Archive for March, 2009


Introducing little old me

Considering how I’m about to share the intricate details of my life with you good people, I suppose I had better introduce myself. I’m a single momma living in Halifax and swimming through the murky waters of single life here. Halifax has a bit of a reputation for sucking as a place to meet other singles, but I’m not about to give up hope as I only moved here last June and I had a lot of fun in the summer (followed by a massive drought in the winter save a brief fling with my Brooklyn boy toy in early December). Lets see, what else? I’m 32, originally from London (England, not Ontario) and have lived on three continents. My kid is aged two and unbelievably awesome, I get to travel lots for my job and do all kinds of interesting stuff in the name of research for stories for Click and elsewhere.

Since getting divorced two years ago, I’ve had a lot of fun but not met anyone special. (At least not special as in the good meaning of that word.) I’ve dated a clutch of weirdos, including a guy that believed he had been abducted by aliens, several men in their thirties that still live with their mom, one that called his mother a “Bitchwhore” and one that was so incredibly negative I left the date feeling downright depressed.

Not that I was the perfect date I’m sure. One brunch date I actually broke down in tears when the poor unsuspecting guy asked whether I got on okay with my baby’s father. Its taken me some time to stop wearing my broken heart on my sleeve, but nowadays I’m not broken hearted and just bloody grateful not to be married to someone I really never had very much in common with. So here I am, honest as the day is long and ready to share my adventures with the blogosphere. Am I scared? You betcha! But I promise to share the highs and the lows in the hope you’ll stick around for the ride.

In my pyjamas in the lair from which I'll be writing!Ï

Interior design, Winnipeg-style: Weird stuff at my parents’ house

First, some context. This is a little late, since I lost my camera. It only turned up the other day, thanks to a thorough and long-overdue cleaning of my car. Anyway, while staying at my family in Winnipeg last month, I took a closer-than-usual look at some of the oddities that, mostly through my mom’s, er, taste, have accumulated over the years. Keep in mind; once in the house, no matter how bizarre the object may be, it probably will not get tossed out. Particularly if it was on sale when purchased… to see some weird stuff at my parents’ house, visit


10 great funnybook romances

So Watchmen is the biggest movie in the land, or at least the most-hyped. Coincidentally, the noir superhero flick comes out when national, if not international, attention is focused on the drama between singer Rihanna and her (allegedly, cough cough) abusive boyfriend, singer Chris Brown. With violence towards women in the headlines, Watchmen may, and probably should, be taken to task for the scene in which one of the characters, the boorish rightwinger the Comedian, tosses around and punches his fellow superhero team-mate, Silk Spectre. It’s an ugly moment which itself feels like a slap in the face, and seems to be in there more because of something the moviemakers have to prove than for the audience’s understanding of the story. (If I recall from reading it 20 years ago, the comic that the movie is based on was not nearly as graphic, although I could be mistaken.) There is a little too much glee on the part of the filmmakers in the scene for my liking, like “look how grim and tough we are.”

That said, we shouldn’t throw out the babe with the bathwater. And in keeping with that sentiment, I’ve come up with a list of the top 10 relationships in comics (comic-strips and graphic novels included)—not necessarily the healthiest, just some of my personal faves.

Visit for the list.


The wrong entertainment choice

What planet is Woody Allen on?


I ask that after having seen his most recent film, Vicky Cristina Barcelona. Yeah, the one with Scarlett Jo and the other girl, and Javier Bardem and Penelope Cruz. “It’s about relationships, and how they’re fleeting,” my friend Eugene said in its defense. He loved it.

I, on the other hand, hated it. Never mind that the dialogue was a joke (not in a good way) and the performances awkward and stiff (didn’t Cruz win an Academy Award for her portrayal of Bardem’s crazy ex? Jesus).

She's crazy, see—she smokes!

She's crazy, see—she smokes!

No, what really annoyed me is that Woody seems to have no clue as to how normal people actually relate to one another. I can accept the premise that Bardem is this super-sexy, charismatic painter who convinces both Johansson and the other girl (not to mention Cruz) to sleep with him. But the way the characters go around spouting half-assed jargon about who they are and what they want, the painfully banal narration, the detours to tell stories about secondary folks that are even less interesting than the main protagonists, all pointed to one thing: any insight Woody Allen might have had into these here modern-day relationships is long past. Heck, you can glean more insight from an average Sex and the City episode.


Speaking of which… I watched Vicky Cristina Barf-elona on Saturday night, the same night my parents (I was visiting my folks this past weekend) went off to see the Winnipeg version of dinner theatre. It’s called Celebrations and it puts on its own productions, perhaps so they don’t have to pay royalties. I’ve seen a few of these, and they are invariably spoofs of popular entertainment. A few years back I saw a Star Trek take-off; the creative minds behind Celebrations called it “Star Trick”. Anyway, my point is that, instead of staying in to watch the latest Allen fiasco, I probably would’ve been better off going off with the parental units to see—wait for it—“Sexy Gals in the City”.

You guessed it—it’s a Sex and the City spoof, complete with “Samantha Bones”, “Charlotte Stork”, “Keri Bradsaw” and “Amanda Bobbs”. Yep, sometimes this stuff just writes itself. (Upcoming shows: “Thank You Mr. Presley”, March 20-May 23, celebrates Elvis; “Strut and Jive the Night Away”, May 29-Aug. 1, salutes disco; and “Luck Be a Lady”, Aug. 7-Oct. 10, tips its hat to the Rat Pack.)

Now, I don’t know what the plot was, or even if there is one. And my father’s pithy critique didn’t offer much to go on—”It wasn’t really my cup of tea,” he said, as he drove me to the airport in the dead of a frozen Winnipeg March morning, “It’s about the women”. But I’m betting it had more to say about men and women and relationships than Vicky Cristina Barcelona.


Swiftly, annoyingly domesticated me

I haven’t left Jimmy the Pirate’s lair in weeks, and it would be shocking, except the time passes so easily and calmly, it doesn’t feel like weeks at all. Also I have an  excuse: my laptop died a couple weeks ago and without his computer, I’d be lost.  What is surprising is that, in spite of both of us having zero recent experience co-habiting with someone else, we have taken to it so happily.

Granted, we aren’t quite the conventional domesticated twosome: I urge him to go out drinking with his friends at night so I can have peace and quiet to work.  He calls me from various places (the hairdresser, the grocery store, etc.) to tell me about all the hot pieces of Hollywood ass that are giving him the eye.  I got a large shipment of Astroglide goodies sent to his office, festooned with ribbons and bows.  It goes on and on. We are both shamelessly appreciative of eye candy, horny as teenagers, and thankfully though we’re each protective of the other, neither of us are “the jealous type.” (I’ve actually always been pleased to see other women looking at my man–it proves I have good taste.)

I do wonder if things are going to change and I’ll become a typical nag, harshing on my poor beleaguered pirate about everything from his wandering eye to his middling-serious tattoo addiction. I wonder if, when the first glow fades, I’ll stop pointing out other hotties to him, or find it annoying rather than funny when one of his exes appears from the past to propose marriage. My sisters and other women would probably warn me that this is a possibility, and say that I’m only so lenient because it’s new and still “fun.”

My response is…well, I was this way when I was 20, more so at 25, and after a few years of being a singles writer and advocate of the unconventional but true-to-one’s-self lifestyle, I could never forgive myself for suddenly embracing the status quo. It wouldn’t feel right. And I don’t think I could stick with it. Actually, looking at my past relationships, I know I couldn’t. One of the greatest things about this relationship is that I don’t have to hide the fact that I used to frequent the Spearmint Rhino, that I have close working relationships with several “adult toy” manufacturers, and that I’m the proud author of such stories as “Relationship Recycling: My Earth Month Amendment” and the classic “A Blowjob, A Sandwich, And Silence.”  For once, that side of me can coexist with the cuddly little girlfriend who just wants to stay home and watch movies on a Friday nite…and forgive me if this makes you puke, but I think it’s pretty rad.

March 2009

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