Rose's Cantina

In the middle of watching something completely lame last night, Scott got out of the Lazy Boy and ventured outside with his camera. When he eventually returned, his eyes were sparkling. "Look at this shot," he said. "It's the supermoon. Isn't it beautiful?" I barely took my eyes from the flatscreen. I'm not feeling myself these days. Another time, I would have been out there, in the backyard, cheering him on. Marvelling at God's creation. But somehow this year's moon doesn't seem to be as super as some have been in the past. I'm feeling very flat these days and it's not a good sign. It's the first indication that the old black Wallmaster is lurking on the ceiling ready to pounce on my head. Depression is a bitch. I've earned this depression, got the bragging rights and all. Two dead dogs in two months, well, it's just ripped my heart and my bank account apart.  A new puppy is great, but there's n...

I was reading with breath-holding excitement the doings of Lord and Lady Black, which were plastered all over the media this morning, and I thought to myself: "What the hell?" There they stood, he with the tussled grey hair, dressed in country gentleman classic Rosen, she decked out in cotton, silk, baubles worth more than my house, her hair framed in perfect strands of dark copper. What a pair. They were looking for all the world like they were getting ready for a Vanity Fair shoot with their fancy, schmantzy dogs and expensive cars parked strategically at the gate. And the media was lapping it up. Black was being treated like The Good Son, a misunderstood rogue from Upper Canada College who was caught pulling down the pants of a fellow classmate. Poor boy, come here and let mummy take care of you, darling. Come, let me oil your tired feet, massage you maligned buttocks and soothe your aching corns. There was much talk in the media ab...

The key to a successful relationship with a landlord is to pay on time and hope he never darkens your doorstep. Unless the toilet is busted. Because when things get ugly, they go south pretty fast. Our landlord's refusal to open a locked door in our house turned into a teapot tempest yesterday with my normally sane and calm husband basically telling him to fuck off. I could hear the telephone screaming match over American Idol -- it was so loud. All we were asking was that he open the furnace room to allow the Bell technician to splice a couple of cables so that we could get satellite television and forever be rid of Rogers Cable. But Puddy -- we call him that because he looks exactly like Puddy on Seinfeld -- would not hear of it. He and his property manager, Hellion, were in Montreal and couldn't get back to open the door. Bastards! We had given them four days notice to open the door today. Apparently, that was not enough notice. Needless to say, I am up e...

Cabinet Ministers in Canada are acting like a bunch of spoiled kids. Really, they are spoiled fat kids who can't walk from Centre Block to West block. As a result, we the Canadian taxpayers are forced to pay up to $20,000 extra a year in overtime for their drivers to wait on them hand and foot. (Mostly foot!) These lard asses should be forced to wear pedometers and the results should be downloaded into a database which is available on Access to Information. There is no excuse. It is recommended that the average Canadian walk 10,000 steps to ensure good health and a trim figure. Obviously, not many Cabinet Ministers are walking more than a block without assistance. Perhaps their Body Mass Indices should be posted as well.

When I used to make money, I approached tax season with dread. Did I keep that receipt for that $135 lunch at Hy's? Will I have enough gas receipts so the revenuers will believe I actually drive my car? Usually, the tax bill was about $7,000. That's because I got support payments and in the old days, the supportee had to pay tax on support payments leaving the bastard supporter able to write them off. This meant that if he was paying $20,000 in support every year on paper, he was actually paying $12.50. It also meant that if I worked and made a success of myself, I would have to put away $600 a month for taxes. The government changed the law the year after I got divorced and I was told I would have to go to court and spend thousands on lawyers to get my situation re-assessed. Which I couldn't afford. Given the $7,000 tax bills I already had. Screw and tattooed. That's what I got with single motherhood. So by the time tax season came, I was a nervous wreck. ...

Hey fans! Check out my new blogsite: www.finnigandiaries.blogspot.com Only for dogs of legal drinking age.

Good morning, boys and girls. Stephen Harper, here. That's right, Stephen Harper, your prime minister Skyping in from Madison Square Garden where I just woke up in a beer-laden haze from the defeat of my beloved Ottawa Senators. How pleased you must be that I took time out of my busy travel schedule to be with you today. You're welcome! As you know, hockey embodies all the basic core values of this great nation: guts, bravado, trash-talking and above all, fighting. That's why Canadians embrace the national game -- because every good fight can be settled with a solid right hook. When the ref isn't looking. I apply all those principles to governing this great land. I love to tell my caucus about how I sandbagged the Governor-General awhile back just to stay in power. It was a piece of cake! She was a girl, after all. And an immigrant. And a journalist. What did she know? My, how we had a good laugh at caucus over that one. A real knee slapper! I digress. I...