He’s in hospital, RCH, and feeling poorly.
Peter Julian was standing at the south east corner of 10th and Canada Way as Jeff and I drove past at 8 am this morning on the way back from the grocery store, with a big sign saying thank you. He has served this riding and its predecessor riding since 2004, serving currently as NDP House Leader. He’s been called one of the hardest working politicians in Canada, he speaks French and English and gets by in ASL, he was born in the riding he serves, and he’s all round worth voting for.
And while the electoral fairies didn’t give us what we wanted, a Liberal minority government is close enough, given that electoral politics is gross no matter who’s involved.
I topped up my compass card; after I came back from seeing Tammy it was tapped out, and that will never do. Can’t take the bus without a compass card.
Today I hope to mind my own business and avoid the people wandering around the lower mainland who are threatening each other with fake weapons, running each other down with real SUVs etc. Also may circumstances give the incoming BC Nurses’ Union president enough ovarian muscle to back a vaccine mandate. The fact the outgoing one didn’t means that I for one am NOT thanking Christine Sorenson for her service. Every nurse in BC should be vaccinated and the fact she didn’t support a vaccine mandate IS MORE THAN ENOUGH REASON for the board to want her departure. Riddance to Rubbish!
Looking for a cultural competence reader sucks and the people who’ve responded suck even harder. One of them could barely type English and was using a phone from a Venezuelan phone system (IKR???) and the other one said it’s great that you’re looking for a creative writer …. when the ad said I needed a reader and described the work to be done.
so…. no comprehension. REALLY GOING TO DO WELL WITH MY SUPER COMPLEX PLOT which is written out with the totality of my vocabulary, fair, foul recondite and vernacular, not to mention all the words of art.
FML and I’m still just crushed from the not-family but close-friends news, I should probably make that clear.
I made election night chicken wings and I’m not even going to be aware of the results until I wake up tomorrow.
But I will not speak of it here. Those who should know already and those who do not know will learn from the right people first.
I had the most lovely and wonderful time with Tammy, we had a great (if physically challenging for both of us) time at the LGBTQ2S Vancouver walking tour. So much I knew and so much MORE I did not know, it was great for mind body and soul. So many names I have to look up now!
Then we got the cutest waiter I’ve ever seen in my life (he was cute with a mask on cute) at Mary’s on Davie where I regarded Tammy’s Moscow Mule with bilious fury (alcohol and my cabasa full of pills no longer on speaking terms) which resolved into happiness as I got two enormous pots of tea, and then a steak, PERFECTLY cooked veggies, and frites, which I brought home to Jeff, parted in front of the pedicure joint, and then I walked all the frickin way back to Granville station although I stopped at a cannabis joint and FINALLY reupped on CBD gummies, it was driving me crazy not having pain relief that didn’t make me high.
I spoke to Katie, and Dave, and my mOm, because after the news I needed friendly voices.
I cooked lean ground pork with cumin, garlic and cayenne (and a bit of salt, I can’t lie) and had it over green salad.
Now I’ve taken my last pill of the day and I bid you all a good night in which I hope you have the chance to snuggle with someone wonderful. Tonight, apart from the 100 trillion microbes I’m hosting at any given moment, I am sleeping alone.
Missing John today
I offer my thanks and praise to the protectors of these lands and waters. It is a good day to be in MST country, stolen but never ceded, surveyed but never yielded. I live in a state of obligation and I am a guest and visitor here. For two foot and four foot, many foot and no foot, all the creatures and people, may it be a good day.
I hate it when I pay for a craigslist ad and the first person who answers is a scammer using a phone service in Spanish who can’t even answer a basic question about the lower mainland. I know I’m a delicate flower and sensitive to rejection but it just makes me want to borrow a nerf gun and go on a low casualty rampage. You will remember that it was a threat of violence (a slap…. not a gun shot, not hacking someone’s feet off and making them eat them, not machetes, or claymores, or eating Eatmores till you burst, or being turned into a skid mark under a halftrack, or being asphyxiated in a ten foot deep tub of glitter, or being made to watch the ten worst episodes of Supernatural in a row, or being bisected by a thermal lance, or being shoved off the Trümp Tower, or any such life ending stuff a slap people, that’s all I offered the racist piece of shit) that took me off twitter in the first place. No sign that I’ll ever get back on, unless I create a whole new persona. NNNNNOOOOO THANKS.
This morning at 10 am I’m going to do the same thing (but different) with Tammy as I did the last time she was in town, mostly because we enjoyed the hell out of it – Forbidden Vancouver’s tour of the historic sites of Gay Vancouver. (The last time was more of an architectural walk, and what an eye opener that was! Seeing the place opium was manufactured? Seeing where the anti Asian riots broke out… not a pane of intact glass in Chinatown!? Seeing the first skyscraper in Vancouver, in context… it was wonderful! Nearly getting run down by a woman cop driving a squad car and laughing immoderately up in her face! ah the pleasures!) Anyway, full report tomorrow, at the latest. And between 8 and 9 am I have to ensure that I have a proper carry seat, because Tammy was amazed how much more pleasant it was to walk all over hell’s half acre on pavement when you can whip out a chair and sit for 2 or 3. (We shared, like one do.)
I’m writing this at 5:15 to 6 am in the morning; I don’t have internet from 4 am to 7 am in an effort to ensure that I’m actually writing at that time of day, or at least not disappearing down that rabbit hole. Now that twitter (an aching gap in my day, which speaks alas more to my self-indulgence (verging on addiction) than to its utility… because really what I wanted was to have a bigger audience than I do on my blog, which simply isn’t interesting enough to have 500 visitors) is gone, I’m mining karma points on Reddit. I got 4000 points in two months, so you can tell I’ve been a busy lassie. And, as with this blog I have no freaking idea what people will respond to. It all seems to be timing.
The last time I was at the Junction Keith commented that the r/vancouver subreddit has cleaned up a great deal over the last, say, six months or so. Less overtly anti Chinese racist bullshit – still a lot of hate for the homeless, I’m still stinging from my dog pile of downvotes from the last time I stuck up for the unhoused, and fuck you, a certain user on reddit who would like to push the homeless around with ‘scoops’ like Soylent Green, I hope you think better thoughts and type less nasty words in future.
So looking forward to this morning!
I checked in with Stella the talking dog today and she used the word ‘mad’ after being told she couldn’t go play in the park until after mum and dad ate. She was very calm about it though. I love that dog. (hunger4words on instagram) Apparently ‘all done happy’ translates in dog to THANK CHRIST YOU’RE OFF THE PHONE
I don’t think I did anything about house today besides make tea and a salad and take my pills and a nice long nap. (I’m allowed to be tired when I’m tired, I’ve got Daim Branage. I worked on about half a dozen destiel fics, tidying mostly, getting names consistent, that kind of editable stuff. 9 words on one fic 318 on another, that kind of thing.
THEN around 6 the THUNDER started … for about an hour, every ten minutes or so there was the longest, most histrionical, excessive, over-the-top, can’t-stop-won’t-stop thunderclap you could imagine. Long pause and then explosion noise-overlaid with a helicopter landing on the house noise – overlaid with brO’s apparently epic fart from yesterday – and then cannonades in the distance fading to a repetitive coda. Jeff and I were impressed as hell.
Watched Cry Macho, had no expectations of it being great, and enjoyed it because to my mind it was entertaining. Some of Eastwood’s reaction shots will live as memes long after he’s dead, I predict.
Imagine stealing a boat and then sailing it into a hurricane.
Sean Rust, of Muskegon, professional names DJ Deadlock or DJ Submit (classy) is a rapist. He raped a woman at a music festival in 2018; she got a rape kit and wanted justice and the local police OF COURSE told her it was all her fault and refused to do a thing.
The fucking cops, may their hinder parts be smote with extra-pulmonary tubercular lesions, banged on the survivor’s door recently and told her to take down the facebook page in which she named her rapist. Fine, you fucks. I’ll put the information here instead.
Lick my grease trap if y’all don’t like it, and if Sean is reading this, LOL. You deserve everything that’s coming to you.
It is a fine day to thank the MST peoples for the good fortune to dwell on their land.
Many kudos waiting for me this morning on Archive of Our Own, which is very pleasant.
Trees blew down all over the lower mainland but we didn’t lose power here as far as I can tell.
I am recollecting that Jim was talking about some books about BC I should probably read. I need to email him about that.
I owe Paul a promised pedicure, I should probably get my shit together today and schedule it.
Side effects have dropped off to a dull roar.
Made whole wheat buns yesterday. Jeff and I made a good divot in them.
I got a phone call from Mike (he’s bought diabetes cookbooks to feed me!!!) asking for clarification on my diet. I DO NOT DESERVE MY FRIENDS. Or rather, what must I do to deserve my friends?
I handwrote a letter to my parents and they couldn’t read one of the words so I think I’m going to print letters in future. It goes faster and it’s easier to read. I’m just scared I’ll reuse parts of one letter for other people if I don’t hand write them.
Buster stuck his nose out the door, bodily shuddered, and slunk back inside.
So just wanted to drop in and snicker at how dogmeat is corrected to dogma in Scrivener. I’m working on a story where a man gives another man a spa day after overhearing him getting dumped by his long term bf.
What a world it would be if male friends gave each other spa days that included pedicures and scalp massages.
Known to us as Elvira! this is her ten years ago.
in a more familiar pose