We decided we couldn’t handle any more of Phnom Penh … or buses …so we bought a ticket for a boat that left for Siem Reap where Angkor Wat; one of the 7 man made wonders of the world, majestically rises out of the jungles.

The boat was long and covered and moved quickly.  I was happy that I opted to sit below in the air conditioning instead of the top deck in the hot sun and wind for over five hours.

There wasn’t much of a view out the windows and we were moving fast.  When we arrived at Siem Reap we were greeted by the usual throng of people yelling to come with them for lodgings.  We knew that there was no point in trying to haggle ,or ask to go somewhere specific, because we would just end up checking into whatever place they took us to, so we followed someone along to another small bus and off we went.

We cared about one thing; a bed and a private bath. 

We were thrilled to reunite with some friends ,from Paris, that we had met in Vietnam; Jean and Caroline.  While we were in Phnom Penh they had taken a side trip to Laos.  They met us back in Siem Reap to visit Angkor Wat.

On our first day we decided, with much pressure from our Parisian friends, to rent our own motorcycle instead of relying on guides.  You need to ride carefully and defensively in Cambodia but it was the best decision we could have made.  There was not too much traffic and the roads were bad so we went at a slow pace until we found stretches of good road.  The freedom to come and go at our own pace to the various temples was exhilarating. 

Day One:   We parked our bikes outside the site and walked along the road leading into Angkor Wat.  Along the way we met some monkeys; a mother and baby and decided to give them some litchi nuts.  We tried to feed the baby but the mother was too fast and snatched up all of them.

As we moved farther along we spotted a large baboon sitting low in a tree.  He was eye level.

I gingerly offered him a litchi and he immediately twitched in a spasm and kept biting his own hand.  Travis commented that the poor thing had some sort of tick and must be ill.  I kept whispering to him gently, still offering the nut to him.  His ticks increased and suddenly he charged off the tree at us and chased us down the road and managed to reach out with a clawed hand and scratch our friends boot.  Our hearts were racing and we were out of breath when he finally gave up and  turned back to his spot on the tree. 

As we came upon an Angkor Wat  guard we described the peculiar ticks that this baboon displayed and how he must be sick and how he had charged us; ending in our narrow escape.  The guard looked thoughtfully back at us and said slowly in English, “No he not sick… he tell you… do not come to me or I…(and he bit his own hand)…  will BITE you.”

We stared back dumbfounded.  This baboon could not have been more astute in his attempt to communicate with us.  Clearly he had done everything possible ,including a demonstration, of what he was going to do if we did not cease in bothering him.

Never have I felt so inadequate and stupid as a human being.  It was unfathomable that I had not recognized the signs;  being a long -time player of Charades. 

We moved along pondering the brilliance of this baboon ,and our complete failure as the superior species,  as we entered the site of Angkor Wat.

We passed some elephants carrying more stupid tourists and some kiosks with food until we finally saw a massive head looking down at us from the heavens… surrounded by more massive heads and chambers and stairways and it is impossible to put on paper what it is like to see Angkor Wat for the first time.

The  magnificence in its size and detail, along with the fact that it is so preserved ,is hard to fathom.

It was built in the first half of the 12th century and estimated construction time was 30 years.  Its sculptures are so incredibly well- proportioned that I believe these were not erected and carved by humans… but aliens.  How could men have accomplished this impressive and monstrous gift to the gods and the world?  The tallest and central sculpture is a mind blowing 699 feet.

When you stand in the center you see stairways coming down from each Hindu god to meet in the middle and you feel tiny, insignificant and lost in the wonder of it all.   There is a mystical and very religious feeling at Angkor Wat.  We climbed in and out of chambers and up stairways that would open to platforms where monks would sit burning incense, waiting to bless you.    I am not a follower of organized religion but do feel that I am a spiritual person and accepted these blessings with the greatest humility.   The dedication of these ancient architects to honor the gods and build this for 30 years struck me as incredible.  Where were the workers who ,after ten years of back breaking labor, said…”OK  enough is enough… looks good to me.”

There are five towers in Angkor Wat but you need to be in a specific spot to see all five.

It is ingenious.  Without having the perspective of seeing things from the air I don’t see how they could have achieved this. 

We climbed some temples where the stairs were so steep from the top it looked like a sheer wall without stairs at all.  I had to go down the stairs backwards at a crawl… clinging to each step until I thankfully touched the ground again.

Walking around the site was exhausting and when we left that day we were so thankful to return to an air-conditioned room and flop on our bed.

Day two:   We returned to Angkor Wat but this time we decided to venture into the jungles to see some temples that were out of the way of the central area.  We were cautious about doing this because only five years prior Christopher Howes, a British mining expert, had been kidnapped by the Khmer Rouge at the jungle temple in Angkor Wat and subsequently murdered along with four others between 1994 and 1996.

Our Parisian cohorts were fearless travelers and convinced us that we would regret not making the trek with them so off we rode into the jungles.

When we parked the bikes and started to navigate our way through the thick terrain we came across trees that had grown in and through massive sculpted arches and doorways that led nowhere except farther into the jungle.  This area was not as well kept as the main tourist area.  Crumbling concrete eyes covered in vines and moss hid their secrets and only the jungle knew the original meaning.

We finally  came to a clearing where we saw the temple.  I was nervous about being here and couldn’t shake the thought of being kidnapped.  The Cambodian people still wore the red checkered neck scarves that symbolized the Khmer Rouge for me.  Everyone I saw had the potential to be a terrorist in my mind.

The temple was not as large as the main temples but it was still intimidating and maybe more so because of its isolated location. 

As we entered the first thing I saw were smiling children.  They were selling the scarves that I was so afraid of.  We spoke with the kids who knew some English and I relaxed.  I ended up buying a scarf from a young girl and a tee shirt and I was grateful to our bossy French friends for shaming us into accompanying them.  If I had let fear dictate, I would not have met these incredible kids.  Like all the kids we met in South East Asia they were confident and funny and … well.. these kids were actually making fun of us and imitating us… so there is that.

A child doing his impression of Jean


That day in the jungle was exhilarating. I felt like I was on a real adventure that would stick with me for the rest of my life and it has. In the jungle there are noises that you won’t hear anywhere else. There are birds of all sorts singing and calling out to each other and cricket sounds that are familiar and yet you know you’ve never heard them at home. There are long screeches from monkeys and sounds that you’ve only heard in Tarzan movies. You realize how noisy it is when you walk along in silence. The ancient pathways were now overgrown with vines and roots from enormous trees were growing up through cracks.

We found our motorbikes and made our way back to our hotel for the night. We went for dinner and, once again, I had frog’s legs for the 2nd time in my life. This time they had been drizzled in butter and pan fried with a crispy skin. They were delicious and I have not had frog’s legs since.

DAY 3: We hopped on our bikes and headed back to the main site.

Walking through the entrance

Today was the day we would spend all of our time at the center of Angkor Wat. We climbed and explored and we were so lucky that it was not crowded. I hear that these days the crowds can be huge but at that time I think travelers were still wary of going to Cambodia. There were no fancy and expensive hotels that catered to tourists like there are now.

Travis at an entrance high up in the temples
Somewhere in the center

Travis gave an ancient warrior his head back

An ancient portrait

The images and giant faces surrounding us from every direction made you feel like you were not alone. It gives you pause to think that people have inhabited the earth for centuries and some of the earliest inhabitants built something so amazing that it has lasted long enough for us to experience it.

Angkor Wat has stayed with me over the years. It is something you cannot forget but you also can’t take it with you. My imagination isn’t even big enough to recreate the real thing. I think about these ancient people and the determination to create something that symbolized their culture for all time. I wonder if they even thought about the future beyond their own life time. I know we do as a millennial society. I just hope that our legacy will be saving the planet that we have been destroying.

I hope some of you will start planning a trip to Siem Reap in Cambodia and visit Angkor Wat. It will be the adventure of a life time. Like all ancient sites it is eroding and deteriorating more and more with time. There is peace in South East Asia right now and that is a wonderful thing.

I want people to explore traveling and seeing different cultures; experience different ways of living because that is the only way we will see that people are the same everywhere. We are all brothers and sisters in this world. I carry with me all of those amazing people I met on our trip.

I hope you enjoyed this post and my attempts to give you an impression of Angkor Wat. Happy travels!

I’ll buy flowers any day!

I’ll buy flowers any day!

If you are smugly sitting at your desk admiring the giant floral arrangement that your partner has sent you today then this blog is not for you.  If you are drenched in expensive perfume that your honey bought for you then this blog is not for you.  If you are generously passing around the box of expensive truffles, prefaced with, “They are from my Boo Boo”; this blog is not for you.

This edition is for all of us who have dreaded Valentine’s Day since kindergarten.  The days where your mother sent you to school with a handful of Valentines for your class mates and somehow they all ran out before you received one. 

A bizarre contest to see who is loved the most.  I’m not sure if, with age, I became enlightened enough, to see today as a trap for consumers to spend copious amounts of money or if I decided that it was bullshit because of the those who are single, lonely and excluded. 

Either way I do not buy a passage on the Love Boat on this day. 

I will admit that there was a time where I wanted a seat on that boat but I was young and insecure.  Now I know the only person that really needs to love me is me.  I should be sending myself flowers today because I am deserving.  I’m suddenly hijacking my own blog.  Interesting. 

Anyway, why would my partner have to prove he loves me on this particular day with a gift?

We have Christmas for that. 

Here is what history says about the beginnings of Valentine’s Day.

“To begin the festival, members of the Luperci, an order of Roman priests, would gather at a sacred cave where the infants Romulus and Remus, the founders of Rome, were believed to have been cared for by a she-wolf or lupa. The priests would sacrifice a goat, for fertility, and a dog, for purification. They would then strip the goat’s hide into strips, dip them into the sacrificial blood and take to the streets, gently slapping both women and crop fields with the goat hide. Far from being fearful, Roman women welcomed the touch of the hides because it was believed to make them more fertile in the coming year. Later in the day, according to legend, all the young women in the city would place their names in a big urn. The city’s bachelors would each choose a name and become paired for the year with his chosen woman. These matches often ended in marriage.”  The History Channel.

Can’t get more romantic than that.  Well, at least things have changed over the last thousand years or so.  I guess I would prefer flowers and a card to a skinned goat hide.

I don’t want to sound too preachy or self-affirming here but I just don’t want any man or woman to feel crappy today because they are not getting a Valentine.

One year I actually made my partner feel guilty for not buying into this tradition.  I saw other women in my circle receiving  jewellery and gifts and I admit that I was feeling jealous of the attention they were getting.  I’ve got to be honest, it was not my best reflection. 

The following year, while he was on the road, he called me on Valentine’s Day and asked me to look in my “Donnie and Marie” album carrying case, where he had stashed a card and a bag of cinnamon hearts.   I was stunned and felt weirdly guilty.  I immediately ripped open that bag of hearts and bit into one… cracking a root canal tooth in half.

After an emergency dental trip, where I lost that tooth completely, it stands as a hilarious reminder to me that I don’t need a symbol of love in my life…and Valentine’s Day is dangerous…. there was a massacre you know.

If I want something for myself then I buy it and it makes things so much less stressful. 

And it’s always been too much pressure on the designated “giver” and “receiver”.

So, hold your head high on this day of hearts and flowers and know that you are loved no matter what. 

It’s also cheaper to go out and buy yourself flowers and chocolates tomorrow! 

And for those of you that love to express your love with hearts and flowers today then Happy Valentines Day. I’m giving my Alaskan Malamute steak and my parrot some cashews so I guess I am celebrating my love and appreciation to my furry and feathered family.

I Spy With My Googly Eye

I Spy With My Googly Eye

I’ve had a love/hate relationship with glasses my entire life.  When I was three years old my parents noticed my left eye was turning in.  They also noticed I couldn’t see a kitty that was across the road from my house.  In those days treatment for a lazy eye was in the experimental phase.  I was fortunate in that my parents found a top eye surgeon who was researching this affliction at Sick Children’s Hospital.  I remember going for yearly visits at the hospital and he was a, soft spoken, kind man, whose medical flashlight was in the shape of a red dog.  The light came out of its smiling mouth.  I loved that flashlight. 

So, the prognosis was definitely a “lazy eye” and the treatment, although making sense, could have been found in the dungeons of The Tower of London alongside the “merry widow”.

It was the practice of forcing the patient to wear an unsightly patch over one eye… and in my case… for seven long, cootie filled, years.  When I was three I had little tiny blue cats- eye glasses which my mother proceeded to tape up.  The thought was, by covering up the stronger eye, it would force the weaker one to straighten itself out and become functional.  My mother’s choice of using white surgical tape on one half of my glasses was questionable. 

It was my clinical freak stamp that shaped my early years ensuring that I would most definitely be treated like a leper.  I remember hearing the kids in kindergarten whispering … “she’s a cripple”.    I was actually hyper active, at that age, and constantly running through the school yard occasionally running into a pole or a wall.    After a while the kids in my neighborhood just got used to me wearing a patch and ignored it…. Then we moved.

When I was six we moved from the city to the suburbs and into a big new house.  My patch and I had to make new friends and it wasn’t going to be easy.  Our house was on a new street and there were other houses still being built.  I remember a lot of giant mounds of dirt to play on and only one other completed house across the road from us.  It was the summer and my little sister and I played around our house by ourselves.  On this particular day I had grabbed a couple of towels and tied them around our necks so we could be Batman and Robyn.  I was Batman and decided to climb up the drain pipe on the side of our garage door.  Robyn kept a lookout on the driveway.   As I scaled up the pipe; a spider monkey with one eye, I lost my grip and fell like an over ripe apple off a tree and splatted on the driveway.  Robyn ran into the house yelling for my mother.  My mother came peeling out of the house to find me lying face down.  My glasses had broken, my nose was bleeding and my eyebrow was cut.   She scooped up her super hero and ran into the house.  I remember screaming when I saw all the blood as she tried to get things under control in our bathroom.  My mom realized she had to get me to the hospital so handing me my towel bat cape and, grabbing my sister, we piled into the front seat of her car.  I don’t remember much of the hospital visit other than it hurt like hell and I left with four stitches in my eyebrow and a sucker. 

I was to start school a week later.  My first week in my new school I had my replacement cats- eye glasses, my surgical patch, and one evil slanted black stitched Frankenstein eyebrow. 

The other children were literally cowering in the corners of the room when I entered.   I terrified them.

I eventually won over a couple of girls because I played the pity card.  I let them be Annie Sullivan to my Helen Keller.  They loved feeling like they were helping out someone who was less fortunate and way less attractive than themselves. 

I also managed to make friends with the little girl across the road who, on our first meeting blurted out, “What’s wrong with you”, and then never mentioned it again. 

Other than hearing things like “Wow that kid got hit with a snowball in the eye” in the winter I someone managed to survive my pirate years.

My last trip to my eye specialist, Dr. Crawford, was when I turned fifteen.  He only specialized in children with eye problems and I had out grown him.   I remember sitting across from him as he told me I didn’t need to wear glasses anymore or at least until I got old.  My eye had straightened out and the patch was long gone.  Up until that point in life, my sister had always called me “four eyes”.   I honestly didn’t know who I would be without my glasses.  I cried with gratitude and also for the loss of the Dr. I had known since I was three.  I have never forgotten him because he finally gave me equal footing when I entered High School and that is huge.

I put my glasses in a drawer at home and did not look back.  I didn’t anticipate the naked feeling I would have without them and eventually realized that they had actually become a security blanket for me, so that was weird, but it did not make me want to ever wear them again.

Cut to 30 years later and my long-time boyfriend sat across from me in a dimly lit restaurant.  “Pass the salt… googly eye.” 

That’s right, my left eye had started to wear out and was turning in again especially in bad lighting or after a couple of glasses of Pinot.  I had gotten old.  Dr. Crawford warned me it would happen one day but it seemed like only yesterday.  Luckily for me, glasses have become extremely chic and fashionable and there is no longer a stigma attached to wearing them.   You can spend as much money as you want on your perfect frames.  Designer frames are like art on your face and you can also find some really great cheap readers.   No longer are glasses just for correcting your eyes.  They have become accessories.  I finally have my security blanket back! I’ve actually got two…one pair for reading and one pair for driving. I never dreamed that young people would buy fake glasses just for fashion. Hilarious.

Times change and perceptions have changed towards people with glasses… wearing an eye patch?… not so much.    If I had to do it all over again I would have demanded to wear a black patch and changed my name to something Piratey… like Blonde Beard… on second thought… that is waaaaay too accurate these days. 

Arrrrr matey.   

Regrets, I’ve had a few…

Regrets, I’ve had a few…

If you think it’s too late for you to try something you have always dreamed of doing, but have held back because you are afraid, or you have looked for reasons not to take the leap; then read on.

If you have procrastinated and allowed that evil voice in your head to spin scenarios of your failure then read on.  Trust me; no one cares if you try something and it doesn’t work out.  You are the only one who will obsess over it.  I think our egos are so precious that we sometimes believe the world will stop if we try something and it doesn’t work out.  Have you ever worn an outfit to a party that you came to regret?  I once wore a one-piece, button up, silver pant suit, with a belted waist, which I embellished with a multiple chained necklace, giant silver heart shaped earrings and…. finishing off this spectacular look…  a pair of bright blue ankle boots.  I remember walking past a mirror and catching my reflection and thinking…. WTF!… I’m a chubby astronaut in a silver onesie, boarding the space shuttle, dripping in jewellery and Batman booties.  I was horrified. I thought about it for days and days and didn’t want to see anyone from that party ever again.  When I finally brought it up to some of my pals they said they couldn’t remember my outfit and the others said all they could remember was laughing with me that night.  I had ruined my whole experience by thinking everyone was talking about me and my horrible fashion faux pas.  No one was talking about me but me. 

Have you ever seen the Maysles brother’s documentary Grey Gardens?  If you haven’t you really should.  It focuses on the two Edith Beales.  Big Edie and Little Edie, who were Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis’ Aunt and 1st cousin.  They lived in an estate called “Grey Gardens” for years as it crumbled and went to ruins around them.  Little Edie had always wanted to be a star on Broadway and, she had some opportunities, but she stayed with her overly needy and demanding mother Edith instead.  She always talked about how she could have had a life if she’d only stayed in New York and not given in to her mother.  The movie was a success and the focus it brought on them caused Jacqueline to step up and have the house renovated for her relatives.  When Big Edie passed away in 1977, Little Edie was 60. 

And, like I said, it’s never too late.  Little Edie took her cabaret act on the road after her mother’s passing.  She finally achieved the success she craved her entire life.  She performed songs like “tea for two”, along with some of her original songs, accented by her very original dance moves.  People loved her and supported her.  I think they were rooting for her because her dreams finally came to fruition.  She took the chance and believed in herself.  She passed away in 2002 and I really wish I’d been able to see her perform. 

It is never too late.

I have had many a whacky idea that I did not succeed in launching.  Millions of them actually.

Sometimes, though, you can try something and even if it doesn’t succeed, it gives you what you need at the time.  Not all successes are measured in financial terms.  You are not just your work title.  Success can simply be allowing the world to see the person you aspire to be. 

If you want to start a band in your forties, then do it.  If you want to paint and adorn your house with your originals; do it.  If you want to take singing lessons so you don’t crack the plaster; do it.  If you want to take tap lessons so you can do that Shirley Temple dance on the stairs…. Don’t do that one…. brings to mind Bette Davis in Whatever Happened to Baby Jane. 

Part of becoming who you really want to be is referring to yourself in those terms.  If you are an artist in your spare time then refer to yourself as an artist.  If dabble in music then call yourself a musician.  If you think it’s pretentious it’s OK to be pretentious.  If you label yourself something then people will begin to accept that label which will give you more confidence to earn that label.  I hope this makes sense. 

I know my beautiful mom regretted not staying in a successful career once she married my father.  She worked for Elizabeth Arden at the makeup counter and then became a model for them.  She was a buyer in New York and was eventually asked to be on a new medium called television.  She said no because my father didn’t want her to work.  He wanted her to make sure their home was spotless and that dinner was on the table when he got home.  She often talked about those early days where she was appreciated and respected in the work force.  She had opportunities and she was sought after and she walked away.

She said she had no choice in her decision.  That’s the way things were.

I hope you all take a chance and don’t end up with the regrets my mom had.  Even if you take baby steps it’s OK.  Personally, I say jump in and see what happens.  You can’t wait for someone to make it happen for you because you have to do that on your own.  You can only really fail at something you didn’t even try.  I will support you!

I dedicate this blog to my mom who sacrificed her dreams. 

Some applause for mentalpause

Some applause for mentalpause

My friend, Kay, asked for my thoughts on menopause. Here’s the thing. I remember when I got my first period. I milked it for all it was worth because my friends Cathy and Susan had not. I spent the day in bed surrounded by magazines ,wearing a pad the size of a loaf of bread, preaching to the girls how different I suddenly felt. I was a woman. It was all bullshit. I had cramps and it was a horrible feeling of dread; not one of victory. I totally hated it. I hated the fact that my parents knew. I felt disgusting. I had to endure, each month, like every other woman on the planet, the spotting, the leakage and the nausea that goes hand and hand with cramps. The mood swings are another barrel of laughs altogether. My mother coming into my room in the morning on the weekends and trying to haul my arse out of bed by singing “Good Morning, good morning, you slept the whole night through, good morning good morning to you”… while doing the Charleston… sent me into fits of rage, followed by complete ruin; balling my eyes out, surrounded by snot rags on the bed… devastation.

At school we had to suffer the indignation of boys constantly saying “What are you on your period?” Most of the time, I was not and simply thought they were the most irritating morons on the planet, however, occasionally they were spot on the money… or the undies, actually. I cannot even go into the anger I felt. They would never have to know the headaches and suffering that went along with “being a woman.”

I was one of those who went into early menopause. In my early 40’s the well started to dry up. My periods were becoming non existent but no less painful. I would have the symptoms of cramps and nausea but not relief. I remember thinking if only I could just get this over with. Then, one day, I experienced a royal flush, so to speak. It was enhanced by one glass of red wine. I was out having dinner with some friends and, after finishing my first glass, one of my pals said I looked like a freshly sliced tomato. I laughed and went to the ladies room where I saw an alien creature in the mirror. My face had turned into a bright red Rorschach test. WTF was happening?

That night, while sleeping, someone turned on the furnace in my stomach to a level that could have toasted marshmallow’s. My partner was confused by my kicking off all the covers in the dead of winter in Toronto. He was swearing as I quickly ninja’d my body into striking position, hovering over his face and hissing, “I’m boiling hot. Get off my back!” A few minutes later my teeth are rattling, like I’ve been locked in a meat locker, ripping the covers off of him to cocoon myself again for a few minutes and then… repeat. Good times.

This continued for years and years and still continues to this day. I, however, consider myself lucky. I remember working with someone who was going through “the change” who became forgetful and confused and was always sweating. I have had moments where, under incredible stress, my symptoms have caused me to be overheating like a car pulled off on the side of the road, but for the most part, I’ve been lucky. I was surprised when I was working on the series “Designated Survivor” when the Production Manager and Producer got together and bought me a hand held spritzer bottle that had an electric fan on it. A total life saver for me. Also an indication that my efforts to conceal my dilemma had failed catastrophically. I was also not a designated survivor on that show… another story.

So, I have to weigh the good and the bad. If I had to go back and endure having a period every month, as opposed to heating a room with my presence? I choose the latter. I’m sure there are a lot of women who would disagree with me but I feel a sense of freedom in not always having to carry tampons and I am secretly flattered when someone asks me if I have any. It’s almost like getting asked for ID when you are going into a club, but even better, because they are not required to ask you for a tampon.

For those of you, who have yet to experience the joys of mentalpause, because, at times you will feel completely mental especially after enduring the soaked PJ’s and the crying binges and the forgetfulness and the … did I mention the sugar cravings and eating binges??? OK, so there are a few details that I’ve skipped over, but it is all survivable, and you will come out the other end feeling accomplished and, like a warrior returning from battle, VICTORIOUS! At least I plan on feeling that way once I am able to sleep all through the night and guzzle back a bottle of good red wine.


Give me a plucking break

Give me a plucking break

I’ve always had fine hair but I used to have a lot of it.  It seems to be getting finer as I get older.  I have been praying that I will be able to grow my hair long again and my prayers were answered yesterday when I found a 3 inch long hair… growing out of the middle of my forehead and another 2 incher growing out of my chin.  Not quite the victory I’d hoped for.

The texture, like a monofilament fishing line, was capable of disappearing from the naked eye.  How could this have happened without my noticing… unless it sprouted overnight like one of those time lapse videos of plants growing.    

I remember once I was talking to my Aunty and she had an eyelash on her cheek so I reached up to remove it only to find that it was attached.  Awkward. It must be a hormonal thing.   Woman have to suffer with the indignity of facial hair.  Men can have a full grey beard and it’s distinguished.  If a woman has the same then she needs to join the circus side show.  My best friend in high school told me her mom bought her some moustache bleach for her when she was 15.  Having white blonde hair around that time, I didn’t understand what the big deal was, but she said if she didn’t dye it she’d look like Burt Reynolds. 

I noticed a collection of light hair on my upper lip a couple of years ago.  I bought a laser hair treatment from Groupon and when I went to the salon to have the procedure they told me it doesn’t work on fair hair.  They reimbursed me and my peach fuzz encased lips spewed some choice curse words because they should tell the customer to purchase the treatment ONLY if they are dark haired. 

Having no other choice, I ran out to the drugstore and bought some wax strips and proceeded to cover my face like a mummy and then tear them all off.   If torture was legal…  I’d recommend this method. 

Afterwards I applied that blue oil to remove the sticky stuff and then a collagen facial mask to take the red out.    

I like some of the beauty oils on the market and I’m currently using my friend Beth Bovaird’s new line called Knockout Colours.  She is in the process of organizing her distribution but, since I’m a friend, I have always had access to the dreamy scented potions.   I love the way they make my skin feel and how absorbent they are. 

Here are some products that I really love. 

IT Cosmetics.  The CC Creams are perfect for my skin.  They are dewy and not greasy.  They also cover but don’t look heavy.  When I was younger, a matte makeup worked fine, but now I need something that has a glow about it without looking sweaty. 

I have been dealing with the Samsonites I’ve got packed under my eyes for a couple of years and always looking for a product to reduce them.  There is the Preparation H method, but I don’t know if it actually has worked for me, and I’m not too keen on putting something on my face that you are supposed to shove up your ass. 

After buying many different brands, that didn’t work, I finally came across Dr. Brandt’s “No More Baggage”.  You can get it at Sephora.  It’s not cheap but it actually works in my opinion.  I finally notice a difference after using it for a few weeks. 

I still haven’t found anything other than tweezers and tape to keep my face from becoming a human-hair-pin-cushion but I’m not giving up.  There must be some sort of hair inhibiter on the planet somewhere.  I guess we are more concerned with getting products to make hair grow;  not prevent it from growing.  I guess I could always embrace the “Cousin It” look down the road. 

Flower Power Head

Flower Power Head

I have a few pictures of my mom from the 1940’s where she had a perfectly placed large white Lily in her hair like Billy Holiday.  It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. 

A few years back I was in the process of making a solo record called Gorilla Girl and I needed a picture for the cover.  I wanted to somehow recreate that glamour with flowers and decided I wanted an entire garden on my head.   A girl can dream.   I wasn’t sure how to accomplish this but I was determined to see my vision come true. I knew that my hair wouldn’t be able to hold all the flowers so I bought a round Styrofoam ball at the dollar store.  It was about the same size as my head. 

I made an appointment at Taz Hair, in Yorkville, in Toronto.  My amazing colourist, Norm Wright, recommended a stylist by the name of Duyen Huynh and I presented her with the ball and a bag of flowers.  She pondered the ball and I talked about my idea.

This is what we came up with.   She took the ball and shaved the bottom off so it sat flat on my head and drilled a hole up through the middle and pulled my hair up through the hole.  She then spread my hair over and around the ball.   She took the flowers and pushed the 1 ½ inch stems into the Styrofoam until they felt secure.  She added some bobby pins around the base of the ball to make it hold in place. The scale of my head was massive when she finished.  Her artistry in placement and added touches were spectacular. It was so amazing I cried.  Unfortunately I couldn’t fit my head in my car so my photographer, Amanda Schenk, had to drive us both to the studio as I lay reclined in the passenger seat.  
I couldn’t be happier with the photos that were taken that day and the cover of the CD. Aaaaaaaand, I was also wearing a Gorilla suit. It seemed like a good idea at the time. The fab artwork was done by Roan Bateman.

The CD was produced by Ron Sexsmith!!! How lucky am I? One of my favorite song writers in the Universe. A genius with the voice of an absolute angel. His brilliant production of my CD made me sound so much better than I am.. Sorry, I got lost there…. I’m not promoting the CD. I’m promoting the hair!!

I ended up perfecting the flower technique on a smaller scale and have copied that style for more than a few New Years Eve’s… even adorning the flowers with Christmas lights.  I cut my hair last year so I can’t create this look at the moment. . I hope I’ve inspired someone to try this… and if you do, please send me a pic.

Over and out.

Neck Transplant

Neck Transplant

I was filming my parrot, Lord Blimey Pickles, on my shoulder, while he was whispering “give me a kiss”, like a pervert making an obscene phone call, and I saw something even more horrifying…my neck!  I honestly had no idea that it has been quietly turning into some sort of alien, artery infested, wrinkle snake… more commonly referred to as a turkey neck.    I googled neck transplants.  I actually found out that there is a man who had one in Poland.  He had cancer of the voice box and giving him the new neck cured him.  I’m thinking I may not qualify for the same procedure.  Oddly enough there are Doctor’s in China who are working on performing head transplants.  I’ll keep that one in my back pocket for the future.  It’s a fact that we can maintain our faces and body’s but the neck has a path of destruction like no other.  I remember Bea Arthur’s character in Maude wearing high collared dresses and scarves in every single episode and now I get it.    I’m not one for wearing things around my neck.  I wish I was blessed with one of those long, swan, ballerina necks but I have the…  a couple of inches above the shoulders model.  I came up with a solution for New Year’s Eve and that was a feather collar.  I removed some feathers from a hat from the ’80’s that I no longer wore. I tried it on one day and my head seems to have shrunk because it was sitting too low….covering my eyes to be exact.   I looked like someone from an ancient tribe called the Crow People that emerged from the jungles in the 1990’s…but I’m getting side tracked. The feathers all came off on a seam, which was great, and so I used them as a collar.  I had some feather scrunchies that I bought at Value Village on Halloween and I used them as cuffs.  I also wore one of my favorite things; a 1920’s inspired feather head band that I found in a vintage shop in New York City.   Some of my favorite outfits have been accessorized with two things that I love… feathers and flowers.  I have a lot to say about flowers and I will do that in a future post. My feather-collar inspired outfit needs to be photographed because almost everything from New Year’s Eve is blurry. Go figure. I have, however, posted a photo from the Memory Ball that I attend every year, for Alzheimer’s research, and I am wearing the feather head band. My crystal necklace belonged to my mom and my earrings were made by Lauren Martin who works in the film business in Winnipeg. I’m also wearing a black faux fur stole that I bought at Winners.

Now I’m off to pickup a vintage dresser I won at an auction. I have no idea how I’m going to fit it in my bedroom but I will get it in there, even if my partner and I have to sleep in one of the drawers.