of Ontario this month. And he will be - because we've all lost our minds.

And furthermore

I had applied to a local art show and didn't get in. So I said I would direct this play. Then someone dropped out of the art show and just like that, I'm in - and I'm so excited, except I just said I'd direct this play. No problem - I'll have lots of time to do both. WRONG. The play is taking all my time, and the art show, from which I can hope to make a little money - my only source of income these days - is taking a back seat. Fuck this shit, man.

Theatre

This could be a long one. I'm directing a show. It opens next week, thank goodness. It has been nothing but a pain in my ass from the beginning. There is supposed to be a full production staff in place so the director can focus on directing, but the set build was 2 weeks late, there isn't a costumer anywhere to be found, the set decorating was left to me and the props person? Where the fuck is the props person? My sound guy just dropped off (sorry, too busy), and the lighting person was running behind. I'm never doing this again. And believe me, I'll be whining about this show for at least a full week.