cussin’

There was a time when I didn’t swear very much. Instead, I had a good vocabulary and knew how to use it.  I looked at those people who curse as easily as breathing, and thought they were not only mentally lazy but seriously limiting themselves. Really, if you drop the f-bomb 3 times in every sentence, where do you go when you really need to let people know how pissed you are? My dad rarely said damn or hell around us; I remember clearly the shock I felt the first time I heard him say fuck (this was followed quickly by fear as I was the one who had made him that angry).

Then I started playing poker. Swearing like a sailor soon ensued.

While my cursing is not as easy or thoughtless as breathing, it is still lazy and limiting. And unprofessional. I’ve gotten a little too comfortable with it in the classroom which led to the eventual creation of the Fluffy Pink Bunny Fund (1) in last year’s grade 12 programming class.

It needs to stop. I am bad with quitting anything cold turkey, so I am going to make a concerted effort to wean myself off the habit by first substituting other words for it. Not the Ned Flanders namby-pamby ones though – those will never work for me.

I am turning to words brought to me by TV. Words like frack (2), goram (3), shazbot (4), and dagnabbit (5) mixed in with supercalifragalisticexpialidocious (6) and oh, bother (7).

Note: this is primarily for school. There will still be swearing here. What, did you think I was going to quit cussin’ completely? I’d likely asplode.

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  1. Fluffy Pink Bunny Fund sounds better than Swear Jar, don’t you think? Innocuous even. I am not proud of the fact that there was enough in it at the end of year to take the 5 students out for lunch. In my defense, it was not a good year for technology doing what it’s supposed to!
  2. Battlestar Galactica
  3. Firefly
  4. Mork & Mindy
  5. Elmer Fudd, The Bugs Bunny & Road Runner Show
  6. Mary Poppins
  7. Winnie the Pooh

 

erotic haiku

Published by request.

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passion is the fuse,
fingers tremble to ignite
a clothes explosion

kisses, heady and sweet
trail down the length of your body
intoxicating

fingers move softly
along the curve of a spine
she arches, cat-like

a touch, a caress
your body understands this
language without words

she kneels before you
a supplicant to the god Desire
worshipping through you

lips soft as velvet
encircle and envelop
the god is appeased

your hands wrap in her hair,
silken strands fall across her face
as her eyes meet yours

the world stops and shivers
split to a million points of light
then slowly, you return

2011

I was sitting in Massey Hall on New Year’s Eve, thinking about doing a 2011 wrap up post. It was about an hour until the doors opened and the space was empty save for a half dozen uniformed ushers on each floor.

The house lights were up so I fished in my bag for a pen and notebook, thinking to write some notes about how generally crappy 2011 was, mostly because of the knee injury. I’d written a few whiney sentences when I heard the sound of kazoos from one of the balconies (the band was passing them out as part of their act). Somebody started the Star Wars theme, and one by one, floor by floor, the ushers all joined in.

There I am, in one of Toronto’s oldest music venues, listening to 20-odd people play kazoos. It’s just as funny as you would think. How can you help but laugh and play along?

The house manager eventually made them stop and go to their positions.I put away the notebook. The dose of silly had been enough to stop me from writing anymore about the last year, but it made me reflect on how much I had laughed in 2011. Yes, I cried and moaned and whined and bitched, but I certainly laughed a lot.

So yeah, I had a knee injury that was (is) painful. I wasn’t able to ride or go for walks, do things I love for a few months. I learned just how inaccessible this city and its transit system really is. I was not able to be as independent as I want and had to rely heavily on other people; asking for help did not come easily.  Dreams had to be shelved, plans had to be changed.

I learned that there are always options. We did other things we’d been meaning to do instead, like go to Montreal for the month-long comedy festival and visit Pelee Island. I could drive in time to go to Chicago to spend time with some pretty amazing women.

As much as I whinged about it, 2011 really was not a bad year. I have had worse. Way worse.

I’ve had years of  heartbreak, the kind that makes you want to curl up in a ball for months, and stays with you your whole life. I’ve had years of unemployment, poverty, poor decisions, betrayal by friends, a bad marriage and a subsequent divorce. I’ve had years of watching my mother battle cancer and lose, years of watching Alzheimer’s take my father away memory by memory until he could not remember my name or who I was. Years where I did not laugh nearly as much as I did in 2011.

Here’s to laughing even more in 2012!

 

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Wandered around the AGO today, taking in the Chagall exhibit. Still entranced by the Gehry staircase, especially as viewed through an original architectural feature.

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