My lucky rabbits toe?

Okay, so I have heard that if a bird poops on you it is good luck. Yeah, maybe if you are Diane Lane in “Under the Tuscan Sun” that is true. Really though, come on. It’s just something people say to make you feel better. Kind of like those oxygen masks in an airplane. They just give you something to do with your hands while the plane crashes. In reality, you waste money on a lottery ticket and walk around with a shit stain on your shirt or in your hair. Anyway you slice it, not good.

I am starting to wonder though if I don’t need to get a ‘lucky’ rabbits foot. I have had a couple signs, somewhat disturbing truth be told, lately that make me think I should. Or is it something I am telling myself so I am not so grossed out? For those of you who think eating rabbit is wrong, stop reading now. And if you do think it is wrong, just think about what they did in Australia will ya?

So a while ago, Little Lord Fauntleroy had us over for drinks and nibbles. Wanting to be a guest that gets invited round again, I asked if I could bring some pate or something. He said that would be fine. So I trotted off to the St. Lawrence Market to shop. I was thrilled to see such a fine array of pate! There was goose, duck, venison, rabbit and so on and so on. I decided on venison and rabbit as they sounded a little adventurous but not too out there.

Well, not all adventures end in success. Not only did neither taste any good, but on my last crack at the rabbit, I bit into a little bone, that was attached to another little bone, that was attached to a nail. Ummmmm, yeah. That’s right, there was a rabbit finger (is it a finger or a claw?) in it. And we were done with the pate. I still get invited back. They can’t all be winners.

The other night I made rabbit (that I lovingly marinated in vermouth, mustard, onion, garlic and other herbs and spices) for the boyfriend as he had never had it before. It was, tooting my own horn here, delicious! But again, I found the same little digit, cartilage, digit, cartilage, nail combo in my mouth. Yuck.

Is it good luck or just a sign to stop eating rabbit?

An Inconvenient Truth....As Viewed From Your Private Jet

I should, by all counts, be snuggled down in my king size bed going off to sleep. Sometimes though, the urge to put fingers to keyboard is too strong and I must blog! Just back from a movie night with The Boyfriend, Diamond Don and CPB and as you may well guess, we went to see An Inconvenient Truth, the Al Gore lecture movie about global warming.

Let me start by saying this, I would take Al Gore over George W. Bush any day of the week. Having his counterpart now run this country is bad enough, but to have had to listen that Texan for the past eight years has been too much. Nice work at the G8 Summit today by the way George. I used liked Texas too thanks to Colby Donaldson from Survivor. Anyway……

As I was saying, next to Georgie, I would give a thumbs-up to Al Gore. Well, at least to his message. In a nutshell, global warming is here, it is undeniable and we are already paying the price. That cost will increase exponentially if we do not act soon. Snaps for Al. I would be a little more willing to jump on his bandwagon however if the delivery was a little better. The US has the highest CO2 emissions of any country in the world and there are several suggestions on how to cut back. Purchase a hybrid car, use public transit, don’t rely on air conditioning so much, car pool etc.

Unfortunately, he says all these things while he is whisked about in limousines, private airplanes, staying in HUGE presidential suites or driving his Cadillac back to the family farm. Way to practice what you preach.

I do believe his intentions are genuine, even if the method of delivery needs some work, and I do my bit. Knowing the content of the movie, I took public transit downtown. Those who know me know of my contempt for all things made of disposable plastic and resin. Especially how I loath plastic bags and am devout when it comes to using my canvas shopping bags and grocery bin. I compost for the benefit of my friends and family. Not much use for it in an apartment. I have no air conditioning in my apartment and can honestly say I never turn it on in the car. I have my reusable tea cup to keep the mountain of Tim Hortons cups out of landfills. And a bicycle with baskets for weekend errands is on the horizon.

But we can all use some work. I do drive a huge 6 cylinder vehicle that I really don’t need. A much more fuel efficient 4 cylinder would do just as well. Not to mention be easier on the pocket book.

Diamond Don also informed me that you can tell your hydro company that you want your electricity to come from green sources. It will cost about $10 more a month but that goes towards investment in things like wind energy. (Correction, I have now signed up for it. Everyone should, easy peasy lemon squeezy! http://www.bullfrogpower.com/) I kind of feel for Don too. He just but some nice ocean front property in Nova Scotia to retire on but if Mr. Gore’s predictions are correct, it will be under water within 20 years. Sorry honey, hope you can swim!

Death Trumps All The Rest

I like to consider myself well traveled and to have a cache of tales to tell. Some are taller than others, but at the core of each story is at least a seed of truth. There was the unfortunate dance floor incident with a one armed man in Melbourne. And who could forget about the howler monkey in Guatemala? Then there were the two Spaniards in the desert in India. Such fond memories.

These jewels in my crown however, are really quite tame. The other night, the boys from the UK, Lord Fauntleroy, Mr. Underpants and I were out for a bit of Indian food before heading off to the Rex and we played a little game called “what is the strangest thing that has ever happened to you?”

It turns out that Andy used to work with a certain lady that always assumed the worst. One morning, the news in Manchester reported that a decapitated body was found floating in the river. They gave a description of the deceased right down to the clothes he was wearing. Andy had worn a similar sweater the day before and his co-worker, thinking the worst, as she was want to do, called the police and told them the name of the victim.

Andy later had to go to the police station to prove that he was, in fact, alive. He and the officers had a good chuckle over it and Andy went on his merry little way. Later, he was dismayed to find out that the corpse belonged to a short, middle age, Greek man with a hairy back and man boobs. Poor guy.

Lord Fauntleroy had a charming story too but more intriguing was his rant about little kids ALWAYS having jam on there fingers. “How the bloody hell do kids get jam on their hands at 3:00 in the afternoon when there hasn’t been any jam out since breakfast seven hours ago?” We all had a good little chuckle over that one.

Mr. Underpants stole the show thought with a rather short, concise story. He simply said “I’ve been dead twice.” As a youngster he had serious heart trouble, all those long hours at the office do take there toll, and they had to stop his ticker so they could tinker with it.

Try To Blend In Darling.....

Just had a WONDERFUL visit with Michael (who I met on Holy Island last year) and his husband, Andy. In the UK they are called ‘civil partners’ but we decided that sounds a little to much like a business merger as opposed to a marriage, so I will stick with husband.

As usual, having out of town guests forces one to do the ‘usual’ tourist things that one normally would not do. I can honestly say that the glass floor in the CN Tower nearly made me soil myself. Andy was the bravest of the three of us, next was Michael and then there was yours truly. The sign says the floor can hold the weight of 14 hippos but how the heck does CN know that? Do they actually test that theory? That 14th hippo shatters the floor and they order a sign? Did they actually kill 14 hippos to find this out? And was anyone standing at the bottom? And what does that mean anyway? How much does a hippo weigh? I swear that those three little kids jumping up and down next to me made the floor buckle. Why don’t they test the floor with children? Hippos are endangered and there are too many kids roaming free. I for one would have felt much better seeing a sign that read the floor would hold the weight of 20 fourth graders or something. Oh well.

We also hit Niagara Falls. I had never been on the Maid of the Mist (apparently when we went as kids I was too scared and stayed ashore with mother to do a spot of shopping, who would have guessed?) and was more than happy to partake. It was an impressive, if a little damp, wonder of the world. The blue ponchos provided leave a lot to be desired especially since they don’t reuse them. How un-environmental is that? I can say with certainty that Canada scored on our side of the falls. The US side is not-so-much.

Oh the drive down, we were all quite excited (well, Andy I were, Michael politely humored us) to see the tower where Marilyn met her end in the film Niagara. “There isn’t any other song”. Damn, love that woman. We even brought along a red dress and blond wig so we could recreate her final moment on screen. Unfortunately the bell tower now sits silent behind a Canada customs building. Is nothing sacred anymore?

Most disturbing of all however was the plethora of tack-o-rama souvenirs. I am not talking kitschy here either, just plain nasty. Is nothing made from wood anymore? Is a resin cigar store Indian really worth $2600? Honestly. I mean didn’t we buy Manhattan for $100 and some glass beads? Jokes on us now I guess.

We escaped the horror of Clifton Hill for the sanctuary that is Niagara on the Lake. Now, I think I enjoy a cocktail or two, wine with dinner and even the occasional shooter, but these boys from across the pond put me to shame. They were on holiday though, so they are entitled. We recovered from the bus loads of polyester clad tourists over a couple bottles of fine Canadian wine and some asparagus soup. That, I was too discover, was a light-weight night. There was one evening in particular where the three of us managed to consume five bottles of the nectar of the gods. Oh dear. That in conjunction with sleeping on an air mattress with a hole in it did not make for a pretty next day.

They have now parted our little piece of the globe and I miss them already. I look forward to seeing them again soon. Kisses to you both!

Lepers to the left, singles to the right.

I had a conversation the other day and it was not the first time the topic has come up. So I am here to set the record straight for all of you out there who co-habitat. We, and I feel that I can safely speak on behalf of the group, people who live on our own do, in fact, eat food.

The first time this came up was a few years back when a group of people from work sat down for lunch together. I pulled out some lasagna and salad. “Oh did your mother make that for you?” Brenda (yes, her real name) asked. “No. I made it.” I replied. “Really, you made an entire lasagna for yourself?” I explained to her that I would freeze half of it for later and make a couple meals out of the rest. She could not get her head around why people who lived on their own would go to the trouble of cooking for themselves. Why if it wasn’t for her husband and two kids she “would never turn on the oven.” For the record, there has since been an affair and a divorce. Apparently she turned on the oven for somebody.

KitKat mentioned it in his now defunct blog too. He popped in for some reason or the other just as I was making lunch so I asked him to stay. We had lamb, potatoes and some sort of vegetable. He was, I can’t say shocked as he knows I like to eat well and treat myself, but, shall we say mildly surprised that I would go to such extremes when cooking for myself.

And just the other day I took a pie to work to suck up to my new co-workers. I shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble I was told. Not at all, I was making another one for myself anyway. Again, it was a given that I was going to a dinner party that night, or taking it to a BBQ. For the record, I am quite capable of eating an entire pie by myself thank you very much. Have you ever tasted my pastry?

I have to ask, is it assumed that Kraft dinner is our main source of sustenance? That we forage for bugs and insects on our way home? Aside from Sunday supper at our parents we get no hot food? That we are the ones that keep McDonalds and Pizza Hut in business? That our lives are as empty as a Chinese take-out carton? That our refrigerators our stocked with nothing but fine wines and champagnes for us to drown our pitiful lonely existence in? Don’t be silly, that’s what the bar fridge next to our bed is for.

It Is A Small Gay World

Just back from seeing Superman Returns (and if that red ginch gonch isn’t enough to get you to the theatre, let me just say it gets wet at one point too) and while Brandon Routh was there hovering over our little planet, I thought to myself (much like Peggy Lee) “is that all there is?” It seems so small. It was not until I hit the lobby though that I realized just how small this little blue marble is.

Who do I run into but my friend Maher. From Dubai. And not only that, he is with the boyfriend’s friend Natalie (aka Fat Girl). I just added a link to her blog like 3 days ago. I have never met her before (love your writing and girl I have not idea where you think you need to lose weight from) and what are the odds that my friend would be friends with my friend’s friends? And that we would all run into each other in a cinema lobby? Small world indeed. And pink too.

I also have two super fantastic people visiting from the UK this week. It seems like such a distance to go. But is it really? A visit to Montreal and Quebec city were on the agenda and that is a six hour drive, so why not sit in a plane for six hours and hop across the pond? Given the price of petrol nowadays, it is almost as cheap. There is the whole adjusting to time zone thing, but to spend time with people you like, I think a couple sleepless nights and red eyes is a small price to pay.

I met Michael last year on Holy Island and we have managed to keep in touch. And true to his word in the Glasgow train station, he came for a visit. I had never met his husband Andy before, but he is important to Michael and therefore, by default, is important to me. That and it turns out, if I can borrow an olde (see what I did there? Added an “e” at the end to make it cute) English phrase, I like the cut of his jib.

People say that technology is making the world smaller and turning it into a global village. And much like a village, you best keep your eyes open as you never know who is around the next corner! Gotta love it.