Au revoir, les Expos...

Woe is Montreal.

Some of Montreal. A rather miniscule yet fervent bit of Montreal. The Expos have finally shrivelled up and blown southwestward to The District. As if I care...

In my wayward youth, I was madly in love with Dennis 'El Presidente' Martinez. Just like my inability to get algebra, I managed to get over it all. I mean, him. And MLB.

My GP was the team doctor. When I asked him about that whole "peeing on of hands" business involving Moises Alou's blisters, he played dumb. Which is good, I believe. If he'd copped to it, Gawd knows what he'd tell other people about my physical anomalies. One thing's for sure...I don't pee on my hands. And I have no blisters. So deal.

One,
- D.

For those of you who need to chill:

Last time I checked a calendar, it read 2004. Yet here we are, and this arcane, banal, insidious practice of young people wanting to join a sorority (or fraternity) persists. What is up with that shit? Can't these kids find a respectible cult to sell the souls to instead of a group of beer swilling neanderthals who can't think for themselves?

Obviously not.

Can't say that the concept of walking into a room of strangers, having them pick you apart, and decide behind your back as to whether or not you're 'good enough' to roll with their kind, is worth anyone's time...

On the real, ask yourselves this--"are they good enough to hang with You?"

Shutup, shutup, shutup, just shut the eff up, already!!!!!

This here is some shit. We're 1:30 in the a.m. and the Demon Spawn upstairs is making entirely too much noise. I'm not sure what he's doing, but it sounds like he and his little bratty 10 year-old male friends are either practicing kick-boxing moves, or playing ball hockey in the floor. Whatever it is, it needs to stop. Worst of all, this afternoon, I heard the little monster come home and attempt to practice the trombone. He sucks greatly. The good news is that he doesn't do much practicing...

Yesterday, some nut job from Beaconsfield attempted a power play for my beloved knitting meetup group. One has to wonder what motivates a fifty-something woman to appoint herself as Knitting Tsarina for All of Montreal. She's trippin'...she's trippin' hard.

As is always the case this time of year, my allergies are the shits. Time for a snort of Nasacort and some anagesics..

One,
- D.

"Les Choses"

"Would somebody please shoot this fucking guy?!"
- Ricky (To the SWAT team sharpshooters, as he's being held at gunpoint by Mr. Lahey, from the Season 5 finale of "Trailer Park Boys").

I adore autumn. It started during my wayward adolescence. It was then that I realized I didn't really like hot weather. People describe autumn as being moody and unpredictable, which is frequently the way they describe my personality. But all that was before meds...yet I still adore autumn.

Yesterday, three people died, and as if that wasn't enough, we already had four people with services pending. Generally people like to die in clumps during the dog days of summer, and between Christmas and New Year's Day. This year, I guess we're getting the Rosh Hashana Crowd. Or maybe they were just dying for a little nosh. (Who knew?)

Fidel, my younger guinea pig, has come to the age where he is producing extra 'male substance' from his grease gland. Problem being, that it adheres to his ass fur, and is damn near impossible to remove. It's very similar in consistency and color to ear wax. It started when my friend Susan came for a visit, and got him all Excited by giving him lots and lots of baby carrots. Since that time, he's been perfectly boarish. (Sorry). But I really do need to take him for his annual medical with Dr. Gauvin. He doesn't have enormous salty low hangers like Val-Dijon, his beloved elder brother, but then again, he doesn't stink nearly as much, either. I should have known--they stay little for such a short time...

For those who care, I'm getting the long overdue 'oral makeover' this month and next. The first half of my treatments have been completed; bleaching and the gingivectomy. Aside from the pockets of blood and pus that oozed from my gums as they healed, the entire process was actually nearly next to painless. The bleaching however, damn near killed me. Well, actually it was the sensitivity in my teeth that damn near killed me. Eventually it subsided, and I am happy to announce that I can once again eat sorbet without wincing in agony. You'll never know how much I missed it for those two days.

My cousin Milton continues to bravely endure his illness (cancer in the brain, lung, and stomach). His wife says he is starting to lose weight, and has gotten incredibly thin, but still has enough energy to make brief trips to the casino (which is his favorite form of entertainment). I can only stand the place for brief periods at a time, because of all the freaks. I think they comp you extra if you show up with missing teeth and dirty fingernails. Or so it seems.

Since I'm not one to write often, merely excessively, I will close now. Stay tuned for the latest installment (but don't hold your breath). The weather has been delightful, and I have to get out and up in it...

One,
D.

I actually support these steroidal freaks, even if their Athletic Director is an ass...and trust me, he is.

This show is positively brilliant...

In Canada, on Show Case, Sundays, 9 PM (ET/PT) Sundays and 9:30 PM (ET/PT) Thursdays
In the US, on BBC America, 9PM (ET) Thursdays .