Rant 1: “JonBenet’s Death was an Accident”

“Yeah, she was there, and I tripped and fell on her. In the process, our clothes fell off and I raped her and came. Then my hands happened to fall around her neck and she died. I don’t understand how it happened.” Riiiigghhhhhtt.

Rant 1a: What’s the deal with JonBenet’s press coverage?

I happen to be the parent of a beautiful blonde child with curls–in fact, a friend of our (the divine Miss M) calls Bri “JonBenet”. Yes, if something happened to her, I would want everyone to help. But god dammit, how many not-so-beautiful, not-so-blonde, not-so-white-looking little girls have been raped and murdered in the ten years since JonBenet’s death? And how much media attention have they gotten? I hate the implication that being something other than “blonde and beautiful” means your life is worth less.

Rant 2: Stephen “Running Dog Lackey” Harper

What the fuck. The federal government appears to be poised to fail to renew permssion for Vancouver’s safe drug injection site, even though data proves that lives have been saved and HIV infections prevented. Why? Because the United States doesn’t like it! Are we now going to send troops to Iraq now? Or import the virulent racist attitudes of our southern neighbor? And what’s with Steve’s failure to show up at the AIDS conference here in Toronto? Are we importing southern attitudes about the GBLT community?

Dammit Stephen Harper, Canada is better than this! Give your head a shake and wake up. You need to take care of all our citizens, not just the pretty white ones. Oh yeah, go on a diet while you’re at it.

That’s enough for now. The evil sickness has invaded my lungs and I’m writing this from home, where I slept from 10 last night to 1 this afternoon. After my guilty pleasure (General Hospital, if you must know), I’m going back to bed. Maybe the world will find some sense while I’m asleep.Okay, now I know I’m really sick: I’m hallucinating now.

Note to self: Write some time about how having a insane (borderline personality disorder) lying mother leads to a lack in trust in oneself to the point where it is stupidly difficult to call in sick. Learning to trust my own judgement is an ongoing effort and a struggle that I lose as often as not. But who’s keeping score?


yes, i have re-entered the always fascinating world of group drug therapy. Let me tell you, drug treatment in Canada in 2006 is light years away from drug treatment in the United States in 1986. Thank the gods.

Okay, I’m more than a little embarrassed to admit that marijuana is my drug of choice. It’s not like it’s physically addictive or anything. Eh, that doesn’t matter. I’m struggling with the issue and I am getting help. That’s the important part.

The annoying part is how much the addicted part of my brain wants to get high, right now, just cuz I’m not supposed to. At least it’s normal, or so they tell me.

Sitting this evening was immensely difficult. It’s so god-damn hard to sit alone, it always has been for me. I wonder if I’m doing something wrong, but I know I’m not really. I’m just exhausted and frustrated and scared and lonely.

Very, very lonely.


Our entire family is suffering through a miserable summer cold. Brianna’s been coughing for a couple of weeks. Bryan had a fever of 101 Wednesday night, so he stayed home from work Thursday and took himself and the little one to the doctor. As we suspected, a virus is the culprit.

I generally try to keep an open mind about alternative therapies. However, I do have enough of a scientific mind to endow me with a very healthy dose of skepticism. Homeopathy is one of those things that I have always been skeptical of. How can a couple of molecules floating around in some water possibly do anything?

When Brianna was an infant, I decided to give it a test. If you have spent any time around a teething baby, you know how distressing it can be for both the child and the parent. So, I decided to try a homeopathic teething remedy on the theory that the wailing infant doesn’t know homeopathic from Adam, so my prejuidices would not be a factor. Lo and behold, the child stopped crying! The experiment was repeated many times. Every time, this little tube of liquid that looked and tasted like water did the trick and Brianna stopped crying in pain and became a happy baby.

So, homeopathy technically shouldn’t be able to work. Technically, bumblebees shouldn’t be able to fly either, but they do. Since then, we have always tried to go the homeopathic route first, on the theory that the homeopathic remedy at least wouldn’t do any harm. It’s worked out pretty well so far.

Anyway, to get back to the story, our family doctor not only has a medical degree, but is fully trained in homeopathic and alternative remedies. So when Bryan and Brianna showed up with a virus, homeopathic remedies are tried first. Now, Bri had been coughing for a couple of weeks and it had gotten to the point where my baby couldn’t get a good night’s sleep, nor could mommy or daddy. The doc recommended a new remedy to try: Formica/Stibium and a chest cream for Brianna and Weleda’s Infludoron for us.

That night, Brianna slept through the night without coughing. Really. We’re all on the mend and we’re not shoveling all kinds of crazy chemicals into our bodies. Yay for us.

Unfortunately, cold virii just take their own dang time to work through the human body. So there’s a few more days of nose blowing and snotting to deal with. Fun. But we’re all actually resting through the night, and that’s a good thing.

When Being Evil Pays Off

This wasn’t very Buddhist of me, but I could not resist.

Last Tuesday, our new neighbors moved into the house immediately to our east. Thursday night was garbage and recycling night, so Bryan put out all of our blue bins: paper, cardboard, and two bins worth of plastic & glass. Pickup is Friday during the day. After work Friday, Bryan brought in our bins and noticed that one was missing. He also noticed that our new neighbors had a bin on their front porch that looked a lot like ours. And so it was.

Now, we’ve had a lot of troubles recently with neighbors: drug dealing, drunken rants, a crack house. And this was all on property owned by our landlord, the church. Additionally, my period is due any second now, a state that makes me “irritable” . So I went next door, saw that the blue bin on their porch was indeed ours, dumped the recycling they had already put in it on their porch, and took my property home.

They hadn’t lived there four days before they started stealing our shit. I was not impressed. Last night was the kicker. Bryan, Brianna, and I all woke up around 2 a.m. Apparently the bars had closed so the neighbors brought the party to their front porch, which sits beneath our bedroom window. We’re not talking sitting on the porch drinking beer and chatting. We’re talking yelling, loud music, and general ignorant mayhem.

Now remember, the church owns the properties and we live in a smallish suburb of Toronto—not the kind of place where you expect loud partying at 2 a.m., even on a Saturday night. My rule of thumb is if you wake up my child, you are too loud. They were too loud. Bryan and I considered calling the cops, but we didn’t want to go that route. We just closed the windows facing that side and tried to get back to sleep. Bryan wasn’t very successful with that and ended up not being able to get to sleep until 3:30 or so. Apparently, they partied for a good hour, until 3 or so.

So when Brianna woke us up at 6:30 Sunday morning (her usual wake-up time), Bryan was understandably exhausted. Now, when you mess with my family, you risk invoking my ire. If I happen to be PMSing, you are taking your life in your hands. (Remember my post about PMDD—the super PMS that I suffer from and take anti-psychotic medication for?)

So I was irritated. One of the things I like to do when irritated is listen to angry music. It was a lovely morning, so I set up my Bose Wave outside on the deck, which just happens to face our new neighbors’ home. I got my coffee and plugged in my iPod. I dialled up my angry music, in this case Public Image Limited’sFlowers of Romance“.

It’s a lovely little post-punk album. CD Universe says this about it:

Public Image Ltd.: John Lydon, Keith Levene, Martin Atkins. The fourth Public Image Limited album is something of a milestone. Spread across its 33 minutes is some of the harshest and least “user-friendly” music ever recorded for a major record company. FLOWERS, the first album following the departure of the band’s initial bass player, finds John Lydon largely abandoning guitars in the construction of his songs. The music is mainly comprised of jerking, off-kilter drumming, layered with creepy keyboard effects. Echoing, buried backing vocals add menace to his uniformly disturbing lyrics. The tone of “Spread her body all naked and silly, a bulbous heap batting her eyelids” (“Track 8”) and “What do you want, you’re annoying go away, it’s not my fault that you’re lonely” (“Banging the Door”) is not atypical. In “Under the House,” a tale of a ghostly haunting in a dream-house, the almost lethargic vocals are undercut with frenzied drumming, distant growls, and creaking sounds. “Go Back,” one of Lydon’s classic anti-middle-class-complacency rants, features a tinny, squalling guitar–almost as an afterthought to the rigid drums. “Francis Massacre” ends the record abruptly with a mixture of seemingly unrelated drums, samples, and vocals. FLOWERS is a classic album of awkward and disturbing anti-“pop” music.

Let me tell you, there’s nothing like cranking up the Bose Acoustic Wave at 7 a.m. to kick out the tunes. The bass response is _amazing_.

My passive-agressive action worked. Before the album was over, one of our new neighbors came over to ask me to turn it down. The conversation went something like this:

Her: Hi! Do you mind turning that down?

Me: I thought you guys liked being loud, you were pretty loud at 2 a.m.

Her: We’re all trying to sleep.

Me: So were we when you woke us up at 2 a.m.

Her: Oh.

Me: How about this—you stop being loud late at night and I’ll stop being loud first thing in the morning.

Her: Okay.

Me: Right on.

We then high-fived each other, she left, and I brought my Bose inside. Hopefully, she and her housemates will get the point. If not, I think some Ornette Coleman or Nine Inch Nails might appear on my early morning playlist.