Christmastime in the Emerald City

{February 21, 2008}   BUNNIES!!!!!!!!

It’s motherfucking BUNNY TIME!!! I love my bunnies. I heart my bunnies. I adore my bunnies so much that I gave up my bedroom in my teeny weeny apartment and converted it into a room just for the bunnies. I stripped the tiles from the floor because they would chew them up and that’s bad for them. I peeled the shitty paint from the walls and scrubbed off the horrifically multicoloured acrylic job underneath that was starting to show through as the bunnies chewed at the edges of the baseboards. My Awesome Aunt and I patched up all the holes the bunnies made – and that I made trying vainly to even out the walls. I painted it a nice green, with white trimming, and got some raw pine slats to nail up cottage style about half way up all around the room (my dad helped with a lot of that, I’m not very good with a saw). Safe chewing now, all the wood is untreated and chemical free! There are no wires, no electrical outlets, no phone jacks, nothing. The floor is painted a soft brown and there are chewy toys and hay everywhere! It’s bunny land!!!

On a side note, I am short a few animals now. I got rid of my cats. I had to. Come on people, I had a bit of an unexpected bunny explosion and I had to deal with it. Apparently they can copulate through cage-dividers, hence more bunnies than I had anticipated. And you just can’t have seven animals running around a junior one bedroom without going insane. Especially not when two of them are whiny fucking cats who cry at all hours of the night just for attention. Not for lack of food, that was always in supply. They just wanted me to be awake because they were awake. I got cats because they’re supposed to be independent!!! Not on par with infants who don’t yet sleep through the night!!! So it was an easy decision. They will now be taken care of by someone who doesn’t resent them, and I can actually SLEEP! Seriously, my life has improved just by having a full nights sleep for the first time in months. Sorry kitties, I got you off the streets, now it’s someone else’s turn.

I also had to give up one of my bunnies, which was very difficult but necessary. You see, four of the five bunnies are family. The other was outcasted. Not allowed to play, not allowed to bond, not allowed to do anything except mope around away from all the other bunnies. If he went near their cages, he would get scratched or bitten. Poor little guy was becoming very depressed, and it wasn’t fair. So I called up a very sweet coworker who adores bunnies and all things cuddly, and who had recently lost her own big eared little friend to the great garden patch in the sky. I asked if she would be interested in giving him a new home. She thought about it and decided yes, she was ready for another bunny. So he now lives with her and is doing wonderfully! I still have visitation rights, natch, and he is adjusting perfectly. If I really love my bunnies, I have to do what’s best for them, right? Right.

Here is a short tribute to the not late but still absent Darth Vader. Posing for an emo album cover, apparently.

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Dark and mopey on the outside, super soft and cuddly and easily beat-up-able on the inside. 

So! Carrying on. Now that things are all adjusted and good, I thought it would be a good time to take some pictures and show the world my awesome house of bunnies! While looking around the room just after it’s completion, I decided that I want a picture of each rabbit over each respective cage with a brief bio for visitors. And for my own amusement, of course. And since many of you live far, far away and may never have the chance to visit said land-of-the-rabbits, I decided to sketch out the first drafts and general ideas here.


First, some pictures of the room itself to give you a general idea:

Before and after!

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Woo improvement! And look at all the room they have!


This is their litter box corner! Complete with random chunks of wood for chewing, and a big ole basket of pine shavings for easy refills.


Hannibal is supremely happy to no longer be my coffee table. And that chair to the left is basically one giant chew toy. I don’t know if you can tell, because the wood behind is the same colour as the chairs innards, but there is a giant chunk missing out of the top of it. This is what happens when I get mad and don’t have anyone around to say PUT DOWN THE SAW!!! Yeah. Well, like I said, it’s been destroyed by rabbits already, it’s not like I damaged something I cared about. So it’s their’s now.


Free! Out in the open! Well, not yet, it’s not their turn to be out, but at least they’re not under a desk anymore! Okay, it was a table, not an actual desk. It’s not like they were confined or anything, it was just a pain in the ass to clean when the door only opened enough for them to get in and out, but not for me to reach in . Now I can move the cage around to clean without having to lift furniture! Sanitary!

Individual bios now, woohoo!


This is Finnegan Cabbage Esquire. He’s the head bunny ’round these here parts. First bunny, first love. Very well socialized and a very strong personality. He’ll come up to you if he feels like it, and ignore you if he feels like it. Let him do his thing, and you’ll get along fine. Piss him off, and he’ll stamp his feet, ignore you for days, or give you a nip. He won’t do much damage though, mostly he just headbutts your hand away if he doesn’t want attention, or pick your hand up with his mouth and fling it away. He’ll also fling his food dish around when in his dramatic I’m-not-coming-out-of-my-dressing-room-until-I-get-Evian-water-and-not-this-Aquafina-shit!!! mode. He’s a Netherlands Dwarf and very energetic. He’s responsible for most of the damage to the walls in the apartment.


This is Sunshine, named so because she doesn’t look very sunny. I’m down with the irony. She’s a very sweet girl, and very timid. Really not a fan of being picked up, but every now and then she’ll come up and try to climb your leg or give you kisses on your arms when you’re not looking. She can be noisy when she’s excited or stressed out, making these strange screechy noises. She doesn’t bite, unless you count floor tiles, which she will chew to her hearts content. Also, she seems to think she’s constantly pregnant. This means ongoing nesting behaviour, jumping in the litter box and pushing the shavings around, bouncing back on forth on her front legs to pat it down and starting all over again. She’ll do this to couch cushions, blankets, your face, anything. She’s a mini rex, a breed known for their super soft velvety fur. She and Finnegan fell instantly in love, and share a cage. They can’t be seperated for very long or they get depressed, especially her. She’s also the biggest of all the bunnies, nearly twice as big as Finnegan (he being a dwarf, her being a mini, the next size up). He likes the fat-bottomed girls, methinks.

Here they are in love:


They spend the majority of the day licking each others faces.

On to the babies! Sunshine had six babies, only two of which survived, Hannibal and Brutus. This is what they used to look like:

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Gah! So precious and gross at the same time! They used to make little squawky noises and wobble around on their useless little legs. They grew so fast though – within two weeks they had grown a teeny bit of fine fur like peach fuzz, and their eyes opened. Watching them trying to hop and just falling over was hilariously cute. Anyways, that’s Brutus on the left, Hannibal on the right. You can tell Brutus apart really easily because of the pink strip up his head. That turned into the white mohawk he still has, just like his daddy, while Hannibal is a solid brown.

Now six and a half months old, these twins are all grown up and as different as night and day. Let’s start with Brutus!


A little traumatized by living with his psychotic brother before being removed for his own safety, Brutus is still coming out of his shell. He’s timid, like his mom, and doesn’t care for unexpected petting or handling. He’s becoming friendlier, though, and when he is in the mood for human contact, he’ll rub his nose into the palm of your hand or put his paws on your shoulder. He has his mothers weight and shyness, but physically looks almost identical to his dad. The easiest way to tell them apart is that Finnegan has more white around his head and shoulders, and is the only bunny to have a lovestruck mate at his heels at all times. Brutus doesn’t seem to get along very well with others, and it may require some extra effort to socialize him. He’s still very much an enigma and hasn’t really bonded with either myself or the rest of his clan.

I’m sure he’ll be fine. After all, I managed to tame this little monster:


That’s right. Hannibal. You all remember him and the damage he did to my fingers and various limbs. He got a good chunk out of my lip and nose once too, and my leg is still scarred up. But he’s gotten better! I’ve been working on the whole social thing with him. Sure, he still bites on occasion, that’s just his homicidal nature. But instead of biting with his razor sharp teeth and tearing flesh, he bites with his jaws, leaving only a bruise. Yes, rabbits can choose how they injure you. And overall he is far less malicious. He usually only bites when I’m doing something he doesn’t like, such  trimming his nails or moving too fast when reaching into his cage to fetch his upturned food dish. Gone is the crazy little monster who would fly up off the floor and attack anything that moved:


He’s much tamer. I can even do the bunny trance on him more easily than with any of the other bunnies. For those not in the know, this involves cradling the bunny on his back and stroking his nose slowly until his eyes half-close and his head starts to fall back. He’ll be completely hypnotized with his little paws sticking straight up in the air, and he’ll usually stay that way for quite some time until you lift him right side up again or something startles him. It’s very useful when you have to trim nails or check their teeth and would rather not be injured. That’s right, I tamed the monster. Look at him now:


Still got that crazy look in his eyes, but he’s lounging, relaxed. See the paw splayed out in front there? He’s chilling, not all wound up ready to pounce. Sometimes he’ll even spread all the way out on his tummy with his two legs sticking out behind him like chicken drumsticks. That means super relaxed bunny. And when he doesn’t think anybody is looking he’ll even go up to mom’s cage and give her a kiss! That’s right. Super crazy psycho bunny has some lovey dovey tendencies deep down.



Well, that’s all for now folks. Thanks for indulging me on one of my rare sappy moments. I’m sure next week I’ll be all pissed off at something else while I try to get a phone installed in my apartment, then a decent smoke alarm, then a doorbell, then a proper shower head holder, all the while continuing to battle the constant idiocy of the world around me. But for now, I’ve finished a major project, my quality of life has gone up now that I have the majority of my apartment to myself again (Sleep! Oh precious sleep! And no fur on everything! And I can buy a new futon and not have it chewed to shreds!)

All is well in bunny land!



{February 14, 2008}   Happy Valamatimes, Suckers!!!

I hate Valentines Day. I think it’s stupid. Some random saint or another who I’m pretty sure was a little too down with the children somehow conjures up five dollar cards that smart people throw away after a week and idiots keep in a box for the rest of their lives? No thanks. Flowers? Cute, I guess, but they’re going to die. Kind of a waste of money. Fancy dinner? I’m always up for that, but why today? It’s fucking Thursday! And have you looked outside?!?


Really?! You want me to go out in that?!? You want me to even consider stepping out the door, or asking some guy to step out of his door to come see me?! No. Fucking. Way. Even if I wasn’t single, I wouldn’t be going outside. I’d be all “Yeah, you’re totally sexy too, dude, let’s hook up and get naked as soon as it’s not FORTY DEGRESS BELOW FUCKING FREEZING!!!” Jesus Christ!

Okay, so the truth is that while I am all “blargh!” about the stupid sappy shit, it does occasionally get to me that I’m not seeing anyone. Not that I want to be tied down, but never? Really? Sure I’ve got fellows here and there, but I can’t say I’ve ‘dated’ anybody in, well, just about forever. What the hell?! Seriously?! I’m totally sexy and fantasy worthy, but not actually girlfriend-status-worthy? Ugh! Fuck that, and fuck Valentines day.

So again, in my ongoing effort to kick the shit out of my pissy moods, I’m going to focus on the super awesome things about being a Bachellorette. I’m not going to focus on the fact that unlike the ideal Bachellorette state, I haven’t gotten any since before fucking Christmas!

And yeah, really, it’s just another excuse to post a shit-load of pictures because I’m an exhibitionist like that. So enjoy!

My Bachellorette life! Woot! My Bachellorette Pad (Pad as in apartment, not Maxi. Gross.):


There is an actual bedroom, but it’s being renovated. And because I live with me and the critters and nobody else, I can take as damn long as I like and paint it whatever colour I like. Observe:

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Sure, the landlords might not like me ripping out tiles and nailing planks of wood halfway up the wall, but my place isn’t exactly up to code anyways. So they can just bite me. Seriously, I had my dad come in to change my light fixtures. It wasn’t just a matter of screwing a few bolts in the wall, he had to do some nasty rewiring shit that would most certainly have made me cry just looking at it. On the plus side, I now have lights that look like boobies!


And I have two of them! So let’s see what else is awesome about living the bach-style.


I can kick my smelly feet up and watch the hockey game while smoking weed and staring into my kitchen, ignoring the dirty dishes and farting to myself. And then I can turn to nobody in particular and say “God, keep it to yourself once in a while, can’t you?” and laugh out loud with nobody around to think I’m a nut job. Sweet! And yes, my coffee table is a large dog cage containing a crazed rabbit. Sort of like fish-tank platform boots, only a bit more practical. Oh, and I can yell at the tv when dumb commercials come on and nobody is around to disagree with me.

Speaking of adverts, I assume you’ve all seen those shitty commercials for women’s razors that are all “Ooh, you won’t need to steal your boyfriends razor anymore!” Fuck that shit. Those razors still suck. I don’t know why it’s so fucking hard to just take a Gillette Mach 3 Turbo or whatever it is and just put a pink handle on it. For some reason they’re all ‘specially designed for your curves’ and all that shit, like I’m shaving my ass or something. I can assure I am not. I’m shaving my legs and I want a damn good razor. And I don’t have to steal my boyfriends razor, I can just get my own damn razor – there’s no male around to say “That one’s mine! It must be, it’s not pink!” Mine! All mine! No sharing!


And I wear men’s deoderant too, you all know that. But that’s about the extent of manly things in my bathroom. I have TONS of girly things! And they take up the WHOOOLLLLE bathroom. All the shelves. Observe:


That’s right! No room for your Aqua-whatever the hell. Get that shit out of my girly place, my Tampax is way more important. So is my hairdryer, my makeup, my lotion, and my girly toy cleverly hidden behind the mousse and vaseline (not related to each other in any way.)

What else is in my bathroom? My underwear! On the floor, which is right where it belongs!


And yeah, I forgot to close the bathroom door, which means the rabbits got into unfamiliar territory and had to to leave pellets around to stake their claim. Whatever. Sweep, sweep, gone, like cleaning up macaroni bits that you’ve spilled or whatever. Not like cat shit…cat shit is the worst. And yes, those are the ones I was wearing when I answered that meme that asked me what colour panties I was wearing. Do I see anything wrong with showing my panties to the world? No. It’s just a pile of fabric, jeez.

Mmmkay, what else?

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I don’t have to shop for anyone but myself! Look at that empty fridge! Brita? Empty. Beer? Empty. Pizza box? Empty. Box-of-8 of yogurt? Empty. When did I get around to cleaning it? Whenever I damn well felt like it. And look at my bookshelf! It’s alphabetized. I can’t sleep unless it’s alphabetized. I’m a little more lenient with the cd’s, but not the books. Nobody moves my books around, lest you end up in the book of crime scene photos on the left there. Don’t touch my shiznat!

I can make myself an uber delicious veggie burger for dinner without having someone there to say “veggie burger, ew, that’s not the same” and then get into an argument, because yes-it-fucking-is. It’s yummy, it’s protein and it fills me up without making my stomach go “Ugh!” or having to explain to the bunnies they’re different from cows even though some people think rabbits are food. And even if said person agrees with me, I don’t want to share! My seven dollar box of burgers, mine!

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Tasty tasty faux-meat! MMMMMM!!!!!! Mine, all mine!!!! Mahahahahahaha!!!!

Or, if I don’t feel like cooking, I can have this for dinner:


That’s right! Mmmmmm. You boys just WISH you lived with me! Too fucking bad, suckers, those Doritos are MINE.

And best of all, when I go out with the ladies, I always hear them calling to say “I’m going to be home a bit later, okay? Okay, bye!” Not that the ladies have overbearing boyfriends or anything. They’re quite lovely in fact. I just don’t want to have to call anyone. That’s why I moved out on my own. Because you know what? Sometimes I don’t know what time I’ll be home, okay? I’ll be home eventually, I’ve got animals to feed. But hey, if I had someone living with me to feed them, who knows how long I’d stay out? I might just stay out all night with Sassy Talea on a night such as this:

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 Awesome!!! So all you Valentiners can keep your flowers and fuzzy pink heart boxes of Russel-Stover crap. It’s a pretty simple equation.

  = cute, sweet, but BORING!!!

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So maybe you’re getting laid tonight and I’m not. Fine. But I’m eating a juicy chunk of deliciousness that leaves a better aftertaste. SO THERE!!!

Mmmmm, Valentines burger.

Tomorrow, stay tuned for Behind-the-Music with the bunnies! Sid Vicious vs. Conner Oberst! Exciting times! Same bat time, same bat channel!

Ok, I had planned to do this post a few days ago. I had certainly planned to do this post before the big Super Tuesday hoo-ra. However, as you all know, I do my blogging at work. I consider this to be an accomplishment, what with all the corporate spyware these days. Unfortuantely, there are times when I actually have to do my fucking job, so whatever. You get to read my opinions loud and clear on this glorious Post-Super-Tuesday Extravaganza.

Also, I’m not the type of person to waste any more of my time doing research to back up my opinions. That’s what school is for, and I’m not in it anymore, so you may feel free to simply take my opinion as truth without all the fancy facts and figures.

If you’ve been following the U.S. Election brouhaha at all, you may have guessed that I am about to rant away about Oprah’s full-frontal support of Barack Obama. And I am. I just want to clarify a few things first.

Firstly, I am Canadian, and goddamned proud of it. And that means that I am less emotionally invested in this election than many. Although I heard somewhere – again, no proper research here – that the last election managed to call out fewer voters than that season’s finale of American Idol. Sad commentary my friends. Sad indeed. But at any rate, it’s true: I am Canadian, and don’t particularly care a huge amount about your election. I’m rather impartial. As such, I’m not going to say that I’m all for one politician over another. This brings me to my second point.

When voting, I do not vote based on individual politicians. I happen to be a very left wing person, for all the pros and cons that may bring about. There is a reason for this lack of individual support: party platforms are going to be more consistent than specific politicians. This is because individual politicians are humans. Humans are lying, cheating, thieving bastards prone to fucking up and covering their own asses (except for maybe Gandhi and Mother Theresa, but there haven’t been too many of them lately). We like to elect people into office, dump all the last guy’s fuck-ups on them, and then get pissy and boot them out when they can’t fix it all without breaking some of the promises they fed us to get into office in the first place. I’m not saying they don’t have good intentions to make the world a better place – I’m just saying they’re human. And I dislike humans.

So, moving on. Having been given all this info, I’m sure you can postulate that while I would certainly vote Democrat were I afflicted with an American passport (sorry, I likes my health care), I cannot say whom I would prefer between Barack Obama and Hilary Clinton. I refuse to vote for a singular person. I can’t even give my hypothetical opinion, because I am completely in the dark in regards to their views on various issues.

HOWEVER. I can say this much: if you are going to vote for a particular politician, you should be doing the research into their political stance on the issues that matter to you. Oprah’s motherfucking opinion SHOULD NOT BE ONE OF THEM!!! What the fuck?!?! Since when does owning a massive conglomerate founded on the basis of gathering a bunch of sweater-set wearing housewives together for a daily chit-chat equate to a fucking degree in political sciences? Sure, you’re a ‘people person’, but so was Hitler – he talked people into way worse shit. Not that Oprah is necessarily on par with Hitler, although many a husband may disagree on that point. She does have the minority thing going on (sort of), and I do have to give her credit where due for building up a massive media empire out of next to nothing. Kudos to her. I can’t say much for her book club, but kudos. And yet, the fact remains that all the kudos in the world does not make you an expert on who should be in charge of a sickening amount of global power. BE CAREFUL AMERICA. YOU ARE ONE STEP CLOSER TO VOTING HER INTO OFFICE. DO YOU REALLY WANT A PRESIDENT OPRAH?!?!

I remember the last election and all the media hype thereabouts. I also clearly recall that my favourite band at the time had a little daily blurb on their website about their daily goings-on. Alright, fine, the Goo Goo Dolls, okay? Sure, they’re not Oprah-big, but they’ve had their moments in the sun. What did they have to say about the election? “VOTE!!!,” they said. “My god people, vote!!! These turnouts are horrendous! We’re not going to tell you who to vote for, just make sure you make your voice heard!” True, if you know anything about the band, it’s pretty obvious they’re on the left-wing side of things. They may be all GQ’d up as of late, but they had some pretty impressive mohawks back in the day. Not to mention they paused in the middle of their concert a while back to say “Oh! Yeah, um…sorry about Bush, guys. We really appreciate your patience with all of that. God, what a moron! Anyways, carrying on…” But during the election itself? Not a word! And that’s how it should be! If you want to show support, put a motherfucking sign on your lawn!!! Does the average American get to go on television to try and talk the nation into voting for his or her favourite? No. Why does Oprah?!?!

Don’t even try to pretend I’m wrong about this. You’ve seen Oprah whether you meant to or not. You know her power. You know the flocks of fans that run to the store to pick up whatever book she’s recommended as of late. There are hordes of people who latch onto any Official Oprah Opinion and make it their own. Sure, there are tons of people who may have picked up a Britney Spears opinion and made it their own, but they were about 11 at the time, and they’ve been hopefully disenfranchised with her latest incarceration in the loony bin. Oprah, on the other hand, is a squeaky clean respectable menace to society!!!

People. Are going to vote. For Barack Obama. BECAUSE OPRAH FUCKING SAID SO!!! YOU KNOW IT’S TRUE!!!

Now, again, I don’t necessarily have a problem with Barack Obama. I have little opinion one way or the other. But what is so incredibly wrong with you that you are going to let some television personality who doesn’t know you and your cute fucking manicured poodle from Joe Blow Secret Espionage Drug Dealer tell you who should run your fucking country!?!? And the huge problem is that Oprah fucking knows this!!! Ohhhh, she’s black AND a woman, WELL THEN, she must certainly have an objective view on the whole matter. No, she clearly fucking doesn’t. I have an objective fucking view because I’m not even a fucking voter! I don’t have a say in who wins, so what do I care? I don’t. But you should. You should care enough to do your own goddamned research! 

What the fuck are you doing using your celebrity to push your personal opinion on who should run your fucking country? Especially the U.S.!!! Sure, I may be uber-Canadian, but even I’m well aware that the U.S. is the head world power. It’s true! You’re the new Roman Empire. Which of course means that you’ve got orgies and vomitariums to look forward to, followed by a massive, bloody decline.

Let the president lead the way!

et cetera