Holy mother of shit, Me Mom and Morgentaler has a new album out TOMORROW.

I think.

It’s not completely new, it’s .. I’m not sure. A re-mastering? A re-release? The same album with a darker blue cover? I also don’t know what it’s called, or when it’s actually out, or how much it is. On MM&M’s MySpace, it’s called SHIVA SPACE MACHINE – GONE FISSION and it’s out 10/23. Everywhere else on the internet it seems to be called Shiva Space Machine: The Second Incarnation, and on amazon.com it’s out tomorrow (for $36, lolz); amazon.ca on November 6th for $18, hmv.ca on June 11th for $20, and nowhere else seems to have it listed. I am confused. But SO EXCITED! I will hunt this down and proudly add it to my MM&M shelf! Yay!

I am hoping that this week will be less traumatic and dizzy than the last. I spent most of yesterday being incredibly cranky and breaking cups (b caused a, I think) and it would be nice to not have any kind of tantrum today. I am continuing to feel better with every passing day – I never want to use this distraction method again, but Sasha’s getting sick drove all thoughts about my werewolf herpes out of my head and it became little more than a passing annoyance in amongst all my terror. While I still have occasional flashes of vertigo, we can chalk that up to my being a naturally dizzy person as opposed to being quite unable to remain upright for any length of time. So, all is good. Now I can concentrate on finding a goddamn job already.

I’m trying not to return to misery on that front, too. Last week I received a phone call from someone who was very eager (their words) to meet with me and give me money and work and stuff. We played phone tag for a day and a half, then nothing. The ball is thricely in their court now; I am trying to avoid being a stalker. If you call someone, then follow up your voice mail with an email reiterating how much you want to talk to them, can you really getting too annoyed after 2 rounds of phone tag to want to speak to them after all? I’m paranoid that this is the case, even though I returned calls promptly each time and left a message saying I was around and would love to chat. I need a job. I am bored out of my mind at home, and spending far too much time on eBay.

I took Sasha to the vet on Friday afternoon, and she’s thankfully forgiven me for it. The first part of the visit wasn’t too bad – they weighed her (she’s lost 3 lbs from her normal weight of 9), stuck a thermometer up her butt (to which she curiously had no protest), then made me wait until the vet came in. We chatted about my concerns, then she whisked Sasha off to do some blood work and maybe try to pull the tooth that looked like it wanted to come out.

And then I spent the next 30 minutes sobbing on a leather couch in the reception area.

Sitting there and listening to Sasha scream in pain and outrage was probably the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. She did NOT like getting blood drawn, or the vet, or the technicians, or the universe, or me very much at all at that moment. Eventually they brought her out to me in her carrier, smelling all sad and antiseptic like the world’s most depressing piercing parlour. I paid them a lot of money, they said they’d call me tomorrow with the results, and we went home so I could try to make her love me again.

The vet proved good to their word and they called me the following afternoon with the verdict: Sasha has bad kidneys. One of them isn’t working as well as it should, the muscles in her rear legs are beginning to atrophy, and she is old. This, however, is almost all good news: I took her to the vet early enough so that they caught the kidney problem at the earliest possible time. She’s not even on kidney medication; the vet suggested I put her on some special wet food for old cats and we’ll check her again in 4-6 months. If her kidneys look the same or better, we keep on the same path. If things are worse, we move her to a kidney diet. In the meantime, she gets special food that she seems to really like, all the love and attention she can handle, and a mild scolding from me for being old. Ed and I have to be really careful about not leaving human food out, as that was probably what was making her throw up so much. I’m thinking about investing in a bear-proof garbage can, since she really is a pain in the ass when she decides that she’s entitled to something.

I am happy enough, since nothing short of a diagnosis of “she seems to be reversing in age, it’s the strangest thing” would satisfy me completely. Sasha seems much better than she did even a couple days ago; she’s eating all her food (and then some of Hobble’s), being affectionate, and not throwing up. This is good. She is doing much better than I am.

I’m tired and out of sorts, so instead of words you just get pictures.

Here are the apples I prepared last night, stuffed and ready for baking:

And again, after being in the oven for an hour or so:

They were super good, but enormous – Darren was the only one who managed to conquer his; the rest of us ate half and took home tasty leftovers. I love cooking with apples; I have a repertoire of favourite apple recipes I like to bust out in the fall and winter.

Last night’s Nerds Do Thanksgiving feast was truly epic. Everyone brought such tasty food that we all had to be rolled out the door when it was time to go home. The booze was flowing fast and furious, so I got to play Designated Driver and drive the Delica back to the north shore. It was fun, and I did a perfect parallel park on my first try in a right-hand drive vehicle. Hooray for me and my mad skillz!

Looks like I had more words in me than I thought. I’m not convinced I’m making any sense, but at least I made an effort.

Hey, did you know that I hate waiting?

My kitchen smells delicious.

We’re doing a potluck Thanksgiving dinner today, and my contribution is mashed potatoes, roasted garlic (so people can have garlic mashed potatoes if they wish), and baked apples. The garlic has been roasting for a while now, and it smells divine. I’m about to core the apples and stuff them with my SEKRET RECIPE, then package the whole thing up to bake later. Shan is downstairs making gravy and stuffing, and Miranda is making turkey and hams and yams. There are other people bringing other things, and we shall have ourselves a feast of epic proportions. Yay for potluck! Yay for Thanksgiving!

I am thankful for pretty much everything, really.

Things I tried today that were exceedingly difficult yet would have been easy to do with my eyes closed 20 years ago:

• Flouncing dramatically to my room, slamming the door and yelling “NO ONE UNDERSTANDS ME!”
• Hopscotch
• Transforming my 20th Anniversary Edition of Optimus Prime from robot to truck form

I feel very old right now.

The Mazdabator is parked out back, unlocked. Please do not go into it and steal the 80 pounds of wood pellets we use as cat litter, or the 12 litres of Diet Coke in the back seat. Thank you.

They’re doing construction or something on the crack house down the block, and large trucks with industrial vacuums are making a heck of a lot of noise in the alley. It set our car alarm off repeatedly, so I just shut it off. There’s nothing of value in the car except for my Diet Coke, so I don’t think the car is in any danger .. but I’ll probably go rescue the bottles at some point anyway. I like Diet Coke. I don’t have a problem, I can quit any time. I’m not hurting anyone! You’re not my science textbook! Leave me alone!

I’m debating growing my hair out. I’m worried that I’m starting to look old – or at least closer to my real age than I ever have before in my life – and perhaps more hair will help coax the illusion of youth along for a while longer. Ed claims that at every point in an Asian woman’s life her age catches up with her and she looks 80 overnight. I am truly hoping that is not the case with me – I’ve really enjoyed the part of my genes that routinely has me looking 5-10 years younger than I actually am. I am too young to look 80, and I don’t own a boathouse yet. I also am far too jaded and cynical to buy into commercials for creams that will help stop the signs of aging. Fie on you, expensive creams – bright green eye shadow does the exact same thing, for much less money.

Why isn’t the postman bringing me packages of mystery? There’re at least half a dozen things I’m waiting for, probably more – I want my stuff. And Ed’s stuff, although that is not as interesting to me.

Yay! Job hunting!

Boooo – my favourite pair of all-purpose (workin’, struttin’, posin’, whorin’) black boots have bitten the dust. They’ve pretty much entirely separated from the heel, and there are holes a-plenty. I think it’s time to send these boots to the great footwear graveyard in the sky – you served me well, first-ever pair of black sexy boots. I’ll miss you and all the times you made me limp with exhaustion and pain when I wore you to trade shows dressed up in a corset.

I have to go run errands this afternoon, and I think they may just include a trip to the shoe store to help get over the loss of my boots.

I got bored. What do you think?

I think my mom has a crush! The guy who walked in on me in the shower in Victoria (he was there to replace the fridge, had to pee, and mom sent him to the bathroom not knowing I was all about the wet and naked in there) is a widower, and mom keeps talking about him and saying she’s going to give him a call to invite him for coffee or something. Cute! Go, mom! Mack up that refrigerator man!

In my time of neediness, I find myself craving the ridiculous foods that I ate when I was wee. Last night at 10:30, I had a wicked urge for a tuna sandwich so I made one up and ate it with the absolutely essential plain ruffled potato chips. Okay, that’s a relatively normal meal; one my dad used to make for me when I’d come home from school for lunch. Tasty and nostalgic, plus fun for the cats since they get most of the can of tuna from me. However, nothing I can say will ever justify what I just ate with relish (literal relish, not physical – I do have SOME standards): a potato chip sandwich.

I don’t know how or why I started eating these, but at some point in my misguided and carb-laden youth, I thought it would be a fantastic idea to stick some of the above-mentioned plain ruffled chips in a piece of white bread and chomp away. And it’s yummy. Disgusting, yes and certainly not anything I eat with any sort of regularity, but I do enjoy myself a potato chip sandwich from time to time. Like, right now. Mmm!

What disgusting things do you eat by yourself in the dark, away from prying eyes and horrified onlookers? French fries in ice cream don’t count; I eat that in public. Potato chip sandwiches though have only ever been eaten before Ed, with a face full of shame, crumbs, and more than just a little bit of internal satisfaction.