Category Archives: The awesomeness that is the inner workings of my somewhat disturbed and unarguably juvenile mind.

Not in front of the Lobsters

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Other Jen and I, out for coffee Sunday afternoon – discussing the three most important issues in the world: Our own financial woe, how young is too young to kick your children to the curb, and the curious behaviour of our sad rich friends who try to fill the emptiness they feel deep inside by buying ugly art, luxury SUVs, thousand dollar dresses that they’ll never take the tags off let alone wear, Holt Renfrew onesies for their infant children to poop on 3 or 4 times before growing out of them, and cloned designer dogs and what-have-you….

Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for retail therapy from time to time but flushing thousands of dollars a day -in a desperate attempt at self-validation and/or gaining the approval of other people with money – turns my stomach and my brain at the same time.

But that’s not what what this post is about.

This post is about the menu of Other Jen’s other friend’s surprise birthday supper.

Other Jen: We’re having a bean dish, cream of wild mushroom soup, lobster spaghetti, crepes and quail stuffed with foie gras, wrapped in bacon.

Me: Wow. Sounds revolting. And unethical. And glutenous. And gross.

Other Jen: Yeah, pretty much the only thing missing is veal. Or veal cheek. Quail stuffed with foie gras, wrapped in bacon enveloped in a prosciutto made of veal cheek from a specially chosen veal that is only used for one cheek and the rest of the veal gets thrown out.

Me: Right, so you know that your cheek is one of a kind and that nobody else on earth is eating veal with the same DNA as yours.

Other Jen: Exactly.

Me: You know what might be a nice touch? Drizzling the quail with a sauce made with the fertilized but unborn fetuses of each of the quail you’re eating. Hmm?

Other Jen: I need more coffee. Are you coming with me to the market? I have to buy ingredients for the soup and the Lobster spaghetti.

We bought hazelnut oil and wild mushrooms which was both exciting and inspiring.

Jen bought about 67 gallons of cooking cream while shielding my virgin vegan eyes. I said Don’t Look!

We bought fresh pasta from a little Italian shop and ogled the portobello stuffed pasta pinwheels. I’ll be going back for those…

We went to the bakery for fresh baked bread.

We went to the butcher to buy bacon.

Other Jen: Is this okay for you? Are you okay or…

Me: Hmm? No, I’m… I’m good.

As I pet the glass counter with my mitten, whispering to the veal chuck. There there, it will be over soon.

Other Jen: Oh gawd. Are those entire cow carcasses? I’m so sorry. Ew.. I can’t even..

At which exact point the butcher turns on the radial arm saw and starts dismembering.

Me: You know what? I’m going to head downstairs. I saw some micro bok Choy and…. that’s where I’ll be if you need me.

Other Jen: Don’t leave me here!!

I bought the baby bok Choy, and some new purple potatoes and these tiny yellow squash and just as I reached the cash Jen lunged violently in front of me with her wallet open.

Other Jen: I need to buy these for you.

Me: Jen it’s fine, I’ve got… (she body checks me out of the way) okay then. Thank you.
Across from the produce stand is a Greek shop. Here! Pita bread! Didn’t you say you were out of Pita bread?

Me: Jen..no.

Other Jen: We’ll have two bags of pita bread please.

Me: Jen, buying my groceries will neither obsolve you of your guilt, nor fill that empty hole in your life.

Other Jen: Sure it will.

Clerk: Do you need a bag?

Other Jen: yes

Me: No (defiantly)

Other Jen: She hates me because I’m wasting plastic, which is why she gets to carry all the groceries in her arms.

And then for the last ingredient on our list… Lobster.

So there was no frozen already-dead lobster still in its’ shell, which wasn’t going to work because apparently you can’t make lobster spaghetti without making the saucy-goodness with the shell and claws, which I understand completely but am still entirely grossed out by. SO!

Jen decides to buy live lobsters. 3 of them.

Other Jen: Do you hate me?

Me: You’re putting them in the trunk right?

Other Jen: Er… the trunk doesn’t exactly open…

Me: Your guys in the back seat aren’t really moving around much. Is that normal?

Other Jen: The fish monger said I should leave the bag open so they can breathe so…

Me: Maybe you should keep their heads out of the pot while you boil them to death too, you know, so they can breathe…

Other Jen: YOU are NOT allowed to talk anymore.

Me: Hey guys! Are you okay back there? Everyone comfortable and getting enought to breathe or…?

Other Jen: Shut up!

Me: Shhh… Jen, not in front of the Lobsters.

Which is pretty much when she left me at the curb in front of my house.

Jennifer June

One Night In Beijing

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Last night I dreamed that I went to school or work in a giant building that I didn’t recognize, somewhere that I know absolutely no one. Mandatory uniform White shirt, blue skirt/slacks.

I was working away on something terribly important yet entirely nondescript when I realized that I really REALLY missed my boyfriend, who, in this dream, was a young Chinese man. I don’t know what his name was but he was sweet and innocent like and the language barrier between us was simultaneously unbearable and adorable.

We were mismatched I suppose, what with us having nothing in common and with me not speaking Mandarin or Cantonese – What with he being nice and me having a rather sordid past – What he being nice… and so-on.

I missed him so very much in my dream that I left my station and went running down the hall to find him. He was on his way up the stairs to find me.

“You never find me!” he said joyfully in his adorable Chinese accent.

It was true, I realized, I never made any effort to see him.

“I miss you so much” I cried, throwing my arms around him and took a deep breath as I sunk into him.

“I have to go to my children” He tells me.

*insert the loud sound of a record scratch here*

He leads me through a heavy dark curtain, on the other side of which is a giant flea market. And his two children.

One is under a year old, the other about 2 1/2.

“May I meet them?” I ask “or is it too rude?” (I think I meant to say soon, not rude. I’m not sure.)

Boyfriend doesn’t answer me so I scoop up the baby in my arms and follow the other two through isles of trinkets and bootleg DVDs.

It only takes a moment before I realize that we are actually in China.

Fortunately, in my dream, I wasn’t lucid enough to feel shame over having envisioned the country as a glorified dollar store.

Also, I neglect to wonder if these children have a mother.

Oh.. I hear everything is much cheaper in China – I should shop.

So out the window went all my values about environmental awareness and slave labour as I chose a six pack of Kleenex, some place mats that I really have seen at dollarama (I’m telling you, my dream self is an ass-hole) and a bag of 12 rolls of leopard spotted dog poop bags.

I don’t have a dog… anymore.

Nothing here is cheaper

I fondled an ugly mass produced $134.00 desk lamp.

I continued to browse, baby on my hip, bag of useless crap in my hand, when I realized that I would have to take the plane back to Canada.

Where will I put all this stuff? No. I can’t bring all of this on the plane, it will never fit in my carry-on luggage. I have to choose only one thing.

So, naturally, I chose the dog poop bags.

And then I woke up. To a text. From my real boyfriend.

Plane cancelled. Toulouse. Snow. Have to take train 7 hours to Nantes. Neeeeed sleep. I’m going to cry.

I’m just saying…

Jennifer June

Downward Facing 3 Legged Dog

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So… according to the doctor I was supposed to have an all new lease on life today in the form of full arm/shoulder mobility.

He also told me that throughout the day yesterday I would feel the sensation of my shoulder distending.

Neither of these things happened.

Does this mean the procedure didn’t work?

Am I destined to live one-armedly for the rest of my life?

Should I learn to pick my guitar with my teeth?

Will yoga forever mean lopsided mountain pose and downward facing 3 legged dog?

I don’t know. I’m just going to continue on my path of self-healing and hope for the best.

I have to resist the urge to fight what my body is doing and instead nurture and influence it.

I’m trying to do this with my kids too and boy is it hard. It would just be so much easier if we were allowed to duck tape their mouths shut and lock them in the basement, like in the good old days.

But instead I breathe. And plug away, searching for my inner wisdom. Searching for peace and acceptance.

I go to Joanne’s site for inspiration daily. Such wisdom and calm.

And at the same time, trying to create balance. Allowing myself to feel and express those feelings safely.

Feelings.

I have a lot of those lately. My tears are just under the surface at all times. Ready to be called to duty at a moment’s notice, at the slightest provocation, at the sight of an insect, at the sound of a baby’s laughter, at somebody elses excitement over a stinking filthy Choloepus …

A friend posted this on facebook yesterday. I watched it 5 times and cried each and every time. I say it’s because I’m broken. Both Franky and my oldest daughter, Jules, say it’s because Kirsten is me. Which, in this case, I believe is a good thing.

Jennifer June

In which my non-pregnant body attempts childbirth…from my armpit

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Really? That sounds gross to you? Does it? Really?

This morning I went to the hospital for what I thought was going to be a quick in-and-out visit for a cortisone injection.

Ha. Ha. Ha.

So… I slip into my super sexy hospital gown and lay my hot stuff down on the cold hard table-bed thingy, where the assistant, who incidentally, and without any exaggeration, looks pretty much exactly like THIS covers me in a snuggly lead blanket.

All this after (of course) being asked if it’s possible that I might be pregnant. I guess my reputation precedes me because she dropped it the minute I snarled at her.

The doctor arrives and explains the potential complications of the coming procedure, which honestly I found a bit much for an injection but hey.

Doctor: The first complication is blood
Me: Like internal bleeding??
Doctor: No, like blood drops. Like with any needle. Needles are sharp (I am not making this up people) and they poke you when they are injected into your skin so sometimes there are drops of blood.
Me: Good stuff buddy. Next?
Doctor: The second potential complication is infection.
Me: Why?
Doctor: Well because anytime a needle or anything enters your skin it can push contaminants inside that can become infection.
Me: Um… is this the same risk as with any injection or routine blood tests? Like the ones I have almost every month of my life? The ones where nurses never warn me that I might get infected?
Doctor: Er… yes.
Me: Cool. Thanks for the heads up.
Doctor: The third possible complication could be allergy to the iodine.
Me: Uh… What iodine?
Doctor: The iodine I’m going to inject before the medication.
Me: Uh…
Doctor: As a dye, to show if the needle is in the right place.
Me: I see. And how will we know if I am allergic to it?
Doctor: Well hopefully you’re not.
Me: Right.

I signed the consent form.

First there was a smallish injection of pain killer.

Second is a GIANT needle that goes in ever so slooooooooooooooowly and wiggles around until you’re sufficiently nauseous.

This goes on for about half of forever and triggers an unforeseen panic attack on my part. Why? I do not know but the same thing happened two years ago when I had a central line put it.

I can handle any pain.

I sliced my hand open once – Took a deep breath, wrapped my hand in a dishtowel and called out to my husband in the other room,

“I have to run out and grab something babe, I’ll be back in a bit!”

and walked calmly to the nearest clinic to ask for stitches.

I’m a trouper.

I birthed 3 children without even so much as a Tylenol.

Got pain? Bring it the hell on bitches.

But for some freakish reason I CAN NOT stand laying around for hours at a time with giant tubes dangling out my arm from my heart with stiff instructions not to move a muscle “or you’re in danger of…”

OR

Monster sized needles hanging out of my shoulder with stern instructions to not even “breath too hard because it will move the needle and…”

So yeah. I panicked. I took deep breathes. I pictured all the wonderful things I’ll be able to do when I am healed. Painless yoga, Playing guitar, gracefully performing on stage etc…

That only worked for a second.

I tried imagining that Francois was there holding my hand.

If you haven’t ever had an anxiety attack I can’t really describe it, or the totally insane lack of control and honest fear for your life you experience while it’s happening.

Your brain releases the same chemicals as it would if you were say.. oh I don’t know, being chased by an angry bear. For example. So even if it doesn’t make any logical sense to jump off the hospital table and tear off like a bat out of hell, that’s the driving force that possesses you.

I channelled Louise Hay in my mind telling me “You are not a helpless victim of your own thoughts, but rather a master of your own mind.” and “I am in the right place at the right time, doing the right thing.”

Doctor: Miss Chapman your legs are shaking. It’s very important that you stay still please..

I imagined Rodney Yee talking me through a difficult yoga pose.

My breath quickened and I honestly got scared that I was going to tear the needle out of my arm and run.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Doctor: Don’t move, I’ll be back in a second…
Me: NO! please.
Doctor: Sorry?
Me: Please don’t leave the room. I’m feeling anxious and panicked and this is taking too long.
Doctor: Do you want me to leave you alone?
Me: I do not.
Nurse: Jennifer are you okay?
Me: I feel panicked. Can you talk to me for a minute? …………………….. hello?

At which point the doctor calls in his supervisor.

“Is that good?”

“Nope, you’ve got to get right in there”

“I’m already at the bone”

“Well wiggle it a bit because you’ve got to get in there good”

Which surprisingly calms me. I have no explanation for that.

But seriously, am I the only person who has panic attacks on that table? They seemed really confused and unsure of how to deal with me.

Doctor: Miss Chapman I am having a very difficult time getting the needle in, which is good. This means your doctor’s diagnosis of Adhesive Capsulitis is probably correct.
Doctor: This is the first I’m hearing of it. I really don’t feel well. Do you think we could speed this up a little?

“Doctor, you’ve got it now. you’re in.”

Doctor: Okay, we’ve got the good spot. I’m injecting the medication now. Cortizone, then Prednisone, then a pain killer.

Me: Good stuff, let’s get her done.

Doctor: Not too quickly though, I have to go slowly.

Doctor: Of course you do. It’s jafeiwha What the fuck? Fuck! Fuck. What? Somethings… arearfaaggg! Ug. Oh god. (which is pretty much how I sound having an orgasm so I totally get why he just sat there smiling as though NOTHING weird was going on at all and just casually enquired…

Doctor: Does it feel like your shoulder is being dislocated?

Me: I’m going to puke. I’m serious.

Doctor: Like your shoulder is being pulled out of the socket?

Me: YES FUCK! If having your shoulder dislocated feels like birthing an elephant out of your fucking armpit. What the hell are you doing?

My hand and arm were being pinned down by a three thousand pound sand bag.The tendons or muscles in my shoulder and upper arm were seemingly contracting and convulsing and attempting an aggressive escape from the flesh that surrounds them.

Have any of you seen Alien?

Doctor: Oh, good. That means it’s working!

He smiled from ear to ear.

Me: Fucking hell… Do you think you might of mentioned this when you were blabbering about blood drops and Shit? Gladsfaskdahsfgh!

Doctor: All done Miss Chapman. Good job. You can go get dressed now.

My whole body was trembling violently. I could barely see straight let alone stand up to get dressed.

Doctor: See you next time!

Me: Yeah. Let’s never see each other again, shall we?

Doctor: Oh, ha ha. It rarely only takes one injection. Usually two or three. We’ll see each other again.

Me: Not without Vicodin we wont.

And I lived to tell you all about it.
Go team.

  • Jennifer June