Back in the spring, our Masset cat Matilda gave birth to kittens, and it was awesome. She gave birth to them on Melissa's sweater, and then, in the night, carried them one by one to the basement, laying them out gingerly .... on our clean laundry pile. I woke up in the night at this point, hearing the desperate mew of kittens, and when I could only find Matilda bathing herself and smacking her chops menacingly, I came to the only logical conclusion available: MATILDA ATE HER KITTENS.

Obviously I was wrong, as was soon discovered on Kitten Hunt 2007. The next night, when I was almost asleep, I woke to the sound of meows again... Matilda had carried each one of her kittens up two flights of stairs to my room, which is where they stayed for the next month or so. Homes were found for all three kittens -- one to Max's friend down the block, and the other two to a fellow hospital employee, and all of them seem to be thriving. And are huge. Seriously, Matilda may have mated with a leopard. Or an Eagle. OR A LEOPARD EAGLE HYBRID. OH MY GOD, COOL.


Anyways, this is the entry I've had drafted in blogger since the kittens began.

Goodbye Kittens... Jax's black heart is secretly breaking inside.

The last of the kittens have gone to their new home and this house is now officially kitten free. A lack of kittens equates to a lot of disappointed neighbourhood children as our house was the most awesome place ever for a good 10 weeks. Because, besides our seemingly endless supply of perogies and Melissa's mean perogy cooking skills, we had three insanely adorable kittens roaming around the house... taunting Jax, stealing Jax's food, experiencing Jax's wrath in the form of glares from the stairwell and 10 minute growling sessions, letting Jax bathe them gently, gingerly when he thought no one was looking. He is an awesome stepfather. He believes in tough love, seasoned with just a few passing inclinations to feast on his stepchildren. Especially Goblin.

The kittens were born on March 22, 2007, and originally there were four. Little Neil Patrick Harris, TV's Doogie Howzer M.D., died a few days after being born. He had some problems from the get-go: a breached birth and an injured tail, he seemed the weakest of the four. We buried him under a tree in a friend's yard, after an impromptu service.

The other three kittens are happy and healthy! Violet (also known as Kleeborp) was sick for the first few weeks of her life and ... well. Let's be honest. She was really gross. But we pet her anyway and she grew out of it and turned out to be the most awesome kitten ever. Brian is kind of an asshole. Matilda let him nurse off her until the bitter end, partially because he demanded it. Secretly, Brian was always Matilda's favourite. Goblin was my favourite. Mysterious, aloof and black, Goblin has the spazziest meow I've ever heard and used to sleep curled up in my sweater.

So... Jax hates her and kept trying to eat her. Partially out of jealousy, mostly out of hunger. Jax craves the blood of kittens, but thankfully, Whiskas will do. ... For now.

Labels: Family, Nayture

My dad made the tough decision to put Shadow down yesterday. Shadow has been sick for awhile, and the vet had recently found cancer riddled throughout his body which lead to breathing and mobility problems. Despite all this, Shadow was still a happy puppy, always 100% ready to have his tummy rubbed, to get a scratch behind the ears, to eat anything even remotely edible if left within reach. (Please note: the Shadow eats yogurt-covered plastic debaucle.)

He was a wonderful, awesome and amazing old dog and we're all going to miss him.

Labels: Family, Photographs

My cousin Luke and his girlfriend came down this weekend to kick back and relax it all cool, possibly while playing some b-ball outside of the school. That's when a couple of guys who were up to no good broke into Brad's car and stole my brand new MP3 Player. It was especially sad because I had only just finished cramming it with Led Zeppelin. I had been looking forward to belting out "When the Levee Breaks" while planting flowers, possibly followed by the X-Ray Specs "Oh Bondage, Up Yours!" while driving a tractor in jeans two times too big on me.

Side note, bending over is kind of a chore in large pants. I am pretty sure I have flashed my goods at one time or another to all my coworkers, and soon, the general public .... aka, delightful old ladies in pastel Easter hats.

Anyways, my MP3 player. They broke into the car while it was in the Vancouver Hotel parkade, busting Brad's lock and opening up the car to access the sweet bevy of music found within. Luckily they left Brad's impressive music collection alone. I guess there isn't much of a demand for Heart on audio cassette. While it sucks that it's gone, it could've been a lot worse. What pisses me off however is the cavalier attitude displayed by the staff of the Vancouver Hotel. When Brad told the ticket operator about the break in, while pointing to their sign claiming 24 hour video surveillance, the man simply nodded and told us how much we owed for parking. I realize that an MP3 player isn't high up on the list of major thefts, but some reaction would've been appropriate. It sort of threw me into a bad mood for the rest of the afternoon, so much so that I could barely enjoy a bucket full of gecko's on a stick in Chinatown.

Geckos. On a stick. I am totally serving that up at my next summer barbecue.

I did cheer myself up with some awesome purchases, like shoes in bright red. I am wearing them right now and might never take them off. I also bought a hoodie and emblazoned "Sarah the Pirate" on it. That's right. I am now meandering around town wearing a personal shoutout to my blog. And by "town" I mean "Easter Sunday at church."

Brad and I have also decided to tell the world that we're twins. It works because he would like to remain 25 for the next five years or so, and sometimes we inexplicably end up wearing matching clothes. Like on Friday when we went bowling wearing brown hoodies and blue jeans. I'm not sure how it happened, it wasn't intended, but I'm pretty sure faux twins dressing alike well into their 20's is perfectly acceptable in everyday society.

I am now off to dinner at Jamie's family's house... first time meeting his extended family. I am kind of nervous. I hope I don't mix up my consonants or drink too much wine. I don't think things would go over well if I suddenly slammed my wine glass down and challenged his grandmother to a shot contest.

Labels: Family, Musings, Sarah Land, Shopping

Many moons ago Melissa and I would curl up on her living room couches, drinking cans of Pepsi like every can consumed brought us closer to enlightenment, or at least enlightenment in regards to energy needed to really stick it to Bowser in the last level of Super Mario World. There was nothing quite like screaming obscenities at graphic turtles while twisting around in our chairs like if we moved to the left fast enough, Mario would too, and totally miss that ill-timed bomb coming straight for him. JUMP MARIO. FOR THE LOVE OF PETE, JUMP.

When we were fifteen we weren't just awesome in regards to levels completed. We were also really good at spending summer afternoons lying out on her backyard trampoline, taking long walks around her property, writing our names with white out on big rocks linked with the words "Friends Forever!" ... only white out is a really tricky writing tool so it looked more like "Fnincl Fcr3ven!" Like, when we share our love, we share it in all the languages of the universe.

We also watched a lot of movies during those days, and one of our favourites was Father of the Bride. Watching Steve Martin plan his daughter's wedding would often spin into us planning our own eventual weddings which usually featured Leonard DiCaprio as our mutual groom. My wedding was usually set to occur in a big field, which is something I picked up once from a particularly insightful Archie comic, wherein Betty fantasizes about a field wedding. All of my bridesmaids would wear different shades of blue and purple and there would be about 8 of them. 8 bridesmaids. (These days, incidentally, I am hellbent on having a wedding in the forest. In my head, the whole affair resembles the big Ewok party at the end of Star Wars. )

Anyways, I have a point here. We've spent years and years talking about weddings and discussing what all our lives will be like, me and Mel and Sarah E, when we're married and we have families and we've found some awesome guy who we'd like to spend our lives with. I'm still searching because Nathan Fillion just won't return my calls, but Sarah E and Mellers have both found these awesome people, these nice, caring, smart guys who know how to dress like it's not 1998 and their favourite pants come in snap on form for easy access.

Which is saying a lot for Northwestern Ontario boys. No offense, Northwestern Ontario, but y'all adore your snap on pants.

But it's crazy that both of my girls are getting married in the same year. 2007, you are going to be nuts.

Melissa and Duncan are getting married!*


*I could have just written that sentence from the get-go, but really. I had to tie in that Father of the Bride reference so you guys wouldn't be like, "They met in France? Huh?"

Wow. Two weddings. I better start polishing my interpretive dance skills if I'm going to properly express everyone's love through the gift of jazz. ... hands, squares, walks -- I like to take a little from every area in the pantheon of rhythm.

Labels: Family, Suitcase of Memories

There is something about me and church that always morphs me into a thirteen year old girl in awkward overalls practicing religious social agony in one of the back pews. I think it has to do with the whole "no laughing" rule, which isn't to say you can't laugh in church, but generally, they do frown on your bursting into uncontrollable laughing fits during communion.

It's just that everything feels so serious, and vaguely quiet... and then suddenly, say, my dad, in the middle of his sermon, says something like, "Jesus creeped up inside her womb" and I just ... lose it. Not to mention the practice of the Peace, wherein you shake the hands of everyone in a two person radius and say things like, "Peace" or, if you're me, you make a strange gutteral sound while nodding and smiling. They might not be saying anything, but nodding is better that trying to make up for your awkwardness by doing a really awesome dance. Possibly one that incorporates festive jazz hands of fellowship, or hip gyration.

Right now Brad and I are flipping tv channels... at 3 a.m. I hate sleeping at any point during Christmas, because that equates to less time actually enjoying Christmas. It's hard to really enjoy Christmas when you're asleep, possibly having an erotic dream involving pudding, because then you're not really looking at the tree and the lights and your family fixing a drunken Christmas breakfast involving sixty three tonnes of ham. We love ham!

My mom always makes the "Horse Show Morning "Mom" Saver" breakfast. I have no idea what that name means, or what exactly it's referring to, (I'm guessing it's horses and possibly, spousal abuse) but it involves cheese slices, ham, bread, eggs and a process requiring several hours of delicious refrigeration. Unfortunately, this year we all followed the service with some pretty potent wine which lead to us stumbling around at 2 in the morning mixing eggs and slicing ham with really sharp knives.

The best part was when my mom started making it upstairs (after just 2 glasses of wine. I love that woman.) and it took her ten minutes. ....Because she kept taking breaks.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!

Labels: Family

• I went out to the country last night for my Aunt Cheryll's birthday. We played a rousing game of Trivial Pursuit, wherein I felt a drunken need to show off all of my film geekery by answering one question with, "No, no. While The Lost Boys WAS filmed in 1987, I believe the answer you're looking for is another 1987 film by the name of Dirty Dancing." But because I was slightly drunk this probably came out as "YOU'RE WILD! WILD!" in manner of Baby showcasing her beloved social retardation in the car, in that scene where her and Johnny Castle are driving to the lake to practice jumping.
• My grandfather, whom I love dearly and don't see enough of, was sharing a story about how he's fairly certain there's a Black Widow living in the Retirement Village. He also referred to himself several times as a "chick magnet", especially since he has wheels. When my Aunt Cheryll attempted to forcefeed him several cherry tarts ("If you give them to him, he'll eat them, Jamie." "He's not a puppy, mom.") my Grandpa commented that he could give them to the ladies.
• Mellers is here! Due to a heinous amount of busyness I've not had the chance to see her as much as I'd hoped. That should all be fixed after I'm finished editing my damn film / Ange's and mine rockumentary.
• Brad and I are looking for an apartment together. We've spent summers here together, and so have managed to handle the whole "I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU LEFT THE MILK OUT, YOU FUCKER. I WILL NOW BLUDGEON YOU WITH THIS YARD SALE BARGAIN ROLLING PIN I BOUGHT THIS MORNING." aspect of roommates. Plus I can get rides to work with him, which will aid in my ageless battle against the Public Transit System. Not anything against them, I would just rather get from Point A to Point B in less than seventeen hours.
• That said, we still haven't found a place. But we're looking, Internet. We're looking. Unfortunately we need a place where we both have space (so as not to gouge each other's eyes out with shrimp forks of hostility and cageyness) and somewhere that's not a basement. After 9 years spent living in a basement, and 1 year upstairs with a giant window, one gets a bit of a taste for upper living. My giant bedroom window is like crack. When the spring air filters through the screen and fills the room I want to lift up my shirt sleeve and scream "JUST HOOK IT TO MY VEINS.

Labels: Family