November 29th, 2007 | 8 Comments »

Warning! Some very bad words are in this very old, recycled post. Is it okay that they are quotes? No? You can read this with your eyes closed then.

I have some issues on my system that I need to address, so don’t bother yourself looking for new stuff over the weekend.

Bluenose vernacular.

  • Bluenose is slang for Nova Scotian.
  • Vernacular is slang for slang.I made that up.
  • God’s Country…a proprietary term to indicate a level of
    breathtaking beauty and real honest-to-gawd decent
    folk not to be had anywhere else. I use this one lots.
  • Come from away…refers to anybody who was not born and raised
  • Fill yer boots…I interpret this to mean “help yourself, take as much as you like”.
    There may be more sinister, sheep-related implications to this however.
  • Kiss my rosy red arse…I attribute this one to a love of alliteration.
  • Petunia…when I was liddle, I called it my “bird” My fave uncle used to call me Petunia, and I HAD NO CLUE. I thought it was because he stuttered like Porky Pig.
  • Oh, me nerves!…meant to indicate a stressful situation.
  • Oh, me fuckin nerves!…this calls for more sympathy than Oh, me nerves!, like when it dawns on you that your favourite uncle was calling you “twat” (Disclaimer: My uncle did not know about this meaning. He was offended when I first posted it)
  • Nobody likes a smartarse…what the Papa always said to me.
  • Gimme a knife; I’ll cut me t’roat…usually said to indicate some unbearable pain for which death is the only solution.
  • Spleeny…I am not making these up, I swear. Means unable to tolerate any pain or hardship. (see above)
  • Twitchy…very irritable, or antsy
  • Hotter than the hinges of hell…brings to mind an image of hell having doors.
    Temperatures over 80 F are hotter than the hinges of hell.
  • Tits up…same as belly up, but more charmingly Nova Scotian.
    Sometimes indicates a person who is passed out from drinking Captain Morgan Rum or shine.
  • And my personal favourite…Who pissed in your cornflakes?…are you having a bad day?
    And why must I be gifted with your lovely mood? (Another note: recently, Dr. Phil has been using a sanitized version of this saying. He totally stole it from me. I wrote this for another blog about seven years ago. Just so you know. And stop it Dr. Phil.)
Posted in down home
November 28th, 2007 | 7 Comments »

I was born very near the feeding grounds of many large whales, at a time of year just before they head there in large numbers. I have always had a deep affinity for whales, but the finback, the finback whale is really special to me.

Only the blue whale is larger. The fin isn’t the showiest when it surfaces because it is a whale that doesn’t show it’s tail. If you saw one, you so wouldn’t care about the tail. These animals have presence. They are sentient beings. They know things. And the sheer size of them is astounding.

two finbacks up close and personal

The one on the left? Fixing to dive under the boat. Thrilling.

The first whale watch I went on, I called the whale to me. We only saw a minke that day, but it surfaced right beside where I sat. Hardly anyone else saw it. I’m certain it heard my call, and came to investigate.

If you get the opportunity to go on a whale watch tour, jump on it! Best time for sailing is the earlier tours, around 10 am, before the wind and the chop comes up.

Whale has visited me in other ways as well, in the dreamtime.

Not too long ago, I lived on a cliff, overlooking the ocean. I dreamed a staircase of ice, leading from the ocean up to my bed. Swimming under the ice of the staircase was a procession of finbacks, each coming to me to share knowledge, then swimming back down. This event was another activation, an awakening of memories that I didn’t realize I had. Sort of like “I knew that. I just didn’t know I knew it until now.”

Soon after, I began to notice the clocks around me when they were at 11:11. One clock actually stopped at 11:11. I began to hook up with other healers in the early days of the internet, on IRC. We shared energy, and worked together to heal people and situations in the world, this world which suddenly became much smaller.

This dream was a precursor to the 11:11 activation, which was an initiation into the energies of the Archangel Michael. And then, all heaven broke loose.

But that is a tale for another day.

Posted in critters, dreams
November 26th, 2007 | 24 Comments »

You remember Skinny Bitch don’t you? A total delight she is.

SB is the most practical person I can remember meeting. She loves money, and she adores saving it. In fact, I remember her catch phrase at one time was “Squirrel it away, witchypoo, squirrel it away.”

She took her own advice, bought a great house and invested the rest. This is not a frivolous woman.

I stroll into her bed and breakfast back yard to find her hard working husband doing some hard yard work. Then I notice this troll-like creature that is snurffling around the yard. (I know that is a made up word, but snuffling doesn’t quite do it justice)

This creature, this almighty wicked hideous creature, has short legs, noisy asthma, and one blind googly eye. To call it a troll is to dis the entire troll kingdom of trolliness.

So I ask Mr. SB “What in the name of very bad words everything gone wrong is THAT???” Yes, several question marks because I was that incredulous. Mr. SB, a very manly man I might point out, replied in a reverent tone: “That’s SB’s dog, Henry. She loves him.” (SB has him so whipped. She has that effect on all men.)

He watches with his customary reserve as I completely lose it. Just howling with laughter in a puddle of helpless laughy goo. I’m SB’s friend, we’re both nuts. No big. He’s used to it.

When SB gets home, I very casually ask her about the stab-myself-in-the-eye fugly dog thing. She’s all effusive, Henry this, Henry that.

SB: “I call him Handsome Henry!” For once, I am speechless.

She shows me his “trick”. It’s where he stands back, to judge if it’s safe to come near her, because sometimes, SB doesn’t want to be touched. She’s neurotic. Even the stupid troll thingie gets it.

Me: “SB, that isn’t a trick. It’s a behaviour. Everyone who knows and loves you has learned it.”

She still insists it’s his trick, then demonstrates how cute he is when his little tongue sticks out while his head is cocked. It looks much cuter when she is doing it.

Me: “SB, did you pay money for Handsome Henry?”

SB (reluctantly) “Ye-es.” I drag the details out of her, because, really,there is no way I can leave this alone, knowing her financial habits as I do. She paid about a grand for a dog that was unregistered, blind in one eye, has death rattle asthma, is incredibly stupid, and by the way? He needs special food. Special expensive food. And huge vet bills.

Me: (rolling eyes) “SB, I’ve known you for about twelve years now. I feel I know you well. I have special powers and all. For the life of me, I just don’t understand why you parted with so much money for Handsome <shudder> Henry.

SB: (in a very small voice) “I was afraid that nobody else would love him.”

See? How can you not love a woman like Skinny Bitch?

November 25th, 2007 | 13 Comments »

Note: I did the Silly Sunday thing on Saturday. If you’re unhappy, I will be delighted to refund your money;)


Warrior Woman is a client who has become a friend. She’s quite gifted psychically herself, but needs some guidance on boundaries. For instance, it isn’t nice to read minds. I do not do it. Not because I can’t, but for the same reason that I wouldn’t read your mail. Because it’s rude.

Warrior Woman likes to check up on her friends to see how they are doing. Instead of picking up the phone, or clicking on her email client, she likes to do what she calls “crawling through their minds” to see what they are up to.

I can always tell when somebody is trying to get into my mind. It is always accompanied by a physical sensation, something like a tingling, but not quite, along my scalp. I immediately put up my shields when this happens. I figure anyone who crosses that boundary line certainly does not belong there.

Shortly after Warrior Woman’s first reading, I felt the crawling through my brain sensation, and put up my guards. When she phoned for her next appointment, I told her that I had felt her being intrusive, and I would not work with her unless she respected my boundaries. It’s too much freaking work to have to keep your shields up whenever someone wants to trip through your tulips.

She apologized and said she did it so routinely with her friends that it had become automatic with her. I gave her a verbal spanking and confirmed the appointment. She brought me a prezzie to demonstrate her remorse. Forgive and forget. Life went on.

She’s a great cook, and we went back and forth with dinner invites. I always got the better of the deal. She has the better food. Plus, she has the coolest kitchen gadgets. And wine. There is much wine.

So Warrior Woman calls me a few weeks ago and asks if I want to attend a Jimmy Rankin concert. She has some tickets and needs a body to fill the other seat.

I have been deep in the bat cave of late, only going out for the necessities. I really like the place I live in, and nothing much outside spins my crank as much as home does. Plus, I need only wear my comfy jammies. My comfy warm, yummy jammies. With socks, no high heels. No instrument of feminine torture bra. What’s not to love?

Warrior Woman has her kitchen gadgets, but she covets my home. Can’t really blame her. It rocks. It was built about 150 years ago by a manufacturing family, and it was since an elementary school, now converted to flats. I have the best flat, where all the mansion-y grandeur still shines. The living room alone is 20′ x 40′, the dining room/office is about half that size, both panelled in old wood reminiscent of a men’s club.

So, the concert night rolls around and I drag my sad droopy butt over the pond to Jimmy’s place. I have always been partial to Canuck music, and The Rankin Family is pure down home, toe-tapping, spoon-clacking goodness.

Jimmy wrote a lot of the tunes the family played and sang, until their breakup a while back. I was kind of thinking I would get to experience some of that Rankin magic in Jimmy’s solo concert.

It was a great venue, with excellent acoustics. We had great seats.

The opening act was a cute young fellow who wrote his own material. As soon as he hit the mike, BOOM! He dropped his guitar. Didn’t bat an eye, just exclaimed “It’s still in tune!”


He soldiered on through the first song, then tuned the durned guitar. My ears immediately stopped bleeding were grateful.

After about three songs, he announced an intermission before the feature act came on.

There was much admiring of all the artfully placed pretty guitars on the stage, and many technical adjustments, people coming off stage and going to the lobby, and all kinds of boring crap entertaining hijinks.

If you are not of the Canuckian persuasion, you need to be reminded that Canadians are a polite and appreciative audience. Really. I know. I’m so very proud. So this polite Canadian audience is rather subdued in the venue with the great acoustics, fixing to enjoy us a little Jimmy love.

Forty minutes later, the majority of the audience is either in a coma, or terminally programmed for politeness, because Jimmy, he hasn’t made an appearance yet.

When the golden boy finally does appear, I am steaming with the disrespect shown the audience. What does he think he is? A rock star?

How many technical adjustments and sound checks does he need? The young fella didn’t keep us waiting and he DROPPED HIS FREAKING GUITAR.

Jimmy’s guitar playing, for all those pretty guitars and many technical adjustments, sucked. Big time. And he does have a loud singing voice, but he was shouting, not singing.

I felt a scalp tingling, gave WW a psychic slap, and figured I had kept her out.

I looked at Warrior Woman and she spoke the words that were running through my mind: “I wonder what drugs he is high on?”

Mind intrusion aside, I was pretty sure that we both thought he was zonked, explaining the delays and the craptastical lacklustre performance.

A few bars into the second song, and we knew we were not in for a good experience, so we looked at each other with the “scramoose” gesture, and out we went.

All I could think was “AND I PUT A BRA ON FOR THIS?”

Yes, that is really what it boils down to. If I am going to endure the instrument of feminine torture, then there had best be some mighty fine entertainment in it for me.

Jimmy, I think I know why The Rankin Family Band broke up. Your sisters were tired of your drug addicted arse unprofessional behaviour.

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November 24th, 2007 | 6 Comments »

From Ree the Hotfessional. It’s the perfect thing for the long holiday weekend before your slacker readers can catch up with you on the company dime.

(X) Been to Canada – Oh, my yes. I live here

( ) Been to Mexico – Nope. But I’ve heard that Montezuma’s Revenge is something I should experience at least once. Can’t wait.

( ) Been to Florida – No, I hear they have alligators there, and hurricanes. And really old Canucks.

(X) Been on a plane – Many times, but only once since Sept 11, 2001. I find the security measures pure aggravation.

(X) Been lost – Not technically, but when I was little, I walked beside a woman who was wearing the same coat as my mother, so my mom was lost

(X) Been on the opposite side of the country – I’ved lived on the Pacific and the Atlantic coast of Canada. Something about that ocean air just makes me happy.

(X) Swam in the ocean – Pacific, Atlantic, and the Caribbean

(X) Cried yourself to sleep – Everyone who has ever been thirteen has done this.

(X) Played cops and robbers – Hello? I had brothers, duh.

(X) Played with a Tonka Truck – See above.

(X) Recently colored with crayons – Define recently

( ) Sang karaoke – No, and this is so because of my deep abiding love for humanity.

( ) Paid for a meal with only coins – No, but I love to put my unrolled coinage in the fare box on the bus.

(X) Done something you told yourself you wouldn’t? – Yes, but I always forgive myself. I’m understanding that way.

(X) Made prank phone calls – Again, I had brothers. Shut up, they made me do it, okay?

(X) Caught a snowflake on your tongue – Yes, but for the life of me, I couldn’t get it to stay on that pesky slippery tongue.

(X) Danced in the rain – Yep. And swam in the rain, and also showered in the rain. Scoff if you will, it was way fun.

(X) Written a letter to Santa Claus – Yes, but he didn’t take my brothers like I asked him to.

(X) Been kissed under the mistletoe – Yes, but nobody took me up on it when I hung the mistletoe from my backside.

(X) Watched the sunrise with someone you care about – Yes, after all night fascinating can’t stop talking to this wondrous creature.

(X) Blown bubbles – Absolutely. Also blown bubbles in my milk. Fun, isn’t it?

(X) Made a bonfire on the beach – It was a rite of passage for coast dwellers.

(X) Crashed a party – Yes, but they were glad to see me. That’s my story and I’m sticking with it.

( ) Crashed a wedding

( ) Crashed a funeral – No, but I’m always up for a good time.
(X) Gone ice-skating – Yes. My skates were always too tight though. I have Sasquatch feet.

1. Any nicknames? Some people who are too idle to type the entire thing call me Poo, even though I protest the use of scatological nicknames.

3. Favorite drink? Coffee (black) Hot and lots of it.

4. Any tattoos? No, but I used to draw on myself.

5 Body piercing? Ears only. 1 hole each. A friend did the piercing with a darning needle and an ice cube when I was 16. What did I know?

6. How much do you love your job? It’s rather ideal, especially if you have children. People pay you money and then they hang on Your.Every.Word. Then they go home and listen to the tape. Much more ego-stroking than “What.Ever.”, accompanied by a dramatic eye-roll from Ass Burger Boy.

7. Favorite vacation spot? My birthplace, where my Grammie and best friends from high school still live.

8. Ever been to Africa? No. Never left the continent, unless you count Puerto Rico.

9. Ever eaten cookies for dinner? Cookies are a good healthy dinner that you don’t need to coax the kiddies to eat.

10. Ever been on TV? Quite a few times. The media loves to interview psychics. I was also in a documentary about psychics.

11. Ever steal any traffic signs? No. I have better decorating taste than that.

12. Ever been in a car accident? Many, but none of them killed me yet.

13. Drive a 2-door or 4-door vehicle? 2 Door. The bus.

14. Favorite pie? Sweet potato pie, and the very best I have ever eaten is my Grammie’s mincemeat pie. She uses venison in hers.

15. Favorite Number? 8. It’s supposed to be lucky. I made sure my phone number added up to 8. I’m wacky that way.

16. Favorite movie? Gee whiz, I didn’t know this was going to be hard. I’m a sucker for great cinematography, so I would have to say Cold Mountain.

17. Favorite holiday? Thanksgiving

18. Favorite dessert? It involves chocolate marble coffee cake, sprinkled with Grand Marnier and wildberry jam, layered with chocolate ice cream and more jam, topped with more Grand Marnier. Wicked. And wicked good. Note that I capitalized the holy Grand Marnier. It’s an important ingredient. I made this dessert up myself. I know what I like. Unless it’s a movie. Then I get all indecisive and stressed.

19. Favorite food? Scallops. Oh, come to mama.

20. Favorite day of the week? Most any day I wake up is good with me.

21. Favorite brand of body wash? I only use home made soap. Love it.

22. Favorite toothpaste? I don’t care. It isn’t like I’m going to EAT it. I do, however, rinse with hydrogen peroxide. It kills germs and gives me that bubbly feeling I love so much.

23. Favorite smell? Vanilla beans. And baby head. The other end, not so much.

24. What do you do to relax? Read.

25. Do you have a message to your friends reading this? No. Nobody really likes me anyway.

26. How do you see yourself in 10 years? Alive?

27. Furthest place you will send this message? I think I will surprise myself on this.

28. Who will respond the fastest? Whoever is saving their good stuff for Monday when everybody is reading blogs at work.

I’m tagging:





The Diva

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Posted in Grammie, the mundane