Friday, December 31

day 10256: sold to the vicomte de chagny... thank you sir

Um, so, apparently, one of the fundraising ideas we're tossing around is a date auction. Not sure how comfortable I am to being auctioned off...


someone please bid on me... pretty please with an extra cherry on top...

Thursday, December 30

day 10255: a world of difference

Things I was going to blog about:

~ my sister rocks… she gave me a rope for Christmas and disguised it as a kettle
~ if people (i.e. family) bug you about a certain boy enough times, you will start thinking about it against your own will
~ frustration, ice rinks, Ben Stiller movies and one too many drinks
~ bad, bad me
~ Triscuit knows about Crush (and thinks I should pursue it even though we’ve never seen Crush again since… and probably never will)
~ it’s all about confidence, or the perception of confidence
~ now I can play with the big boys (i.e. thumbs up to lead climbing)

What I’m actually going to blog about

It’s funny. What with Christmas, all the extra training for the lead course and all the chilling that I’ve been doing with friends and family recently, I’ve neglected to pay attention to the world around me. I’ve gone through my days (and nights) functioning as a human, but not as a person. I’ve watched the news on television, seen the footage of people and things being swept away, heard about the rising numbers of fatalities, but I forgot to feel. I did nothing about it. Zip. Zilch. Zero. Absolute nada.

I did what so many other people do… I changed the channel, so I wouldn’t have to think about it.

Tens of thousands of people died because a wall of water washed down upon them. The earth’s rotational axis has been thrown off and we’re all hurling through space one thousandth of a second faster. One event thousands of miles away on the other side of the world causing such incredible amounts of death and destruction and we don’t feel a thing - not a quake, not a tremor, not even the slightest smidgen that something so catastrophic has happened.

If it wasn’t for the news and for personal connections, how little we would know about the world around us. How little we would care. How little we would do to help our fellow beings… people we don’t know… strangers we’ve never even thought about… that we never knew existed.

But now I know and it’s hard to get things out of my mind. My eyes tear and my heart cries when I read the stories of people still searching for their loved ones. Things that seemed so important a few days ago now seem petty and insignificant. Who cares what people are doing for New Year’s. Who cares who the boy is actually interested in, or who Triscuit is seeing besides me.

All I can think of is what can I do to help. Is my $100-$500-$1,000-whatever-I-can-afford donation even worth it, or is it just a drop in the bucket when our government is offering $40 million? Can I do anything to make even the slightest hint of difference? I’d like to think that I would make a difference; that my contribution won’t be going towards paying some bigwig board of director salary, and that someone on the other side of the world will have access to adequate food, clothing, water, and shelter. Should I even bother?


We all should, if we can. Too often, we stand back and take from the world around us, never thinking to care about it or give back to it… this is our chance to redeem ourselves.

Some friends of mine – Mini-me, Binny, Kapoopie, and my ever-giving cousin Bo, are organizing a fundraiser for the Asia Earthquake and Tsunamis Relief through the Red Cross. Details to be forthcoming as soon as they become available, but if you or your company can be talked into volunteering, donating or some other type of sponsorship, that would be much, much appreciated. Send me a message or post a comment. I will be checking periodically.


Wednesday, December 22

day 10247: words

"Do you ever miss me?" We sit in the hallway, leaning against each other, breathless and a little giddy from running down the hall. The sound of someone snoring seeps through the door. We giggle like kids with a secret, whispering to each other. It's very late. Both of us should be in bed; he in his room, I in mine.

"All the time. I miss hanging out with you. I miss being close to you. I miss curling up with you, and waking up with my arm all tingly because you slept on it all night."

"No, really?" He brushes my hair away from my face and nods.

"Really. I miss that all the time." He leans in a little closer and puts his head on my shoulder. Somehow I end up playing with his hair.

We talk like we've never talked before. No secrets, all honesty.

He tells me how he refuses to admit that he's in love. I tell him that all I really want is someone to go home to every night and share my day with. He tells me how he wants the same. We talk about how both of us are terrified to have children and how warped his kids will grow up to be, how I know him better than he knows himself and how I'm the nicest person he's ever going to know.

He agrees and looks sad for a moment and then he tells me how every time he thinks about a wife or the mother of his children, he thinks about me. I don't know what to say. The moment passes.

I tell him that I'll never stop caring about him, how it almost killed me when we stopped being friends, but how well I'm doing now without him. We talk about how much I've changed, how different I am from the girl I was just six short months ago and how I've finally realized that I am strong enough to deal with anything that life throws down before me.

We sit in the hallway and talk until the wee hours of the morning. Comfortably being together again, closer then we have been for months. We move into the room to the couch where it's warmer and fall asleep in each other's arms... talking.

Tuesday, December 21

day 10246: i meant well

I thought this was going to be the year. The year I finally get organized, get together my lists of people and send out those damned holiday cards. I got as far as buying the cards, stealing a pen from the office, and digging out some old stamps. And... I have a feeling that's as far as I'm going to get.

I've been carrying the cards around for a good week or so now. Not a single one has been written. Time crunch and I can't think of what to say. How do you tell people that you love them, miss them and wish they were here all the time? How do you write some to some people, but feel obliged to write some to other people... and what do you say in situations like those.

I've decided to forego the typical holly and ivy covered Christmas cards in favour of something that means a little more. Something with a little inspirational thought, and a message about living life as it should be lived.

But just in case I never send them out... here are the messages:

may you always have enough happiness to keep you sweet;
enough trials to keep you stong;
enough success to keep you eager;
enough faith to give you courage;
and enough determination to make each day a good day. ~ blessing

i beg you... to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and ty to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. don't search for the answers, which could not be given you now, because you would not be able to live them. and the point is, to live everything. live the questions now. perhaps then, someday far in the furuter, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer... ~ rainer maria rilke

dream your dreams with open eyes and make them come true ~ t. e. lawrence

it's not hte years in your life that count. it's the life in your years. ~ a. lincoln

Monday, December 20

day 10245: cheese turds

You never really do stop caring for someone, do you? Things change, people move in and out of your life. You can claim to hate someone, but do you really? Or do you hate the situation, but still care about the person?

And regardless of how ready you are to move on and how much you do want to move on, all it takes is a word or two, or a night of talking to make you realize that some things have yet to change, and things that you thought were long gone are just buried beneath the surface of denial, waiting for the god-knows-what to pop its head out and bring the past flooding back.

Not good.

Weekend away was good. Tremblant, as usual, was a great time. Ice climbing, fresh powder skiing, drunken nights of revelry and an unbroken winning streak at poker... what more could a girl possibly want.

Smoked Meat Poutine...
Fries, cheese curds, Montreal smoked meat, gravy... throw it all together and serve piping hot after a cold day on the slopes. Guaranteed one of the best things you'll ever eat in your life.

Friday, December 17

day 10242: holiday blues

I forget where I saw it. A teeny-weeny little ad …bah-humbug, no friends, no family, no plans over Christmas, anyone want to do anything over the holidays – I’ve got the blues. My heart melted. I wanted to respond and invite the person out to my holiday events, adopt them into my family and help make the blues go away.

Except that I forget where I saw it and what if that person turned out to be really strange, or a freak. Not that it really would matter, though. A crowded dance floor, some well timed excuses to go to the bar/bathroom etc… we’ve all given someone the slip before, or thought about it at least.

But it got me thinking about Christmas and what to do if I was in a city all by myself without friends or family or people that I love. There has to be more than just watching while everyone around me celebrates and coming home to curl up in front of the television with the dog. Even if you don’t believe in Christmas, the festive atmosphere would be rather depressing if there was no one to get festive with, no one to share presents with… no one to wish a Merry Christmas to...

Thursday, December 16

day 10241: courtesy of between the covers

A) First, recommend to me:

1. a movie.
2. a book.
3. a musical artist, song, or album.

B) Ask me three questions. Ask me anything you want.

C) Go to your blog (if you have one), copy and paste this, and allow everyone to ask you anything.
day 10241: i take it back… all of it…

Can I take back yesterday’s rant? Please? It wasn’t justified. I just felt a little invaded by the bombardment of questions. I didn’t really mean it. Pretty please with a cherry on top? Thanks.

Plans changed last night. I didn’t end up going to the gym after all AND bailed on BMW and didn’t pick up his gear. *gasp, insert look of horror here* Instead, I made a spontaneous-not-at-all-thought-out-phone-call and ended up on a lark with JB wherein we met up with his brother and sister-in-law to go eat ramen noodles.

Imagine that… paying $10 for a bowl of instant noodles that you can get for $0.50 from the grocery store. And this was after dinner number one with girl-who-checks-my-schedule-with-MY-MOTHER. No worries though. I only had ice cream.

We ended up driving around my old neighbourhood, stopped by Maxim’s and had the-very-bestest-strawberry-meringue-in-the-world (boo… he was not suitably impressed with the meringue though) before driving back downtown via the smallest, crookedest, stop-sign-infested streets in the city. No joke. Small streets from uptown to downtown… what can I say? It was a fun night.

Wednesday, December 15

day 10240: obligations and justifications

Why? Why do I feel like she’s checking up on me, spying on me, trying to find out all the little details of my life - details that perhaps I don’t want to share with her?

Perhaps I am overreacting. I know I am, but I can’t help it. I feel like my privacy is being invaded.

There is no why, who, what, and where. Just accept my simple explanation. I can only have dinner until 8:00 and then I have errands to run and things to do. If I really cared to share the details with you, I probably would.

But I don’t want to.

And it’s not right to go and ask MY MOTHER if I went to her house to have my pants hemmed last Tuesday, or whether or not I really did have plans on Sunday or if I was just making an excuse not to go to the last-minute-going-away-potluck-dinner, etc. Because MY MOTHER doesn’t know everything, I did have plans, plans changed, I was sick, and if MY MOTHER was too tired for me to go to her house after dinner, then MY MOTHER was too tired… that does not mean I lied about my intentions, or my whereabouts. Not like you really have a right to know anyway.

We’re not best friends. I wouldn’t even call us good friends. We’re just friends. Friends with a little history, but nothing more in common than circumstances that threw our parents together, and a few common courses taken in University. I don’t even know your favourite colour. You don’t even know what kind of car I drive.

I’m exaggerating for sure. But this is a rant, so I have the right to exaggerate as much as I want.

Already, in the past two weeks, I’ve cancelled on my acting group, organized a dinner for a group of girls who didn’t really want to be there, thought about canceling my Sunday plans for the last-minute-going-away-potluck-dinner, and bailed on an old, GOOD friend who was going to get me tipsy on the city’s BEST sangria (I’m not too please about that, by the way, but he understands, thankfully).

I’ve got things to do, and people to see. It doesn’t matter what it is. You don’t even know who BMW is, why would you care where he lives or what I have to pick up from him.

And to involve MY MOTHER? That’s one step too far, baby.

Well, FYI… my schedule for tonight, if you need to know sooo badly:

5:45 – Ninki for dinner
7:30 – leave Ninki head home
8:00 – drive to the gym
10:30 – go home
10:45 – walk dog
11:00 – shower
11:30 - ?????

Argh. Do I need to schedule my pee times too?

Monday, December 13

day 10238 1/2: burn baby burn

As a result of last week's "IMPORTANT MANDATORY FIRE SAFETY MEETING," all of our space heaters were confiscated. Except my cube-farm-partner-in-crime, because she was smart enough to leave it on her desk where the confiscator didn't see it. That wouldn't be so bad if they ACTUALLY TURNED THE HEAT ON in the building. To make matters worse, I'm sicky (again) and losing body heat quickly.

My boss is on the phone with HR bitching them out about it. Alas, to no avail... Now how am I supposed to stay warm? Crack open a bottle of our inventory? Set fire to the financial statements?

I'm fading fast. must. go. home...

Wait. It's Monday. must. go. to. the. gym...

Just in case. :)
day 10238: why one should always listen to their parents when it comes to topics such as gambling addiction

I should have listened to my mother. Now I’m addicted. I’ve got the fever, and I want nothing more than to play, and play, and play. I thought it was just a fad. Who cared about what’s-his-name and what’s-her-name on the World-Whatever-Poker-Whatever? Who cared who won what, who got dealt what hand, what beats what, and who’s “all in”?

I. Do.

I’m addicted. I think I need to go to GA – Gamblers Anonymous.

I dreamt I was playing the other night. Images of hearts, clubs, diamonds and spades flashed through my mind. I’ve got a King of hearts, an Ace of hearts… can I do it? Can I make the Royal Flush? Ahhhh! The stress, the pressure…

It’s not like I haven’t played before. I’ve played a couple of games of Texas Hold ‘em. But, I’ve never played with *gasp* real poker chips before. I shudder with delight. The feel of the clay, the clink-thud as you throw your ante into the pile, the sheer delight as you see the stack growing before your very eyes. Stacking and restacking, learning to shuffle the chips, flipping chips with one hand…

Ahhh, the chips… it’s all about the chips…

Poker, poker, poker, poker… 11.5 g chips… *sigh*

I hope someone brings their chips to Tremblant this weekend. Nothing better than fresh powder and then hours of apres-ski poker. :)

Friday, December 10

day 10235: drowsy

Cold rainy Friday afternoon, trying to recover from a four hour “business” lunch and a bottle of red, I want nothing more than to go home, crawl in bed and sleep until I can sleep no more.

Alas, that is not to happen. There’s too much going on these days. No break for me until 2063 or there abouts.

Thursday, December 9

day 10234: lelevator goin’ upppp…

8:26… I’m running late. I should be at work in four minutes and it’s not going to happen. I still have to take Dawg upstairs, grab the knapsack, take the elevator back down, walk the 20 minutes, stop off for coffee and then wait for the only working elevator in our building.

Oh look, someone’s just getting on the elevator. If Dawg and I run for it, we’ll just make it. Hold the door please?!

I run over, jam my arm into the door, and let Dawg in. Kid is standing inside bawling his eyes out. Dad looks at me, looks at Dawg. They’re going to the 26th floor. I’m going to 12th. Door closes. Kid continues to cry. Blubbery-snot-like… not a pretty sight.

“We’re going to mmmmm…” He stutters. Poor kid can’t even speak because he’s crying so hard. He rubs at his eyes with his gloved hands. Skeleton hands? Huh? Where’s the rest of the costume? “We’re going to mmmmm…. mmmm…. mmmmiss the boat…”

“You shouldn’t have left your knapsack upstairs then.” Dad speaks softly not placating his teary-eyed child, but not scolding either. A case of Dad knows there’s plenty of time, but he’s teaching Kid a lesson.

“We’re going to mmmmiss the boat…” More tears, more sniffling.

Ahhh, the guilt…I’m making it even harder on Kid by stopping on the 12th floor. If only I waited for the next elevator. I look at Dawg, Dawg looks at me and paws my leg. No, Dawg, wet nose kisses are not going to help today. Thanks anyway.


Elevator stops at my floor. We run out, the sound of wet sniffles muted by the closing doors.

I feel guilty as I drop Dawg off and gather up my stuff. I would hate to be Kid. But still, I can’t stop thinking that maybe I should blog about it… nah… poor kid missing his boat. I wonder if he goes to the Island School, or if it's a field trip. Eek... I'd hate to miss a field trip.

Go back to the elevator, press the button. Door slides open almost instantaneously.

I walk in. Dad and Kid… knapsack in hand.


Round two.

Wednesday, December 8

day 10233: straight as a broken arrow

You ever have one of those days where you keep tripping over your other foot? It's one of those days. I'm feeling somewhat dazed and confused.

Tuesday, December 7

day 10232: ode to ms. santa claus (aka my cousin bo)

Bo is Christmas. What I mean to say is that Bo, aka Ms. Santa Claus is the ultimate epitome of the phrase “'tis the season for giving.”

She anonymously adopts needy families at Christmas time and buys them clothes, toys, food certificates, anything to make the holidays a bit better for those less fortunate. She has been doing it for years. Sometimes she adopts one family; most times two. This year, she has three.

Three families – mostly single-parent-multiple-kids type, incomes stretched to a point where the holidays are an extravagance they cannot afford. And were it not for the sake of people like Bo, Christmas morning would be bleak. There would be no presents under the tree (if there even was a tree), Santa would not have taken a bite out of the cookie and Rudolph would not have left a present on the rooftop. Think Bob-Cratchit-coal-in-stocking-maybe-a-new-pair-of-underwear-instead-of-hand-me-downs type of Christmas morning.

So she goes to town, gets the works - clothes for all the children, toys for the younger ones, gifts for the older, something special for the parents, something pretty, something frilly, something cool, most things practical, but sometimes something frivolous that they otherwise would not have had.

Imagine the time and dedication, the giving and the caring. Even for a self-confirmed shopaholic, the enormity of the task at hand is daunting. It’s hard enough buying things for yourself, but when all you know are the children’s ages, m/f and their sizes, and not even their favourite colours, imagine the difficulty in picking out the perfect gifts or the perfect matching clothes sets.

So a few of us have chipped in to help out; Bo and Unsanitary Man went toy shopping yesterday. Today we raided “Old Blue” for family number three. Two girls, ages 7 and 12, sizes 7-8 and 14-16… new jeans, shirts, a sweater, turtlenecks, white fuzzy earmuffs, matching white fuzzy purses, and faux angora hat for each of them. My little pink wool kilt got nixed because it was too short…Ms. Santa Claus, you see, has a conscience.

Tomorrow night we will be wrapping presents while sipping mugs of spiced hot chocolate, scraps of tinsel and wrapping paper abound. Strains of Bing, Frankie and Nat will echo through the air along with the shouts of “three cheers for Bo…our very own Ms. Santa Claus.”

Merry Christmas, everyone. 'Tis the season for giving... if you can, go adopt your own family and spread a little Christmas cheer.

Monday, December 6

day 10231: five guys…one weekend

guy number one…bought me drinks

D: You rock!
J: Why? Cuz I can hold my liquor?
D: No, you rock cuz you’re a girl and you drink like a fish! Let’s dance… no… let’s do more shots first!

guy number two…proposed marriage first, then wanted to pay me for "services"

T: Say a guy gave you a carat.
J: A carrot? Why would anyone give me a vegetable?
T: No, a carat, as in from Tiffany’s. VS, D colour etc etc.
J: Why would anyone buy jewelry from Tiffany’s? It’s such a rip-off. Wholesale. Always buy jewelry wholesale…
T: OMG, will you marry me?
[a little later]
T: You should know how I feel about you.
J: [drunkenly] Hmmm?
T: What would it take?
J: I just met you. I don’t even know you.
T: Ok. Let me rephrase the question… How much would it take?

guy number three…puked all over my house and left the next morning without cleaning it up

J: Terry, clean up your mess before you leave!
Terry: I can’t I’m late to help BMW & GG move.
Terry: At least it’s not on the floor.
[door slams shut]
[ed. note: name has NOT been changed to protect the guilty]

guy number four…wore a dress to my company christmas party

J: Wow! I can’t believe you actually wore the kilt! You look amazing!
JB: It’s great! A little breezy and cold, but I’m really digging the frilly shirt. I might have to buy one just like it.
[a little later]
JB: How do you go to the bathroom with a skirt on?
J: Um. You lift up and…
JB: Squat? I meant at the urinal.
J: I wouldn’t know…
[a little later while talking to VP at monkeyco christmas party]
JB: Why is his so much bigger than mine? And why does he have three tassels and I only have two?

guy number five…triscuit - need i say more?

I’m so glad we’re friends again. In spite of all that has transpired and what was spoken, you were and always will be a very special part of my life. Love Triscuit.
[ed. note: love???? Had you said that six months ago, I would have been over the moon and around the corner. Oy. Now I'm just scared.]

Five guys... all in all, it was a rather good weekend.

Friday, December 3

day 10228: four guys in one weekend

A few Christmases ago, when all was good with the world and I was going through my foodie-gourmet phase, a friend brought back some exquisite fois gros from France. Melt-in-your-mouth, to-die-for, feeling-it-all-the-way-to-your-toes type of exquisite. I salivate at the memory.

Excited as I was at having tasted the succulent, creamy goodness of fois gros for the first time in my life, I happily announce to co-worker friends, “Guess what! I had fois gros this weekend!”

“What? You had four guys?”

“No! I had fois gros!” I humphed at the joker.

“You had four guys! Hey Sundar, J had four guys this weekend!”

By the end of the day, the partners had heard, the secretaries were twittering, and I was the laughing stock of the office. Four guys became the running joke at ex-monkeyco.

And though, I have yet to return since my teary departure seven months ago, apparently, absence does not make the jokes go away… I received this email today:

Enjoy your birthday! I want to hear something like "KC! I had 5 guys on the weekend!" next week. :)

Thanks guys, next rounds on you!

Thursday, December 2

day 10227: the gossip according to luke (subtitled: why would anyone buy an engagement ring off ebay... sub-subtitled: my mom called my sister a player)

So the big family gossip right now is whether or not my cousin is engaged. I heard it from an aunt, who heard it from another cousin, who heard it from the supposed engager/engagee. Except that the aunt wasn't clear on whether or not the proposing had already been done or if it was just a proposed proposal...if that makes any sense to you at all. On top of all that, my-very-own-rock-expert-mother was consulted on the diamond purchasing and never let that little tidbit of knowledge slip out until last night.

Long story short, we don't know if the engagement is official. And we're rather miffed that HE WON'T TELL US HIMSELF! Hmph. *cross arms and pout*

Ok, so it really doesn't matter whether he is or is not. We're happy for him either way. But it's funny how the gossip flows around the family. It stops at certain people (i.e. maternal one who couldn't be bothered), but some of us (myself included on the rarest of occasions) are curious enough to perpetuate and poke around until answers are found.

Same day, same aunt... conversation with my mother...

Aunt: My daughter tells me that your daughter has a boyfriend.
{Mom looks at me. I shake my head vigorously... no-no-no-where-the-heck-would-she-hear-that-from}
Mom: Oh, Sista... I don't know.
A: Well, she heard it from a friend who heard it from Sista's friend... etc. etc.
M: I hadn't heard.
A: So I think she has a boyfriend.
M: I wouldn't worry about it. Until she calls me and tells me that she's married, then maybe I'll believe it. She likes them and then she doesn't like them. One day going out with them. Next day someone else. She knows a lot of boys.

Wednesday, December 1

day 10226: short and sweet

Has it been a year already since I last reminisced about turning a year older? Time flies regardless of whether or not you're having fun, n'est pas?

It has been fun. In a way. At least I'm not dead.

I guess I can't complain.

Last year, this day, I blogged about my 26th year. It was a good year - a very, very good year.

27? Not nearly as good. But still, there are some memories - some keepers, some I probably could have done without...

~ moped
~ groped
~ roped
~ sucked
~ fcuked
~ lucked
~ girlified
~ simplified
~ dandified

Here's to a better and brighter tomorrow. 28 is just around the corner. Hope the even years are better than the odds.

Tuesday, November 30

day 10225: true selflessness…

What is true selflessness? At what point in our lives do we stop doing things for our own sake and start doing something only for the sake of others? (with absolutely no benefit to ourselves)

An old conversation with Unsanitary Man haunts me. His position is that people’s intrinsic purpose of self motivates all actions, including acts of charity - you get a tax receipt, it makes you feel better about yourself, you get the ego pump etc etc. I argue otherwise. I do things because people need it, because they can’t do it themselves and I can or simply because it makes other people happy.

“Do you feel good about it afterwards?”

“Well yes, but that’s not the point. Regardless of how I feel some type of joy or elation afterwards, I’ve still done something to help out my fellow being. It’s not about how I feel. It’s about how they feel.”

“But you do feel better about yourself afterwards. Then it’s an ego pump. You do things, you feel better, therefore you keep on doing it. If someone was to spit in your face and curse your name, would you continue doing it?”

I don’t know…

I guess it would depend on the situation. For family or friends, if it is to their benefit (whether they realize it or not) then yes, I probably would. I expect nothing in return. I care for them; therefore I would do anything for them.

But then am I appeasing my own sense of responsibility? Do unto others as you would have them do unto you, but if you don’t do it, then would you feel horrendously guilty about it? Do I do what I do so as to avoid suffering the long-lasting feelings of guilt? Or do I do for the sake of doing it just because it benefits them? I don’t know…

If a stranger, or, say a homeless person, then perhaps I wouldn’t. Sometimes interacting with the homeless scares me. Sometimes I avoid them, especially if they appear intoxicated-safety, afterall, should be considered seeing as how even a drunk investment banker can be risky at times. I am selective about who I give to and what I give. I offer food mostly, seldom money, but on the occasion, I will.

Do I expect anything back? No. I still have the bobble-head dog in my car because it reminds me of the unexpected. But do I feel good about it afterwards? Yes, it does feel good to see the toothless smile of someone I’ve just given my lunch to and to know that they won’t be hungry for a little while and that I can always go out and get another lunch. Ego boost? Not quite, but personal satisfaction boost… heck yeah.

So maybe he does have a point. We do things because of how it affects us. Perhaps, we are motivated by the intrinsic purpose of self and if it were not for that, we wouldn’t do anything at all.

Or perhaps not. The only thing I can come up with for any action that is truly selfless is for someone to push another out of the path of oncoming traffic only to be killed by said speeding vehicles…

What do you think?

Monday, November 29

day 10224: creations arising from a night of drunken debauchery... aka... binny's b-day bash

akash's eye-widening-mouth-watering-mix...

1 oz mango Malibu
pineapple juice

binny's mellow-yellow...

1/2 oz Creme de Cacao
1/2 oz Creme de Banane
1 1/2 oz Carolans or Baileys
1 1/2 oz Malibu coconut rum
shaken, not stirred, served over ice... makes two.

side note: 3L bottles of red wine are best to look at and not to drink... :)

Friday, November 26

day 10221 1/2: can I say it again? I LOVE MY MONKEYCO!!!

It's hard not to love work when the toughest thing I have to do today is figure out how to get a 3 Litre bottle of red wine home and one of the Directors is doing a bit of "housekeeping" because he has too many bottles of boozies on his display shelf...
day 10221: live every day like it's your last...

I don't think of my own mortality too often. It's not that I'm afraid to die. I'm just afraid of how I'm going to die. I've accepted that death is inevitable, and regardless of what I do to try to prolong my existence, sometimes, trying your best is not enough. I want to go quickly and hopefully painlessly, and definitely not accompanied by "ROCK!!" or "SPLAT!!"

(That would just be gross and messy and traumatizing to my climbing buddies. Ew.)

Should I one day go "SPLAT" or else cease to exist prematurely, no matter the cause, my funeral arrangements and wishes should be known. And seeing as how this is not a topic that one discusses with their parents-who-have-sensitive-emotions-at-the-moment, I am blogging my final wishes...

I know. How. Morbid.

I would like my organs to be donated if possible. Except my heart. That stays with me. One day, I will have to find my organ donation card and fill it in. Actually, it's already filled in. I just have to carry it around or send it in, or whatever I'm supposed to do with it.

I would like to be buried and not cremated seeing as how I have a horrible fear of being burnt alive that stems from being a pyro in a former life. Plus, it could be kind of cool if some archeologist dug up my dried up preserved remains 2000 years down the road and tried to imagine what a wierd lifestyle I led that I have one broken toe and a really painful, f.u.'d hip at the moment.

I want to be buried with a CD copy of this blog so that if I do get dug up, they'll know the person behind the body, and not just know the body. Plus, that will save them time from imagining wierd and wonderful things about me that are probably erroneous anyway!


I want to be buried wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Ideally one of the ones that say "J'aime qu'on m'aime" "I'm out of bed, what more do you want?" "I'd rather be skiing" or whatever funky saying shirt that I favour at that moment. I'd like a laminated picture of Toot. S'il vous plait. And a bottle of Bombay Sapphire. That's all. No jewelry except maybe the green rock necklace if it can still be found.

Oh, and no funeral please. I'd rather have a wake... one last party before I go into the wide blue yonder. An honest-to-goodness drinkfest where everyone I know is blissfully drunk and telling funny stories of yours-truly. Tears optional, but a good time mandatory. The alcohol and the food should flow freely, sappy-ass Pachebel Canon music should not be played. Turn up the volume, laugh with and laugh at... that's how I want to go. That's how I want to be remembered...

One more thing. I want to be there. Closed casket optional.

Thursday, November 25

day 10220: "worse buy" rant...

I usually have a lot of patience. Especially for those unfortunate enough to be inept at what they are paid to do. I am nice to the point of being too nice, my voice drips with honey rather than anger. I'd rather lead by example and help the poor idiot along rather than to lose my cool and make the poor fool even more flustered and even more incompetent.

Not today, though.

Alas, last week, my innocent, defenseless microwave (purchased after lining up at 4am on a cool, bitter Boxing Day) blew a prima-dona-fuse. I have no idea what happened. One moment, it was happily humming along, microwaving lasagna and the next moment, it refused to even beep at my meatballs. I had to heat up frozen swedish meatballs in a frying pan... defeats the purpose of frozen instant dinners, doesn't it? *grumble, grumble*

I miss my pizza pops...

So I called "worse buy" today to check up on the extended warranty that I may or may not have purchased (names have been changed to protect the guilty, but I'm sure all of you are smart enough to figure out which yellow-tag-mascot-store I'm referring to). And this is what I get.

Idiot Salesperson: I'm sorry, ma'am... I can only check back to purchases made within the last five months. You're going to have to come into the store to give me your information.
[note: store is in WOODBRIDGE... freakishly far away from downtown...]
J: What kind of information do you need? Can I give it to you over the phone?
IS: Well, name, telephone number, date of purchase... that kind of thing. Do you know the day you purchased the product?
J: Boxing day two years ago... 2002.
IS: So November 25, 2002.
J: No, Boxing day. December 26th.
IS: December 25th?
J: NO, December 26th.
IS: Ok, well can I have you name and telephone number please?
J: It's J... ###-###-#### or ###-###-####...
IS: I'll give this information to my supervisor and he'll call you back in three to four business days.

WTF? If I drove the 45 minutes to the store, gave him my information on the spot, would the supervisor have been able to tell me RIGHT AWAY what my warranty status was? Or would they have said "Thank you ma'am for coming in, we'll call you back in three to four business days."


I saw red, ground out a fierce "Thank you" and slammed the phone down. My cube wall revertebrated with the force of my lost patience...


Incompetent fools...

Wednesday, November 24

day 10219: $40 and two consecutive treatments later, i hope my teeth are whiter

I’m whitening my teeth. Right now, as a matter of fact. I’m not sure if it’s working yet. They kind of look a little whiter and a little brighter through the tape strip, but it could be my imagination. Or perhaps it’s just this morning’s coffee stains being bleached out by the foul tasting gel stuff that they coat these little pieces of tape with.

How cool. Whatever will they think of next?

Update: I am now experiencing vague chest and back pains. I'm not saying that it's because of the teeth whitening gel that I swallowed despite the warnings not to. (Yes, I swallow.) I actually suspect it has something to do with the funky stale-grease-tasting samosa I bought for lunch. Or the quarter of a powerbar I just ate because I'm craving chocolate. Whatever it is, I hope I live to see dinner at least... I'm having curry crab. yum.

Tuesday, November 23

day 10218: making the effort

Disturbing email just in:

I know its early but since some of you are either being poached or looking to jump ship (ahem, LENNY!!) we thought you'd be interested in the fate of the rubber duckies ....we were actually thinking of retiring the team this year, or at least go for an undefined hiatus period (do you really want us bossing you around for another summer??!! : ) ). Also, we were kinda getting the feeling that most of you, although enjoying the company of other duckies, were not particularly keen on dboating this year…

The Duckies have been together for three seasons.

We’ve never done particularly well in any of our races. We’ve won a few, lost more than we’ve won, and rammed another boat somewhere in between. But we’ve had a lot fun doing it.

We’ve become friends, surrogate families and some, even lovers. We’ve bonded, nurtured, and supported each other through trying times. We’ve drank together, sang together, slept en mass together (seeing as how we’re too cheap to spring for multiple hotel rooms). We’ve cross dressed, hula-hooped, boarded, and water-pistol whipped our way through Canada and the Eastern seaboard.

We’ve become more than just friends. The Duckies has become part of our identities.

We are a team. The Duckies stick together and stick up for each other. When Malfoy and his beer-drinking-dboaters tried to besmirch our honour, we rose up en mass to defend the Duckie name. Oh, you should have seen the flurry of emails that went around that week. All capped quite nicely by PlBoy’s well-meant-but-badly-timed email “Dum di dum… like I said… a piece of crap on a stick.”

Many of the good things in my life can be attributed to the people I’ve met through the Rubber Duckies. I’ve become who I am today because of them – since the day I scraped my fat butt off the couch to go paddle with them on a freezing cold April morning. I would be hard-pressed to even begin expressing how much I love them. I do love them. Each and every one of them… and yes, even Triscuit though I know he doesn’t deserve it.

Everything in life is about making the effort. That one little action or word that lets the world know “Hey! I’m here! I miss you!” or “Thanks so much for doing everything and even though I don’t tell you every day, I love you!” Without it, we lose touch – with our friends, with our families, and even ourselves.

I am guilty of that. I was a participant, not a leader. I showed up for practice and magically expected everything to go smoothly. I organized picnics and parties and even those responsibilities on occasion were taken up by others. I forgot to thank my lovely captains every time I saw them, forgot to tell them how much I love them and how much I appreciate them.

I do love you guys, you know...

This is not just about Dragonboating or the Rubber Duckies. It’s about reaching out and touching the people that you care about. Finding them wherever they’ve gone, and renewing relationships and letting people know how much you appreciate them. It only takes a minute to make that phone call or send that email.

Is this the end of the Duckies? I sincerely hope not.

Stay tuned to find out… QUACK! QUACK!


Monday, November 22

day 10217: oh. my. god. i've been j-lo'd...

Shall we dance? Heck yeah!

I love going to movies where I have zero expectations when I walk through the door. If I expect nothing more than a two hour snooze-fest, I'm usually pleasantly surprised. Unless of course, it's a sequel and I've neglected to see the first movie and have no idea whatsoever about the going-ons (Innocence), in which case, please, please, please just shoot me. But I've digressed.

In the name of spending time with wonderful-accessory-buying-mother-who-just-returned-from-HK, I agreed to see the J.Lo & Richard Gere remake on Saturday night. Ballroom dancing, pretty-boy Richard Gere, and a booty-ful J.Lo who can't act... how exciting is that? My plan was to douse myself (and the maternal one) with a large fishbowl of Bellini (each) and catch up on some much needed Z's while supplying her with a big box of Goobers. That way, she's happy, I'm happy, everyone's happy.

But then the Bellini plan fell through, and I went to the theatre stone-cold-sober. And MAYBE I was PMS'ing or MAYBE I was just in a REALLY STRANGE EMOTIONAL STATE, but I LOVED IT! I loved the music. I loved the dancing. I loved Richard Gere... and maybe just an eensy-weensy bit, I loved J. Lo, too.

Crazy, I know.

So now I want to take ballroom dancing lessons. The grace, the style, the elegance of it all... but I want to do it competitively.

Me... the girl who can't walk in a straight line without tripping over her own two feet.

Me. Dancing. Sigh.

Ain't life grand!

Friday, November 19

day 10214: downtown observations log #5431478

entry #5431478: day in, it’s all the same

Ugh. Never noticed how clockwork I am in the mornings. Wake up. Shower. Get dressed. Do makeup. Walk dog. Say hi to the security guards. Drop off dog. Leave for work. Wish security guards a good day. Wave to the maintenance crew. Walk to work.

How strange. I see the same people day after day. There’s that pretty young blonde on the motorized scooter. She had these awesome black boots on the other day. I want to stop her and ask her where she got them, but she zooms away too quickly. Great pink pants… always smartly dressed. Funky hat.

Oh look, there’s the spiky hair dude crossing the street with his morning coffee. Always listening to his Ipod. Coffee from Timmy’s. Large. Always the same intersection. Weird. Wonder what’s he listening to? How does he take his coffee?

The Outreach guy won’t make eye contact with me anymore. I think he knows that I won’t stop. I think about buying him a coffee on my way up, and stopping for a chat and buying one of his newspapers, but I’m running late as usual. Tomorrow I’ll do it. I say that every day. He stands just up the street from the kid who writes the signs saying how hungry he is, and how he’s given up on life and wants to die. Funny, though... I offer to buy him food and try to give him granola bars but he always turns me down. He just wants money, he says. I give him whatever I have in my pocket.

8:40… the clock at the corner is 5 minutes fast. I cross the street pulling my zip card out of my knapsack pocket. Same routine every morning – zip in to get into the building, zip in to access the elevators, zip in to access my floor. I say hi to Kyle, turn on my computer and go make myself a coffee.

Same thing every morning.

entry #5431479: happiness is… marineland…

Yoga at lunchtime makes me happy.

Telling me that the crunchy thing I found in my poutine yesterday was a fingernail does not.

Cocktail attire downtown means different things from cocktail attire uptown. I’m not prepared for cocktail attire downtown. Me thinks it’s time to go shopping again.

I’m bartending next weekend for Binny’s b-day bash. I only know how to make sapphire and tonic doubles with extra lime. Wish me luck.

Thursday, November 18

day 10213: last night

It began with a kiss and a fierce hug the moment I walked through the door.

“It’s been so long… I’ve missed you.” Eyes meet mine. Searching for differences, searching for a sign that no matter how much time passes, some things don’t change. Like the twinkle in your eye or the mischievous grin on their face. Or the feelings that you have for them that you sometimes forget when you don’t see them as often as you used to.

“You look good. Have you lost weight again?”

“No,” I flash a I’m-glad-you-think-so-but-regretfully-not-smile “But I think I’m a little more toned now… all that climbing, you know. Or it could have been the body wrap I did in Cali.” I take off my coat and scarf, hang them on the back of the chair and start rummaging through the fridge. It’s late, traffic was bad and I’m hungry. There is a comfortable silence, the one that comes with “just being.”

It’s been six weeks. Six weeks of occasional phone calls, words spoken in haste and hurry and nothing more. Time passes quickly when you don’t pay attention.

“How was your trip, Ma? What did you get me?” And so it began.

She fed me soup, chicken and veggies. The kids from downstairs came up to play with the dog. I gave her back her shoes Sista brought back from Cali last time she came to visit. She wouldn’t need them in HK, she had said. No wonder, since she bought five pairs of new shoes and chortled with delight as she told me how little they cost. This pair cost $5 Cdn, this one $6… ooohhh these were expensive, they cost $15. Oh, how I covet the red and black ones. They look like Spiderman climbing shoes. If only they were half a size bigger. If only. If only…

I tried on my new Jacob pants for her - the wool ones with the cute pink ribbon on the inside. She pinned them up to hem for me and said that I could pick them up on Friday before hockey. I asked her if my butt looked cute in them. She gave me a blank stare and asked me why the waistband was so big and did I want her put elastic in them so they wouldn’t look so loose. No thanks, I’ll just wear a belt.

We went upstairs so she could show me everything that she bought.

“Sparkles are so in, now,” she said as she gave me the new shirts… Mickey-Mantle-New-York with a pink, sparkly sequined Mickey Mouse on it and other writing that doesn’t quite make sense (typical HK), and then another strange looking number that I can’t really explain. Both were huge on me.

“They fit!” We both ooohhed and ahhhhed. I know secretly that I’d probably never wear them, but I love her for the thought and for the fact that she’s so ecstatically happy that something she’s bought for me while on vacation has finally fit.

“I’ve become a little more girlie-girl” I told her. And told her stories of how Sista and I would preen in front of the mirror doing our makeup and playing with our hair before going to the shopping mall or the bookstore. How we constantly check ourselves in the rear-view mirrors at every light looking for smudged eyes or windblown hair. “I wear makeup everyday now!”

“It’s about time,” she said and pulls out more shopping bags… and purses… and ACCESSORIES!

Scarves, belts, necklaces, bracelets… scarves that can double as belts, belts that can double as necklaces… I’m in heaven! And all for MEEEEEEEEEEE!

Oops. And the Sista. You don’t know how much restraint it took for me to leave some of the “good stuff” behind. It was a lot of “I know she’ll like this one…and ohhh I like this, but she’ll love it, so maybe I’ll just borrow it later…” Oh, the will power. Oh, the agony!

“Try this!” She pulled out a small gold box. Cream made from crushed pearls. “Engrish” words that don’t make sense. “This is the real stuff! I got it from the factory.” She took a tiny spoon and scooped out a little white dot of pearl and smoothed it on my face… OMFG… my skin was softer, smoother than a baby’s bottom. I couldn’t stop touching myself. I must have this! And this, and this, and this!

Much later, after everything was pawed through and combed over, clothes proudly displayed and deals flaunted, we laid on her bed the way we used to when I was young. My head pillowed on her arm, drowsy, comfy, happy… smiling, content.

“You’ve become such a girl.” She whispered. “I’m so proud of you…”

Wednesday, November 17

day 10212: i’m not going to lie to you, because then what would be the point of all this?

Can I talk about Crush again? I know two entries in a row about a guy I barely know seems a little excessive, but hey, this is my blog, right? You don’t have to read it if you don’t want to… no one’s making you. You control your actions, you control your life, and you control your destiny. Kind of.

Actually, I’m not going to talk about my crush on Crush. It is, after all, just a crush. It makes me happy, but without reciprocation, it’s meaningless in the big, grand scheme of things. However, in the small, itty-bitty spectrum of “me”, it is one of the most significant occurrences of my life. How melodramatic, I know. But what Crush represents is huge…

It’s freedom.

Emotional freedom.

Freedom from Triscuit, and freedom from the past. The fact that I have a crush on Crush means that I am finally, unequivocally over Triscuit and rebuilding the shattered pieces of my bruised and battered heart, non?

I spent most of my time in San Diego lost in thoughts of what once was. I don’t deny thinking about Triscuit. A lot. Everywhere I went there was a memory; a fragment of a sliver of the happiness that existed almost 6 months ago to the day. Try as I did to redirect my thoughts to other things, images of our last trip to SD would inevitably slip through the cracks… Del Mar picking up black pebbles and tiny shells off the beach, the glorious sunset at La Jolla Cove, where we sat on a ledge holding hands, each lost in the beauty of the moment - watching the seals, watching the surfers, watching the children’s shoes get washed out with the tide, and then much later, watching the stars come out one by one winking down upon us – or even Fashion Valley where we spent oodles of dollars and tons of time wandering from Abercrombie to Abercrombie and back to Abercrombie… memories that will never be shared with him again; a past that no longer exists except in our minds. Things that will never be spoken about - not by him, not by me… not even by the pictures I have yet to develop.

Then thoughts of Crush would filter in here and there. Odd, since I didn’t know him and had only met him once before. I thought I had dismissed him and would never again have given him another thought. He was just another friendly person in the gym - a stranger still. But he snuck into my subconscious and I haven’t been able to shake him loose.

I am excited. I am elated. I am enthusiastically happy that I am free of the constraints of my past and that now I can look into the future with clear, unclouded eyes.

Yes Crush, no Crush… It matters not. If things happen, great. If not, it doesn’t matter. I’m finally free.

Tuesday, November 16

day 10211: let’s call him crush…

I have a crush. *sigh… eyelashes a-flutter and everything* Shhh… it’s a secret. Ok, so it’s really not a secret, because I, in all my happy glory that I’m finally “in like” with someone else other than Triscuit, have been blabbing it to the world. Non-stop. Serious.

Let’s call him Crush. For now, until I can think of a better nickname for him…

And as for details, I have none. Not really. He works for the government. He’s into adventure racing. He goes to my gym Monday nights and isn’t a very good climber, though he’ll get better with practice. He dressed up as a cheerleader for Halloween along with 4 other buddies and they did the whole drinking-bus-club-tour thing and had a very nice time. He’s nice, seems pretty cool, eats 5000 calories a day, hates McDonalds because it makes him sick, likes all-you-can-eat sushi, thinks I’m little… looks to be in his twenties somewhere. And he’s hot. Oh, so very, very cute.


He (and his friend) came to have wings and beer with us last night after the gym... cuz I asked them to. Yay.

Oh, and I blogged about him last week and haven't been able to get him off my mind since.

I don't think I've ever felt this way before... about a complete stranger.

Monday, November 15

day 10210: green with envy

Well, I’m back. Not necessarily by choice, mind you, but I’m back nonetheless, and for how long, I refuse to say.

I’d love to talk about how glorious the weather was, how warm the sunny beaches, how idealistic the life of leisure I led for all of five whole days. But I won’t. I don’t want to make you jealous. I don’t want to “rub it in” as the Sista puts it. Yes, she feels as guilty as I did that she’s basking in the sun-filled glory of SoCal, while the rest of us are chilled to the bones in TO. As she should (just joking babe).

I’d love to talk about the shopping deals, and the amazing strength of the Canadian dollar that let me buy endless goodies without feeling the slightest twinge of guilt, or how I bought these amazing nine west black boots for less than $100US, comfy jeans, and funky cool shirts etcetera etcetera. But I won’t. I don’t want to make you jealous.

I’d love to talk about the food we ate – Cheesecake Factory, PF Chang’s, Jakes, Oishi Sushi, and a whole bunch of other places I’ve forgotten the names of - narrate for you bite by eye-closing-wondrous-bite the taste of the last succulent piece of crab, the bite of the chili, the sweetness of the passion fruit mojitos. But I won’t. I don’t want to make you jealous.

Because you should be.


I am and I was there.

Thursday, November 11

day 10206: remembrance

For twenty six years Remembrance Day meant nothing to me. November 11, a day for poppies, a day of school assemblies, a day with a moment of silence for a war I did not understand. A war I never really cared to understand.

And why should I? I didn't know anyone who had fought in it. I barely knew anyone who had lived through it. Only vague stories from my grandmother hinting at battle with the Japanese. But nothing ever confirmed. Nothing bad ever spoken of - ever.

Sure, I watched the old black and white films, learned about it somewhat in history class. Understood that yes, there was a war, but who cared, no big deal, wars happen all the time... people die but life goes on with or without them. Very callous, I know. I watched the parades, saw the pictures in the newspapers of the veterans. Didn't give them a second glance before I turned to the comics or the social studies column. I didn't like war... I didn't want to know about it. I didn't care to know about it.

Until last year. France. Juno Beach. Dieppe war museum.

Sobering rainy day on Juno Beach where the Canadian contingents landed on D-Day so many years ago to play their part in liberating the world from the forces of evil. We walked the steps of the soldiers who had gone before us. Tracing the paths of the fallen, imagining the blood that ran deep into the sands.

Bo and Unsanitary Man had printed out passages for us to read while on the beach. And though, I initially though it somewhat hokey, I played along. The mist turned into rain and blended with my tears as the reality of the past sank in. Our sheets of paper melted away into unrecognizable clumps of pulp and fiber. And still we stood there in the pouring rain. Imagining what the fate of the world would have been had they not fought for freedom.

Moments of silence. Moments of remembrance.

The waves came in gently on the sand. The tide rose washing away the footprints we left behind, and still we stood there, each going our separate ways. Lost in thought. Lost in remembrance. Soaked to the skin. Rain and tears dripping down our faces.

On our way to the car, I picked up a pebble. No bigger than a walnut. It was brown and clear and had the glossy sheen of glass. I dropped it on another rock and it smashed open into three pieces... easily. The beach was littered with them... little pieces of rock that broke as easy as glass. Almost as if the forces of man, and the impact of war, the bombs on the beach had turned the grains of sand into glass. I put the pieces into my pocket and brought them home with me... and remember every time I fit the pieces together...

In Flanders Fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

~ Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)

Remember, my friends, remember.

Wednesday, November 10

day 10205: can i move here?

I've always wondered what it would take for me to make a complete life altering decision. One that would involve making large sacrifices, leaving friends and family for parts unknown... for new adventures, and new beginnings. A new life. A new me.

And no matter how much I thought about it and how many times I've said "that's it! I'm moving," it's never happened. Not yet.

Last year, I was all gung-ho about moving to Vancouver; finding a job, beginning and rebuilding life anew in a familiar, yet unfamiliar place. But then things happened and dreams got put aside and eventually disappeared adn life went on as it often tends to do when one refuses to pay attention to it - living only for the now.

I lie here on the beach, watching dogs romp in the surf, chasing the white sandpipers with their blur-speed-stick legs, I think once again that I want a change. People walk by in their sweaters and their hoodies looking at me oddly like I shouldn't be here lounging around in shorts and a bikini. It is after all, 20 degrees Celsius... beautiful, gorgeous blue skies, no clouds in sight and a slight, salty breeze coming off the ocean - a beautiful glorious day, that had I been home, no one would be working and everyone would be playing hookey. And I yearn for this to be my every day... that somehow fortune would smile down upon me and I could life the life that I see around here.

The sun glistens and reflects off the water in the distance. Surfers line the waves waiting a little impatiently for that one perfect wave - getting up, falling down, swimming out and getting up again and again. Joggers run by - Ipods and mp3 players elasticed to their upper arms - feet keepign time with the beat. Couples walk the shores stopping on the occasion to pick up a shell or a pebble that catches their eye.

And it is to this I keep on returning. This place, this life beckons me, and calls out to me. I dream of happier days. Of days where I can live in a cottage by teh waterfront. But how, with whyat means. With who.

I think sometimes tha tthe ultimate sacrifice can be made for the sake of a peaceful existence with just nature and beauty. The sounds of waves crashing on the sand, the whisper of the breeze as it lifts the fronds of the palm trees are like lullabies to my soul.

And I feel like I'm finally home.

Tuesday, November 9

day 10204: ass…

The ex-car-pool buddy has decided suddenly that he would like to car-pool again on a regular basis and has gone so far as to actually make a commitment plunge (surprise, surprise – the boy actually made an actual commitment) and get a membership to the car-pooling place a.k.a. the climbing gym.

Uh-oh. That has its goods and its bads…

Goods… There are enough people in the gym that I don’t necessarily have to climb with him all the time. An occasional belay maybe, but not all the time.

Bads… I now have to see him on a regular basis, Mondays and Thursdays. I’m not sure I want to see that much of him.

Goods… I have realized that I can be the bigger person and be civil, albeit, not necessarily friendly.

Bads… I now have to see him on a regular basis.

Goods… He wants to take the lead course with me. I don’t have a partner, and they can’t find me one at the gym. If it’s a means to the end… well, it’s a means to the end. But that remains to be seen.

Bads… He expected to be my regular climbing partner. I think I’ve managed to persuade him otherwise.

Goods… I have a belay “slave” if I want to do laps. Take last night, everyone took off early for burritos. I wasn’t pumped out yet, and had barely broken a sweat… neither had he, so we kept on climbing, and I got in another 8 ½ routes in half an hour.

Bads… When the really cute, really friendly, really yummily-built adventure racing guy sitting next to you starts chatting with you, he feels “threatened” and says something stupid hinting at your past and makes you want to kick him in the ass, thereby wrecking friendly-flirtatious banter and causing weird awkward uncomfortable silences. How the heck am I supposed to pick up at the gym if the ex is literally hanging around all the time? Boo Triscuit. You suck.

On another suck ass note... I got sat on TWICE at the gym last night. Once when I was belaying the boy and looking up to give beta, the girl on the wall next to us fell off the first move and sat on my head. The other time when I was standing by the door waiting for a climb, the belayer for the climb above me didn't give me a heads up and lowered his buddy right on my shoulder... UGH! Talk about ultimate rudeness.

Oy, and I almost forgot the time where I was being lowered off the crumb-bum 10c and the guy next to me decides to lower his swinging partner right into me... I had to put a hand up so he wouldn't ass me in the face, but I'm not 100% sure if he was facing me, or if he was facing the wall. Needless to say, I washed my hands until they bled.

Can you see the trend of the night? Ass, ass and nothing but ass...

P… I’m off to Cali again to visit the Sista… have a good week, guys!

Monday, November 8

day 10203: i can fly, i can fly, i can flyyyyy...

I flew a plane yesterday. A teeny-tiny, blue and white two-seater Cessna registered C-F00U. It was no bigger than a Smart car. Actually, it was much smaller. There was just enough room in it for Instructor-Phil, yours-truly, and a plastic bag... "just in case the Gravol doesn't do it's job."

Armed with instructions of "See that panel... if we go down, and I can't get to it, tear down that panel and flip the switch for the emergency locator... Don't worry, you'll be highly motivated to get the panel off..." we were off.

I taxied haphazardly down the runway looking like a drunken clown trying to walk a tightrope, pushed a button here, pulled a lever there, read the altimeter, flipped a switch and took off... or rather, Instructor-Phil did the whole acceleration bit, and I got to pull back on the which-a-ma-callit-steering-wheelie-thing to get us off the ground.

We banked left, we banked right. I learned how to turn, how to gain altitude, how to "dive" and how to straighten out the plane. I learned what cruising altitude was, learned not to bank too steeply... whoops... and learned that flying is very much like driving a car.

Except that you can go anywhere you want.

Oh, and except that I have no idea where I'm going, and that I can't see the other planes coming towards us until they're almost completely below us.

At the end of the session of "circle over this town", and "head towards that swamp", and "follow that road home... no, not that road"... Instructor Phil took over the controls and landed us safe and sound, just so I could taxi back to the airport, all drunken clown like...

Thursday, November 4

important public service announcement #1...

Oh faithful readers, remember when I blogged about the demise of a legend? Turns out we were wrong. We were all wrong.

LZ and I finally dragged our lazy butts across the street and joy of joys and a whole bunch of hallelujah choruses later, we discovered that King's Noodles is only temporarily closed for renovations.

My prayers have been answered. I must give thanks to the good gods of congee.

day 10199: beep-a-beep-a-beep... ding-a-ding-a-ding...

Crossing Queen St. on my way home along with a billion other downtown clones, the light changes from red to green. Before any of us can step foot off the curb, we hear a voice calling out.

"Beep-a-beep-a-beep!" A leather and chain clad green mohawk comes roaring around the corner on a red banana seat bike.

No sooner had he rounded the corner...

"Ding-a-ding-a-ding!" Blue mohawk on a green bike. Both happy as can be, riding west into the sunset.

I wish I had my camera...

Wednesday, November 3

day 10198: 365 days

Strange how a particular moment stays in you head. It means nothing - another day, another hour, another second. A moment in time passed long ago; second glance, look back not required. Not necessary. It didn’t mean anything.

365 days of nothingness. 52 weeks that should not have been. 8760 hours passed that cannot be relived. Another year. Wasted time. Time that should have been spent doing something else. Something better, something productive.

If only I knew what.

525,600 minutes. How do you measure a year?


On a stranger note, I just found some guy's number in my knapsack scrawled on the back of one of those taxi-business-card-receipts. I hope it was the taxi driver, because I sure don't remember sharing a cab on Saturday. Oops.

Tuesday, November 2

day 10197: submission… second annual b-day request…

LZ – do not read until TOMORROW at MIDNIGHT!

This is the poem that’s going to win me yet another of LZ’s infamous b-day story/joke requests, of which the prize last year was a brunch of procuitto and spinach egg benedict … WHICH I HAD TO COOK!!! MYSELF!!!

“This one time, in Hong Kong, there was a monastery. They served vegetarian food.”

Alas, poor Linda, I knew her well.
A better tale, she could not tell.
Ah, how she tried, oh how she tried
But her listeners, oh how they cried.

“What wit, what wisdom” they did not say.
Instead, “Oh God, please spare us for another day!”
They begged, they pleaded for her to stop
In vain, with bribes of cherry lollipop.

The days, the years, the seasons change
And still, poor Linda, the words she could not arrange.
To make the people hear the things in her heart.
When all they did was tear her stories apart.

Remember the fifty percent rule, they used to shout
Laughing and pointing at the girl who could only pout
As she began and said, “This one time in Hong Kong…”
They interrupted… “Please don’t make this one so long”

She persevered, she persisted, she had something to say!
She didn’t care what they thought, aye or nay.
“Hilarious…” she would declare and begin a new tale.
O’er the phone, in person, mattered not…even by e-mail.

Eventually, her voice grew dim, her stories still sucked
“Oh crap,” she thought… ”Boy, am I ever fcuked.”
“I have things to say, I want them to hear…
But how, oh how when they run when I near…”

"I must have an idea, I need to develop a plan
Like that Little Engine that Could… I think I can, I think I can…
But what to say, what to do…
Crap! I need a break, I need to do a number two."

And so she thought and thought upon her stately throne
‘Til the fat lady sang, the pigs flew and the cows came home.
And still, poor Linda, she didn’t have a clue,
Of what to say, or even what she could do.

The seconds ticked, the minutes passed
Rodin’s sculpture “TheThinker” was way outclassed.
Until all of a sudden, in a flash of inspiration,
“Eureka! I’ve got it!” she yelled with determination.

Alas, poor Linda, I knew her well.
A better tale, she could not tell.
But she discovered her voice within her soul,
Instead of talking, she’s taking pictures roll upon roll.

Happy B-day LZ. May all your dreams and wishes come true… You know what I’m talking about! :)

Monday, November 1

day 10196: dog-capades and other scooby snacks


My darling tootsie-wootsie-cutie-petootie-puppy-wuppy was a very, very, very, very bad wittle-doggie. While I was at yoga, she jumped onto the coffee table, proceeded to knock off almost everything formerly-on-the-table (picture half-empty juice glasses perched precariously on the edge, clean laundry scattered across the floor), and THEN mangled and devoured a bag of Pepperidge Farm Dark Chocolate Chunk Cookies. I came home to find pieces of the bag everywhere, cookie and chocolate crumbs in my bed, and one smug little puppy wagging her tail happy as can be.

dogs + chocolate = bad news

We rushed to the vet for an emergency stomach pump. Waited for an hour and half to be seen by an annoying-baby-talking-doggie-doctor who told me to leave the dog and come back in 3 hours.

[ed. note: I don’t understand why people insist on using baby talk with dogs… especially the high-pitched whiny voice kind that just grates on your nerves and makes you shudder at the thought. And then uses the same voice with people… e.g. “Your puppy-wuppy was a very bad-wittle-doggie…” *gag*]

Three and a half hours later, $255 poorer, and a lesson learned that it’s better to pay the $1 for parking than to get a $20 parking ticket, miserable tootsie-wootsie-cutie-petootie-puppy-wuppy decided to show me how upset she was at having to go to the vet by leaving me a little liquid surprise while I was in the shower. And while I yelled and cursed and ran around half nekkid trying to clean up the mess before it stained my one and only carpet, she jumped onto the couch, unearthed yet another buried chocolate chip cookie and munched on it, all delicately and lady-like, while glaring at me with much, much hatred in her eyes.

She hated me that much more when I tackled her and dug the offending cookie mush out of her mouth.

scooby snacks…

~ I don’t like tequila anymore.
~ When the yoga instructor says “do a downward dog up against the wall, and see, you’re halfway to a handstand…” don’t believe her.
~ I still don’t know what a “bundi” is.
~ Hissy fits = pffffttttt…
~ Flying a kite is fun! A 2 meter kite can drag you along the ground if the wind is strong enough
~ “Oh-oh! Let’s go make friends with them, maybe they’ll let us try their mountain boards…”
~ I have no idea what club I went to on Saturday night. Stop asking.
~ “Dude… you know better that to fall for a girl who has a fcuk-friend… everyone knows that.”
~ “How long do I have to wait before I can leave… fifteen minutes? Good, I’ve already been here ten. Five more minutes and I’m going home to bed. What? ANOTHER fifteen. Damn.”
~ ten minutes later, in the caves of Oasis… “Zzzzzzzzz”
~ I don’t like tequila anymore.
~ I don’t like dog anymore.
~ I'm poor again. And chocolate-chip-cookie-less. Damn dog.

Friday, October 29

day 10193: pounding blinding headaches and other nasty nasties

Nothing much to say. Have been feeling "under the weather" for the past little while. Word of caution - never take more than 1 extra strength advil gel caps at once. Not good for you even though it makes the pain go away.

Question... why does my doctor only work until 12 noon on Friday's? Obviously I'm in the wrong profession.

Wednesday, October 27

day 10191: flying high

I wanted to believe that I was different. I wanted to think that I wasn’t like everyone else and didn’t experience the same things that everyone else does when they *sob* breakup. I’m special, I told myself, my feelings are that much more intense than anyone else’s, I loved him that much more deeply.

[Insert pseudo-drama voice here, here and here. Flutter eyelashes here… a little more... perfect…]

I’ll love only once, I’m strong, I’ll recover… yada, yada, yada, blah, blah, blah…

*slap, slap*

Wake up, chickie and stop deluding yourself.

*slap* Once more for good measure…

Then the haze faded, I woke up, started smelling the rank leftovers of old Corona bottles, and realized that hey, I was like everyone else, I had been deluding myself, people go through breakup crisis all the time. They survived. I’ll survive. And so I did survive.

I’m finally at the peace and acceptance stage (which was very likely helped along by my unintentional overdose of Advil Extra Strength Liqui-Gels of which I was only supposed to take one at a time, but mistakenly have been taking two… oops), but nonetheless, I’m decided recovered.

But, to torture myself one last time, I’ll relive it just for you. J-the-actress styles...avec dripping drama and all that glorious crap…


Damn you, I started the conversation. How DARE you be the one to break up with me? I’m the one breaking up with you. I DUMP YOU. What? No way. Go to hell, you piece of poop. You don’t mean anything to me. He doesn’t mean anything to me, right? We’re not really broken up, we’re just on another break again. We’ll get back together. No we won’t… Sex with the ex is the best, right? We can still be friends… can’t we?


Damn him. He didn’t know a good thing when it stared him in the face. I miss being his friend more than I miss going out with him. *sob* I’ve lost my best friend… *wahhhh*

Please God, make him realize what an idiot he is and make him come back to me. Or at least make it ok for us to be friends again. If I can’t have him in my bed, I still want him to hang out with me… please God… don’t you love me? Why don’t you just tear my heart out and feed it to the Devil? You’re punishing me for having premarital sex aren’t you… I swear I’ll never look at another boy but him again… I swear it… please with a cherry on top?

Damn me. I never should have slept with him.

Damn her for hurting him, why can’t he get over her already.

anger/fear of the future/lonely/revenge


I’m never going to find someone as cool as him again. I need a rebound boy. Lonely, I’m so lonely I could die… I’m never going to love again… Memories, like the corners of my mind

I hope he dies. I hope she dies. I hope all his hair falls out in chunks. I hope he never gets laid again. I hope someone keys his car, breaks his heart, steals all his furniture. I hope he can never have children. I hope he becomes allergic to beer. *gasp* Now I’ve gone too far…

learning how to be single again

What the heck did I do with my time before “us.” I have no idea who I am. I must go find myself. Oh where, oh where has my little J gone… I don’t know how to be alone. I can’t stand my own company. I hate watching tv by myself. Anyone want to go clubbing on Monday? Kill me, shoot me… just don’t leave me!

peace and acceptance

Good times, good memories for the most part. But it’s over and done with. Sure, still think about him on the occasion, but he’s not my first thought of the day, not the last thing I think about before I sleep either. Peace at last and undisturbed sleep.

By myself.

I am a survivor.

Monday, October 25

day 10189: would you like a side of trust with those fries?

A lot of people don't understand why I'm having such a difficult time finding a climbing partner. You could climb with so-and-so or so-and-so's friend climbs, why not climb with her, etc etc. You could climb with just about anyone in the gym, just hook up with them and offer to be a belay slave, buy them beer, etc etc.

Not that easy.

You see, I have a little trust issue. When it comes to my life and my health, I don't care how well I know you. I don't even care if you're one of my closest friends. If I can't trust you with my life, there's no way I will climb with you.

Climbing is all about trusting your partner. No ifs, ands, or buts.

One of my friends was in a climbing accident this weekend. Hairline fracture on his vertebrae. Total time out from active lifestyles - 6 weeks. 6 weeks of no climbing, no kayaking, no snowboarding... ugh.

All because his belayer was inattentive, had too much slack in the rope, or had the gri-gri open so that the rope ran out. It doesn't matter. Fact is fact. She failed to catch him when he needed her most.

They're both lucky it wasn't worse.

Friday, October 22

day 10186: when worlds collide

Previously, whenever people (specifically BMW) bitched and complained about their worlds colliding, I rolled my eyes, said "whatever, don't worry about it... you're just being anal" and went on my merry way. You see, it wasn't so much a lack of sympathy, or a lack of understand... no, it was more a lack of truly experiencing the feelings that you get when you find out that the world is a lot smaller than you'd like it to be, and people that you never thought you'd see in certain situations pop up when you least expect it.

I apologize from the bottom of my heart, BMW.

It is quite traumatizing. I'm sorry I failed to completely understand your anxiety.

As I was tying in for a 5.8 overhang last night, I saw someone out of the corner of my eye... a cousin who I hadn't seen for 8 years before my grandfather's funeral in May. A cousin I hadn't planned on seeing for another 10 years or so.

I thought I was seeing things. Unfortunately, I was not.

This cousin decided to start climbing two months ago because his "friend" climbed and he had nothing to do with his weekday spare time. This cousin's "friend" is also friends with one of my climbing friends for whom I was trying to find a replacement pharmacy student earlier on in the year.

Ick. Small world, eh?

And guess what, it gets worse...

This cousin also works at the same monkeyco as Triscuit and knows Triscuit, though he doesn't know about Triscuit history.

Suffice it to say, I was completely freaked out to the point of major distraction. I fell off the roof overhang, did big swings, gave little girlie-girl screams of "AHHH" as I free fell until John caught me. Fell a billion times off a couple of boobi-ful yellow 5.10a's and generally wouldn't have had a good climbing night had I not finally finished the 11b.

My worlds are colliding and I'm scared. Someone hold me. Please?

Thursday, October 21

day 10185: what’s in a number?

An episode of sex, toys and chocolate caught my attention the other night as I attempted to channel-surf my way out of boredom. For those of you who aren’t familiar with this little Discovery Channel tidbit, the format is simple – coffee house style discussions about the sex topic of the day… very informal, very light hearted, very honest… and very, very eye-opening.

Very eye-opening. Especially for a prude like me, and especially because the topic a la carte was promiscuity.

They discussed numbers; first the women by themselves, then the men, then the women and the men together.

Surprise, surprise, the men had numbers like 25, or “under 50,” or the guy (who honestly only looked 25) interviewed in Miami who had “200.” They had stats that detailed how many women they juggled at once, how many different ones in a day, how many they’ll actually admit to a woman they’re in a relationship with, etc.

I couldn’t help but think… ew… men are slime.

But the real surprise was the women. They didn’t even know… Sometimes, they didn’t even know the guy’s name (or at least his real name). To them, it was the adrenaline of going home with a stranger, the experience. The conquest…

Wow… okay. omg sluts… where did they find these girls… ew yuck…

I must be the world’s biggest prude or something. I must have assumed that all women are like me, and that sex is a personal act that means something. I must be deluding myself that it means something to the other person, because quite obviously in a lot of situations, it doesn’t mean a thing.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized how different my thoughts and beliefs were from the North American mainstream. Maybe it’s the Asian background, maybe it’s the lack of experience… maybe it’s the influence of the friends I keep or whatever. Or maybe it’s just me.

Admittedly, the situations on the show might be a little extreme given that they were trying to make a point. But really, with shows like Sex and the City, this one, and the whole slew of other ones out there, I think not. I think that somehow, it’s becoming more and more acceptable, and that people are just becoming more and more promiscuous.

And then I wondered if I’d ever be that way. And laughed at myself. I want to think not.

Wednesday, October 20

day 10184: nothing to say today

Just happy being me.

Oh, and I think I might have an idea for the NaNoWriMe... scary.

Tuesday, October 19

day 10183: i’m falling in love

It could be the sounds of the city, the honk of the errant horn, the incessant beeping of the traffic lights for the visually impaired, the quiet lap of the water against the pier, the damp mist that surrounds the city the odd morning…

It could be the crisp, cool autumn air, the way the sun peeps through the yellow and red leaves on the trees, the wet pavement that glistens under the carpet of said yellow and red. The season of change before the season of hibernation…

It could be the phone calls in the middle of the night, the ones from the airport in Chicago, the ones at work, the stray email here and there, the ones asking, the ones yelling, the ones offering nothing but a shoulder to cry on and ears to hear something they’ve heard a thousand times before, but will hear a thousand times again and again until the tears stop flowing and the smiles start breaking out…

I don’t know exactly what it is, but I think I’m falling in love…

In love with the city, in love with fall, in love with my friends and family – more so now than before…

In love with life…

And maybe even an itty-bitty in love with myself…

I’m starting to like myself, to accept myself for who I am, to change what needs to be changed and learning to know when to leave well-enough alone. I’m reading new books, starting new projects, rediscovering old passions, discovering new passions, becoming reacquainted with old friends, and getting acquainted with new friends. I’m finding myself a little at a time.

Baby steps.

Monday, October 18

day 10182 1/2: god help me...

I want to do this.

Words of encouragement/disuassion etc etc... very much appreciated.

Ideas, subjects, plotlines very, very, very much appreciated.

And if I do commit to this, can someone deliver me Caramel Macciatos or Caramel Corretos in the middle of the night?

Thanks. I'll see you all in December.
day 10182: predictable me

In a fit of boredom last week or was it a couple of weeks ago, I did an online handwriting analysis. And seeing as how I only check yahoo mail once a week, I didn’t get my results until this morning. Pretty cool. Mostly accurate:

J has a healthy imagination and displays a fair amount of trust. She lets new people into her circle of friends. She uses her imagination to understand new ideas, things, and people.

Agree. I trust just about anyone – even if they’re not worth trusting. Apparently.

J is very self-sufficient. She is trying not to need anyone. She is capable of making it on her own. She probably wants and enjoys people, but she doesn't "need" them. She can be a loner.

Disagree. I am a very needy, dependent person. I am not capable of “making it on my own.” I can’t stand my own company sometimes. I’m working on it though.

One way J punishes herself is self directed sarcasm. She is a very sarcastic person. Often this sarcasm and "sharp tongued" behavior is directed at herself.

Semi-agree. I can direct sarcasm at other people too… but on the other hand, I can poke fun at myself with the best of them!

J is a practical person whose goals are planned, practical, and down to earth. This is typical of people with normal healthy self-esteem. She needs to visualize the end of a project before she starts. She finds joy in anticipation and planning. Notice that I said she plans everything she is going to do, that doesn't necessarily mean things go as planned.

Agree, agree, agree… I am a planner who has to plan to be spontaneous. How pathetic.

J basically feels good about herself. She has a positive self-esteem which contributes to her success. She feels she has the ability to achieve anything she sets her mind to. However, she sets her goals using practicality-- not too "out of reach." She has enough self-confidence to leave a bad situation, yet, she will not take great risks, as they relate to her goals. A good esteem is one key to a happy life. Although there is room for improvement in the confidence category, her self-perception is better than average.

Semi-agree. This is a toughie. Self-esteem issues are being resolved as we speak. Definitely better than two years ago. Let’s just call it work-in-progress…

Because J has zigzag'ed shaped 'm' and 'n' hump, J is an analytical thinker. Her mind sifts and examines facts. She interprets all facts by separating them, breaking them down, and organizing them from a critical point of view. This pattern of clarifying facts contributes to her strong reasoning ability. J mind is constantly analyzing all situations that she encounters.

Semi-agree. Why think unless you really have to? I only analyze the really important things. Honestly, in this paragraph, I couldn’t get past the word “hump” until the third time I tried to read it. And still, I giggle. Bad thoughts, bad…

Diplomacy is one of J's best attributes. She has the ability to say what others want to hear. She can have tact with others. She has the ability to state things in such a way as to not offend someone else. J can disagree without being disagreeable. J will be candid and direct when expressing her opinion. She will tell them what she thinks if they ask for it, whether they like it or not. So, if they don't really want her opinion, don't ask for it!

Semi-agree. It’s all about the tact and lies baby, and I will sugarcoat it. A lot. But, I’ll never say anything unless it’s asked for and even then, I’ll probably hem and haw for a good while first.

J is moderately outgoing. Her emotions are stirred by sympathy and heart rendering stories. In fact, she can be kind, friendly, affectionate and considerate of others. She has the ability to put herself into the other person's shoes. J will be somewhat moody, with lows and highs. Sometimes she will be happy, the next day she might be sad. She has the unique ability to get along equally well with what psychology calls introverts and extroverts. This is because she is in between. Psychology calls J an ambivert. She understands the needs of both types. Although they get along, she will not tolerate anyone that is too "far out." She doesn't sway too far one way or the other. When convincing her to buy a product or an idea, a heart rendering story could mean a great deal to her. She puts herself in the same situation as the person in the story, yet she will not buy anything that seems overly impractical or illogical. J is an expressive person. She outwardly shows her emotions. She may even show traces of tears when hearing a sad story. J is a "middle-of-the-roader," politically as well as logically. She weighs both sides of an issue, sits on the fence, and then will decide when she finally has to. She basically doesn't relate to any far out ideas and usually won't go to the extreme on any issue.

Agreed. Agreed. Agreed.

*whew* It’s nice to know that I’m so predictable.

Friday, October 15

day 10179: i've seen bigger racks than those

Last night in typical we're-such-great-friends-we'll-do-almost-anything styles, ICBBQ, BMW, Terry, Suz and I went to H**ters to "celebrate" ICBBQ's b-day. We've walked by for years, but somehow never felt the urge to partake in the resplendid glory of H**ter's Almost-World-Famous-Wings (amongst other things) and probably would never have except for a promise made in haste without thinking... but nevertheless still kept.

And you know what? It wasn't that, that bad.

It wasn't good, mind you... the food was edible, the Sol was cold and crisp, the girls... um... yeah... nevermind the girls.

Anyway... it wasn't that, that bad. No real difference from any other bar, really. Except for the tighter tanks, the shorter-and-blindingly-bright orange shorts that were very non-flattering to any of its wearers, it really was just like any other sports bar that you go to for cold beer, wings and conversation with good friends while keeping an eye on the game.

I think it's the reputation really that made us never-want-to-step-foot-in-the-door... and the dread of having to admit that *whisper* J, went to H**ters. *gossip gossip gossip* Don't tell anyone... *sigh*

On the other hand, I guess, it's no different from admitting that I've been to a strip club... a fact that I quite proudly announced to Triscuit's mother once upon a drunken night oh so very long ago.


What is this world coming to.

Thursday, October 14

day 10178: the unexpected

Last night as I waited for the light to change at the corner of Bay and Lakeshore a homeless man came up to me asking for spare change. I rummaged through the little container of change I keep in my car and pulled out a handful of coins - mostly pennies - and dropped it into the pro-offered coffee cup.

"Thank you most kindly" he said to me through my open window.

"You're welcome," I replied "Have a nice day." I smiled and nodded.

"Wait a moment. I have something for you" He ran off towards the side of the road, the echos of my "It's not necessary, don't worry about it" fading behind him.

He ran back to my car. Reached in, and put a little bobblehead dalmatian on my dash.

"That's for you." He grinned a toothless grin. "See, he bobs his head." Poked at the dog's head to demonstrate.

The light changed. I thanked him and drove off, my head and the dog's head bobbing to the beat of a warmer heart.

Wednesday, October 13

day 10177: “MISSING DUCK”… big reward… any info. please call…

Have you ever felt lost, even though you know perfectly well where you are?

Have you ever felt incomplete, even though your life is supposedly grand and satisfying (in everyone else’s eyes at least)?

Have you ever wanted more – more from yourself, more from others, more from life in general…

But you don’t know what is more, or where to find it. You don’t even know where to look first.

You run ragged day to day. You hurry from place to place, run errands, have drinks with friends, pop in to see the family once a week. You climb Mondays and Thursdays, act on Tuesdays and have catering class on Sundays. Fridays and Saturdays might be reserved for drinking and partying. Wednesdays for lack of something better to do, you might hang out at home with the dog.

You like your Monkeyco, somewhat.

You love your friends, most times.

Life is full.

But you are tired, and constantly running.

Running from what? Running to what?

Days run into weeks. Weeks run into months. Months run into years. And still, you are running.

It’s not day-in-day-out. It’s something else, because everyday you’re doing something different, trying new things, maybe even meeting a new person here and there. But it seems empty and almost even meaningless.

Like you’re just killing time until the next big cataclysmic event happens in your life…

And until then, you don’t know what you’re doing… because you’re lost.


Colour: yellow & orange feet

Loves: French fries, club soda, bubble bath

Last seen at Bunny’s birthday party.

BIG REWARD. Any info. Please call 777-1234