Snarking at my Lululemon bag, part one

I bought a couple of headbands from the sale section of the Lululemon website a few weeks ago, and when they arrived, they came with a reusable Lululemon bag, emblazoned with the company's "manifesto," a bunch of supposedly feel-good affirmations. I didn't actually read it until today, and then I wished I hadn't. I now want to strangle random people with my pretty, new, two-colour reversible sweat-wicking headbands.

And so, I give you part one of my rebuttal of my Lululemon bag. Take that, inanimate object!

• Do one thing a day that scares YOU.  The only thing that really scares me is death. Are you telling me to step in front of a train, Lululemon? How about jumping off a bridge? Not a very good business strategy, dudes, considering I can't buy any more of your yuppie, pretentious yoga wear if I'm swimming with the fishes. But then again, you don't care about business strategies, because you're doing this for altruistic purposes, not profits, right? 

• Friends are MORE important than money.  What if my friend was one of the people who jumped off a bridge because you told her to, huh, Lululemon? Also, friends with money are the most important friends of all. Everyone knows that. Get with the program.

• Live near the ocean and inhale the pure salt air that flows over the water, VANCOUVER will do nicely.  If you honestly think that the air near Vancouver is "pure," you have been inhaling too much of it, Lululemon. The city has more than half a million people and has a haze hanging over it. Mind you, about 60 per cent of that smog is pot smoke. Which is probably why you think the air is pure. Of course, most of the pollution gets blown into the valley nearby, where people in small cities develop asthma and other respiratory problems. So, you may actually get to inhale some nice air off the coast, but that means that people an hour away are sucking in cruddy air and going to the hospital, unable to breathe. Hope you feel great about that. Your comma splice before "Vancouver" pisses me off, too. Losers.
  

• Don't TRUST THAT an old age pension will be sufficient. What a warm and fuzzy message. It's okay, though. I'm stocking up on cat food now, so I am prepared. Also, WHAT THE FUCK is up with the RANDOM capitalization, Lululemon? Quit yelling at me. I thought that yoga-lovey-dovey-hippie-dippie freaks didn't shout.

• THE CONSCIOUS BRAIN CAN ONLY HOLD ONE THOUGHT AT A TIME. Choose a positive thought.  Mmmmmm. This is some good cat food.

Stay tuned for the second installment, coming soon to an interweb near you.

Feline refugee

Last week, we had an interesting day at work. We were just hanging out, doing our jobs like good employees, and watching the weather go completely nuts.

In just a matter of moments, a clear sky became a foreboding dark grey-blue and the wind began to howl. The back door of the office began opening and shutting from the wind's force, making the office alarm system ding continuously. We locked ourselves in and waited to see what would happen. It's the kind of sky you see before a major storm, something we haven't been strangers to this summer.

Suddenly, my co-worker exclaimed. "Hey, there's a kitten outside our door!" I looked out the front window, and sure enough, a tiny feline was perched on the steel railing, terrified and crying her head off. Co-worker picked her up and brought her in.

She was a bit freaked out at first.

She was so bony that it was obvious she hadn't eaten in a long time. And so lonely that her fear was quickly replaced with affection. After much fur-shedding, she settled into my co-worker's arms and began purring and bonking his chin with her head.

For my quirky co-workers, it didn't take long for the surprise of a cat in the office to wear off:

Co-worker: Hey - we should put her in a box and put some cardboard wings on it and fly her around the office! My cat always really liked that!

Savia: We could name her Amelia, after Amelia Earhart.

Co-worker: We could name her Amelia Hairhart!

And, so, she received a fitting moniker. After all, she could have easily been blown away by those gale winds, had she not found her way into our office.

I texted my contact at the animal rescue organization that I volunteer with, and she told me to take Amelia to the vet to see if she was old enough to be spayed. After learning that, yes, she was old enough (which shocked me, because she was so small that I would have pegged her for four months old), we booked her spay and I took her home to stay at my place for the weekend.

Amelia Hairhart chills in my bathroom sink. What's up with cats in sinks anyway?

She had to stay in the bathroom, because she had ear mites and I didn't want her to give my cats anything. She didn't mind, distracted by the canned cat food and attention. It breaks my heart to think of her roaming the streets, starving for food and love. I don't understand how people can be so cruel.

I spent as much time as I could cuddling her over the four days she lived with me. It was hard not to fall in love. Amelia is one of the sweetest, most affectionate, darling cats I've ever met.

Notice I said "cat" there instead of kitten? Well, when I picked her up from her spay, they told me that she was actually a year old, and had likely already had a litter of kittens. I was shocked again. I had accepted that she was likely six months old, but a year? And she kittens already? Wow.

I then took her to her new foster home with an awesome foster mom who had taken care of two of my previous rescued kittens. Amelia cased out the joint, then promptly curled up on the couch and fell asleep. I knew she would do well there, but I still couldn't leave her. It took me two hours before I could tear myself away from petting her soft fur.

The next morning, I messaged her new foster mom to find out how Amelia's first night went. I told her that I already missed the kitty so much.

The foster mom emailed me back with an update and this picture:

I have to admit, this picture made me laugh and also cry a little.

Lucky Amelia. I hope she finds an awesome forever home soon.

Sauced salsa

A friend of mine was hungry after the Folk Festival, so we went to Denny's, one of the few places still serving food at that hour. I was just looking for a snack, so I ordered a small nacho plate.

Denny's version of nachos is...interesting. The small is very small, and covered in some kind of cream sauce, with only a few shreds of unmelted cheddar cheese and a couple of cubes of tomatoes and onions on the chips, and that was it.

And you had to order salsa separately.

When I dipped the cream-covered tortilla chip into the salsa and took a bite, something wasn't right. The salsa tasted like it had beer in it. It had a bit of a kick and seemed like it might be carbonated. I wondered if Denny's was trying to compete with one of those upscale trendy restaurants that puts beer into everything. I decided I must be imagining things.

I tried another bite and then ditched the salsa. It scared me a bit.

A little later, my friend dipped one of his fries into the salsa. "That's really strange," he said. He tried it again. "It's not good, but I want to keep eating it just because it's so weird. You have to try this again."

I did. It still tasted like beer to me. Then, I looked closely at the bowl of salsa. It was moving!

"Is it..bubbling?" I asked. here were a few bubbles on the surface, and then a few more. My friend poked at the salsa with his fork, and the whole bowl started fizzing.

"Oh, my God - it's fermenting!" I exclaimed.

Yup, the salsa was converting itself into booze.

I wondered what a drink of that might be like - a carbonated Caesar or Bloody Mary with extra chunks? (I just Googled "fermented salsa" and found out that it's something people make, but I'm pretty sure Denny's version was unintentional.)

Long story short, I wouldn't recommend the nachos at Denny's...unless you're underage and can't get someone to pull alcohol for you.

Batshit crazy

Franklin the cat had some digestive issues, so I took him to the vet to have a finger stuck up his butt (good times - I never knew a cat could make such ungodly sounds). However, I couldn't get into my regular dude, oh he of the mustachio and big belt buckle of manliness, so I went to another vet at the same clinic.

She looked at Franklin's chart, and then:

Vet: He doesn't have his rabies shot?
Savia: No. He has all his shots except for rabies.
Vet: Well, we can do that today for you.
Savia: No, that's fine. He is an indoor cat.
Vet: Well, you know there are a lot of bats in the city.
Savia: But he doesn't go outside at all.
Vet: Sometimes, bats will fly into your house and bite your cats. It happens, you know.
Savia: [Looks at vet like she's high on cat urine.]
Vet: So, do you want the shot, then?
Savia: Uh...no.

I expected that she might say something like, "What if your cat gets out of the house and gets bitten?" which would be a reasonable argument.

But a bat flying into my house and attacking my cat? I mean, by that logic, I should be getting a rabies shot, myself. Chances are, the rogue bat would go for the tall creature first.

Note to the lady who is not my hot cowboy vet: trying to scare me with freak occurrences involving rabid bats is not going to help you sell your quota of rabies shots.

Franklin would kick that bat's ass, anyway.

Meet Freak Magnette

After listening to a litany of hilarious bad date and freak stories that included:

• stalkers
• flashers, and
  
• drawers of disturbing used sex toys,

I finally convinced a friend of mine to start a blog about her crazy experiences.

It's tough being a single gal in your 30s, especially if you're a freak magnet, or in her case, a Freak Magnette.

She's new at navigating her way through the blog world, so please visit and send her some blogular love.

I can pretty much guarantee that she'll make you laugh out loud.

Enjoy!

Of drag kings and land sharks

Some friends and I were playing that game where you type in "[your name] wants" into Google and see what pops up. And then we took it a step further and wrote stories for each other based on the lists. The fabulous Diva wrote my story.

Enjoy!

The list...

Savia wants:

...to kill her as well, but for her own reasons.
...to teach a drag king class.
...to do the push-ups for me.
...to swap lives with Gem so she can have things easier.
...a different night-light.
...to talk about "Jaws."
...canned fish-and-shrimp dinners.
...to shake off her beauty-queen tag.
...to know if anyone else got a Barbie laptop computer for Christmas.
...to improve Harvey's dancing by giving him some magic shoes.

Diva's story...

Savia was a very talented dancer and taught many drag king classes in her spare time. Her friend, Harvey, really wanted to be a dancer more than anything in the world, so Savia gave him some magic shoes that she traded for her Barbie laptop computer that she got for Christmas.

Harvey shone as a beautiful 6'3" 210 lb drag queen named Gem. But Gem let her divahood go to her head, and was soon demanding things of everyone around her. "Savia, do my push ups for me," she'd demand while eating her favourite canned fish and shrimp dinners.

Savia was frustrated because Harvey was once her friend, the only one she could truly talk about Jaws with. She knew something had to change, she had to kill Gem, for her own reasons...to shake off that beauty-queen tag.

So one night, Savia snuck into Gem's room and found a different night-light, because of course, Gem was scared of the dark. When Gem went to bed that night and turned on her night-light, she was attacked by a giant Land Shark and Savia swapped lives with Gem so she could have things easier.

She and the Land Shark lived happily ever after.

We ain't in Ohio no more

For those of you who are into singing while doing naughty things to one another, I present the trailer for the XXX parody of Glee.



Now that you've been sufficiently traumatized, I return you to your regular blog reading.

You're welcome.

Happy pappy

I was so stressed today and had to run off to a doctor's appointment that I didn't want to go to. When I got to the office, the doc was running really late, and I ended up sitting in the waiting room for 20 minutes.

Then, I was sent to an examination room, where I waited another five minutes, after which a nurse came in to ask why I was there. I told her it was for the annual crank crank scrape scrape, so she asked me to whip off my pants and lie on the table covered in one of those oh-so-awesome paper sheets.

So, I did that. And then I waited. And waited. And waited. And then waited some more. I'm not sure how long I was there, but it was actually relaxing after a very tense day to zone out on the table.

When my doctor finally came in and saw me lying there, she was surprised.

Doc: Have you been here the whole time, lying there with your pants off?

Savia: Yes.

Doc: [Shaking her head] I can't believe the nurse told you to do that. I'm running really late.

Savia: No, it's okay. I was having an awful day and was really bitchy and I just kind of meditated and chilled out. It was good.

Doc: You're kind of like a baby that gets really cranky, and then you just take off its diaper and then it's happy.

Savia: I've got to say, Doc, that is the first time anyone has compared me to a baby without a diaper.

Doc: I have to tell the nurse about this. She will find it so funny!

Savia: I should hang out without my pants off more often. I need to find a way to do this at work!

The doc told the nurse, and then reported back to me that she said whenever I need to chill out on an exam table without my pants on, she'll hook me up. Sweet.

As I was leaving, I smiled and said, "I feel so much better now!" and my doc laughed her head off.

I guess this isn't the usual response to a pap.

Cultura Moderna!

My baby bro is getting married at the end of the month, and then he and his wife are going to Italy to visit my crazy Italian family. Since I was there three years ago and my brother hasn't been to the giant boot for 13 years, he wanted my advice.

Savia: They are going to tell you you're fat and make fun of you, so be prepared.

Bro: But I'm not even that heavy. I mean, I could lose a couple, but...

Savia: You'll understand when you see them. They're all slim and short and very body conscious there. So, don't be offended when they say stuff.

Bro: What else?

Savia: Eat slowly. Like waaaaaay more slowly than you usually do. Because lunch is going to take two hours.

Bro: I don't think I can deal with that.

Savia: Well, you're going to have to. You eat, you talk, you drink some wine, you digest, you laugh, you eat some more, you drink some more wine, you talk some more.

Bro: Okay. What else?

Savia: Watch Cultura Moderna!!

Yes, rather than advising my brother to see the ruins of Pompeii or the fountains at Tivoli, I told him to watch Italian television. But if anyone out there has seen Cultura Moderna, you will understand.

Bro: So, what's this TV show about?

Savia: Fuck if I know, but it's awesome.

At this point, I must turn to my travel diary for a better description of the show, because it's far too complicated to describe off the top of my head. Here's what I wrote back in 2007:

They have a lot of the same shows we do, just a year behind and dubbed in Italian. Then, there are the bad Italian game shows, almost all of which are "guess who the mystery person is" type shows, featuring women dancing around in gold bikinis (and by "dancing around," I mean writhing around on the floor) for no reason.

My favourite is Cultura Moderna, literally "Modern Culture."

The cast of Cultura Moderna:
Two hot thangs and two freakish things.

The contestants enter by coming down a giant twisty slide that snakes around the cabana in which the mystery guest is hiding. Once they jump off the slide, contestants showcase one of their talents, after which they are given an opportunity to guess the identity of the mystery person. A winning guess means 500,000 Euros.

Sexy chicks in tiny pieces of fabric:
the Italian game show formula for success.

In addition to the requisite dancing bikini girls (who, in true Italian style, giggle while the creepy host sexually harasses them), there is also some kind of creature that I can only describe as Barney the Dinosaur Goes to Mardi Gras.

This giant mascot freak thing looks like Barney, only red and wearing a shirt with a loud tropical print on it. Every once in awhile, he comes out and says some stuff, but I haven't been able to figure out what his purpose is at all.

Babbibo the New Orleans party dino.
He has a larger wardrobe than I do.

In one episode, the contestants are a contortionist, a singer, a ballroom dancer, a modern dancer and a clown/magician. After each performs his/her talent (and in the clown/magician's case, "talent" is in quotation marks), the contestant stands on stage while everyone in the audience goes "Oooooooooohhhhhhhhhhh," reaches both hands forward and wiggles their fingers as though they are putting a voodoo curse on him/her.

Then, a giant screen displays a number from one to three and everyone cheers. This is the number of yes/no questions the contestant may ask about the mystery guest before guessing the identity.

An example of a "talent."
See, I wasn't kidding about the slide and the voodoo chant.

After everyone guesses the mystery guest incorrectly, it is time for the final round, which differs from show to show.

In this one, the finalist had to stand in a castle while the dancing girls in bikinis each held a giant watermelon. The host reaches into one of the watermelons, which were hinged, and pulls out a stuffed Sylvester the cat. I guess this is some kind of a clue about the identity of the mystery guest. Though it clearly doesn't help the contestant figure anything out. Me either.

The finalist dude makes his final wrong guess on who he thinks the mystery person is, and then there is this huge puff of smoke and the guest comes out of the cabana/shack/shed or whatever it is that he has been staying in throughout the show.

We finally discover his identity! It's...some old Italian dude I've never heard of. And then everyone dances with the bikini girls.

See?

Because everyone needs a dance break when they lose a chance at 500,000 Euros.

The whole time I was in Italy, I never saw anyone win this show. On the plus side, they do offer a home version of the game.

I wonder what's in there? A thong and a hand puppet?

Dealbreakers

Post-Superstar, I've been on a few dates, but haven't actually dated anyone seriously. There have been some first dates, but not a lot of second or third because I'm at the point in my life when I'm not willing to overlook some major deal breakers.

When I look back at my past relationships, part of the reason they didn't work is because I overlooked things I shouldn't have.

I overlooked them for a variety of reasons: I was in love with the guy's potential, but not who he was at that moment; he had everything going for him except for a few major flaws; I just really wanted it to work out and felt that if I just worked hard, it would be okay; I was afraid to be alone; or I was too insecure to speak up and risk the person rejecting me.

So, this is my list of deal breakers, based on former dates and relationships. Never again.

• Alcoholics, chain-smokers, and/or potheads.
  
  
• The dude who's slept around who has never been tested for STDs because he's scared of needles.
  
  
• The dude who's slept around who begs you to have sex with him without a condom, even though he's never been tested for STDs because he's scared of needles, and who has obviously had a lot of sex without condoms because he doesn't carry them or have any in his house.
  
  
• The dude with more baggage than you who hasn't gone to therapy or dealt with it in any real way.
  
  
• The workaholic who has no time for you.
  
  
• The dude who has his whole future planned out to the minute detail and just wants to slot a woman into the role he's created for her.
  
  
• The dude who uses judgment and manipulation to control you.
  
  
• The dude who is still in love with his ex.
  
  
• Liars.
  
  
• Cheaters.
  
  
• The dumb guy, but at least he's cute.
  
  
• Right-wingers.
  
  
• The dude who dumps you when he finds out you have problems with depression.
  
  
• Guys who put sports before your relationship.
  
  
• Clingy guys.
  
  
• Dudes who don't get your sense of humour, and/or don't have good ones of their own.
  
  
• The dude who isn't over his divorce.
  
  
• The dude who still fights with his ex.
  
  
• The dude who hates his ex and can't let the past go.
  
  
• The dude who hates his ex, who is the mother of his child/ren.
  
  
• The depressed guy who won't get help.
  
  
• The guy who can't hold down a job and isn't really trying.
  
  
• The overly religious guy who keeps trying to get you to come to his house to watch and discuss religious videos with him and his friends.
  

What are your deal breakers? Add to my list in the comments.