happy-making junk

After an impossibly hot, frustrating week of fretting and malaise and THE WORST shark week breakout I’ve had since my teens, the weather finally broke on all fronts (I do ALL THE PUNS) and has made for a weekend of recoup’ing and pitcher-filling in very homebody ways.

Yesterday was all about lying in after being up until stupid o’clock talking hip hop and romantic issues with the son. Verdict: Magna Carta…Holy Grail is a bit weak and hurting people are rarely rational people, but they’ll probably come around after a bit.

I really wanted to hole up at home and deal with the dishes/mopping/laundry that I’d neglected because of the heat all week, but we needed foods, so I ventured out to forage and managed a 5 top/cute earrings/lavender plant score for 10 clams.


One of the tops has a cute back and puffy sleeves thing going on that tickles my 80s-loving  fancy.


Food foraging resulted in bopping around in the kitchen making spaghetti sauce to the B52s. Kitchen dance parties are, like, the best things ever.


I firmly believe that the world would be a better place if the B52s were piped through all stressful spots like grocery stores, banks, work places. Who has time to argue with lovers, scream at sprogs, deny loans, or clench teeth in the face of coworker stupidity when Good Stuff is playing?

Have a dance party. It’s on me.

This post made me incredibly happy today because it put me good for a clue that Armpits4August is happening. Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome is a big deal, yo. I know a bunch of women who deal with it and all of the challenges and heartbreak and body betrayal that go with it. I love that it directly addresses the hirsutism that is so often part and parcel of PCOS by encouraging folks to grow their pit hairs to gain pledges. I feel like it has the potential for ripples of goodness all over and definitely intend to participate even though I’m not really a shaver of pits anyway. Anyone wanna start a team?
I think it would be really fun if a bunch of us regular non-shavers (ahem, dude-friends, I’m lookin’ at you) did shave on the 31st of July and tracked progress/feelings/etc through the month.

That dude who sends my heart and loins a-flutter has been away recording an album for a bit. I know, I’m not supposed to be happy about his absence, but I get to think of him being all music-y and getting all hot and sweaty and generally being his awesome self in the world and then I get all:

But it’s also kinda nice to have people to miss, non? I’m always happy when the people I adore are out doing their things that make them happy and whole people. I feel especially lucky that I have a metric shit ton of people in my life who do that.


happy thoughts for not-so-happy times

I’ve had some pretty heavy shit going on in my life that leaves me feeling less-than-motivated and less-than-energetic and generally just less-than. Ugh. It’s all surmountable, but it also takes time and in the meantime it’s all kind of kicking up a lot of emotional dust that I’m sifting through slowly, but not enjoying one little bit.

As such, I thought I’d punk a page from the book blog of this lovely person and find some time each week to mindfully reflect upon some of the really good shit I have in my life. Here are a couple-few things bringing a smile to my silly face on the daily:

my back porch

There are few things I’d rather do on a lazy weekend morning than hang out in this space with its wee side garden…


hostas and forget-me-nots and hibiscus and rosemary and basil and parsley and papavers and silly logs and farm rock, oh my!

its wee kitchen garden…


its table full of plants…



(yes, I make myself bouquets of flowers and greens from the gardens – I like pretty)



I’m often found hangin’ with this silly creature…


Also with this one…


And generally lookin’ a bit like this…


Out here I spend a lot of time watching the world go by, cooking, drawing, reading, thinking, chatting with friends, making new friends, cuddling critters,  listening to music from the jam space next door or from the pipers at the armoury, and engaging in all manner of delightful things.

I did have a list of things I was going to start this with, but I think this has been enough of a happy trip for one post, so I’ll leave it at this.

Happy Sunday, kittens.

my loathing of boob sweat

For every season, I seem to have a particular thing I really dislike about it. In autumn, well…there’s not much I really dislike about autumn. It’s probably my favourite season unless we’re coming into spring and then it gets trumped by pure virtue of winter being gone, but autumn does have a level of melancholy and overcast skies that mess with my poor noggin, so I’ll call it that.

In winter, I resent all of the goddamned layers I need to don (or not) because it seems like every day presents a new challenge and no sunshine. I love me some sunshine. Also, our city streets are NOT AT ALL pedestrian-friendly in the wintertime. So, while I don’t resent winter for that, as such, I do resent the politicians that don’t do anything about it.

Spring is fun because the sun is back, but it’s mucky, smells like dog shit and comes with the leerings and jeerings of others once we start to don skirts and sundresses and shorts and tank tops.

All of that said, there are few things I hate more than having bigger tits in the summertime. There is one thing I find more repulsive and that’s my propensity for leaving a trashcan with yummy things in it that, if left for a couple days while I escape to the woods or summat, will grow friends. And by ‘friends’, I mean ‘maggots’. SO GROSS. But by ‘propensity’, I mean ‘this has happened once and now I’m so freaked out about it that I am probably destroying the environment by putting the trash out too often and destroying my psyche in doing that.’

I am seriously freaked out about that shit.

Second to that is boob sweat. We’re talking underboob sweat, sideboob sweat, ‘twixtboob sweat and everything in between. I feel like I’ll ever have enough bras to keep up with what must be the 167 litres of stinky, salty bodily fluids I must pour into them every day. And I SWEAT. I don’t fucking ‘glow’ or ‘glisten’ or have ‘the dewy moistness of youth’ or any of those other damned euphemisms people use to make the excretory process sound so much more pleasant. I. FUCKING. SWEAT.

It’s not the sweat itself that I mind so much. Sweat can be a really sexy, empowering, sultry, and HUMAN thing. It often means, particularly in hot weather, that our bodies are working. I like that about sweating. I shan’t get into the pleasures of building a lather and stink under the hands of a lover, but just tonight I ran errands in the heat of the sun on a rather hot and humid day and came home and felt all of the sweat I’d generated dissipate under the shade of my sumac grove and the calming of my blood flow and the crispness of beer. So awesome…so blissful…except for the boob sweat.

Boob sweat sticks to you. Taking a bra off doesn’t help. Being naked doesn’t help. You can’t escape it. Everything’s trapped in and under and betwixt and it’s not comfy and it makes one want to have 28 showers each day and at least three more if I’m looking forward to sexy times. It’s yucky and makes me cranky and I don’t want to deal with it.

In short: Boob sweat sucks. Someone please invent a hover-bra already.