"Life and Death Are Balanced on the Edge of a Razor"

Early Sunday morning, a friend and colleague of mine was tragically killed in a hit-and-run accident. He was 31 years old. The perpetrator has not yet been caught.

He was a wonderful person who touched the lives of many.

Jason, we love you and we miss you.

"Without Music, Life Would be a Mistake"*

Last night was my first "practice" with the Kitchener Musical Society Band, and really there are no words to describe how much I sucked. My biggest fear was passing out from lack of oxygen (I play the flute--it's an occupational hazard when you're new to the instrument or just really out of practice, as I am) but I need not have worried because in order to pass out you actually need to be playing which I hardly did at all. I had forgotten how much I had forgotten, if you know what I mean. Not to mention my embouchure is so pathetically out of shape that I was flat the whole night. This is what one gets when one has not been playing the flute regularly (or kissing one's boyfriend regularly--either one) so it's time to strengthen those lips, my friends.

On the plus side, everyone was really nice and didn't make me feel bad at all about how much I sucked. One of the other flautists is going to email me PDFs of all the music pieces because we're not allowed to take the original copies home to practice with. I mean really--what's a little copyright infringement among bandmates? I'm gonna need to really work hard to be able to play in the Christmas concerts, but I'm up for the challenge and I know I can do it. As My Honey pointed out, "At one point you were an excellent flautist... why would you think you couldn't be again?"

See why I love him?

*In case you're wondering, it's Frederch Nietzsche.

Me? Dust? You're Funny!

I'm hosting my book club tomorrow night and frankly the anxiety is killing me. I'm the epitome of an extravert--I need to be around people on a fairly regular basis or I will lose my shit--but having people over is beyond stressful. I always feel like people will judge me (and find me wanting) for the state of my apartment.

Now I'm going to be very upfront here--I am not a "Domestic Goddess." I hate housework. Some people find vacuuming, mopping, dusting, ironing, etc., to be relaxing or even (gasp!) enjoyable. These people are crazy. Reading a book is relaxing. Having a beer on a sunny patio in July is enjoyable. Housework resembles neither of these things--housework is a necesary evil.

I have made an effort over the last couple of days to make my apartment "acceptable". This has involved removing copious quantities of cat hair from furniture, putting clean towels in the bathroom, washing dishes, dismantling my "monument to procrastination" (also know as my pile-o-recycling) and finding new homes for all the crap I've allowed to collect in various piles throughout my abode. But despite all this, I know in my heart it's in vain because no amount of last minute cleaning is going to disguise the fact that I just don't give a shit. Really. And I feel bad about that.

I feel bad because I know that many people (perhaps even most people) do give a shit. They keep a clean house that's organized and smells fresh and is all the things mine isn't. And they will walk into my house and be appalled. They'll try hard not to show it--they'll sit stiffly on my funiture, trying not to come into too much contact with the fabric, and they'll pretend they don't see the cat hair in their drinking glass when I serve them their Pina Coladas, and when they go to the bathroom they'll hover over the toilet seat while trying not to look at the less-than-white grout between my tiles. I know this as surely as I know my own shortcomings as a homemaker. And yet, I want to say to these people (and myself)--get over it. Life is too short for getting down on your hands and knees to scrub grout with a toothbrush. Go out and seize the day. Spend time with your family. Read that book you've been too busy to pick up. Go treat yourself to a nice meal at the new restaurant downtown. Leave that plate on the counter to wash another day--it'll still be there.

But maybe you won't be.

My Mother's Crazy Dog

I know, I know. Where the Hell have I been? Let's just say I've been living by the motto, "If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all." Things have been rough lately, as most of you know. I made a conscious decision to leave the negativity out of my blog, but that's made it a lot harder to post. It's nearly impossible to have happy thoughts when all you can think about is horrible, awful, negative shit.

But I finally have something super awesome to blog about! My Honey gave me the most awesomest, bestest birthday present ever which I've had a ball playing with all weekend! No it's not a dildo--get your minds out of the gutter! It's about the size of a deck of cards, fits in my hand and isn't a digital camera. Bet you can't guess what it is!

It's an HD digital video recorder! So I guess it is technically a digital camera, but it doesn't take stills, although you can isolate individual frames in the video and make them into pictures. I guess what I'm saying is I'm full of crap and if you guessed "digital camera" you guessed correctly.

I have had the best time filming my family this past weekend! Really! Especially my Mom's crazy dog, Murphy. So without further ado, here I present my first feature film--ok, I guess it's more of a "short"--"Crazy Time" starring Murphy the Dog!

I apologize if the video seems really choppy--I'm new to this whole thing so it's a work in progress. I think the .mp4 format is perhaps the problem, but I'm not sure. Either way, I'm sure you'll enjoy snickering at my laugh which is loud and abundant.

Stay tuned for more videos and pictures!