Wednesday, September 29

day 10163: one month, $205 and counting…

Life is funny in a way. If we pay attention, we should see the little instances and nuances that help us realize if we are doing right or wrong. Most of us miss these signs (I admit to being completely guilty of that), but they exist nonetheless.

Sometimes we might not see them right away. We might even see them when it’s too late and the shit is about to hit the fan. We may realize years down the road what the indicators were, but alas, we cannot rewind the tape and go back in time.

One of The Alchemist lessons is to remember to pay attention to the details. Look for the signs and interpret them to see what it is you are doing, and what it is you should be doing. We may miss them or we might see them and choose to ignore them. It’s really up to the individual to figure out for themselves what it is they wish to take out of it.

A few months back, I tried to fulfill a promise to Triscuit’s mother that I made way back in June when things were still good and everyone was still happy. Triscuit has a sign hanging from the tree in front of his house that says “Leo G.” (i.e. his uncle who he named himself after). So I promised Triscuit’s mother that I would find a place that would make signs and have one made with Triscuit’s name to hang right underneath.

I searched high and low for months (even after we broke up, because in my mind, a promise is a promise) with no success. I drove around the fair Ontario countryside, popped my head into pine and rough wood furniture shops, went to Home Depot, Rona, Lansing… you name it, I think I did it. The finally about a month ago, on one of my million-and-one internet searches for “name signs,” “country signs,” “mailbox signs” etc., SUCCESS. I found a man who carves signs made to order… all for a low, low quoted price of $205.

What the heck, I thought. He’s been super nice, helped me pack up my house in less and a week, drove my truck and moved me in, made sure I was settled before he went partying “cheap drinks, pretty girls… you had me at cheap…” I’ll give it to him as a kind of happy house warming (he moved in June) *slash* thank you gift.

A month, the woodcarver said. A month, and you’ll have the sign, all freshly painted and pretty with a special coat of sunscreen varnish. Nothing was too nice for the boy.

Well, time has passed and things have happened. Delivery was supposed to be next Thursday in front of the box office of Roy Thompson Hall. Only, Mr. Woodcarver just called me and said that there was a crack in the wood, and he just wasn’t so happy about it, and there was no way in tarnation that he was going to give me the sign.

I had so wanted to close the book on that chapter in my life. Now I have to wait another month. Another eternity.

Had I read the signs properly, I would have realized earlier… I didn’t really want to order the “TLHUGH” sign… what I really wanted to order was “FUHUGH.”

I hope it’s not too late to change my order. I’m not bitter at all.

Tuesday, September 28

Day 10162: to act or not to act, that is the question

I've been waffling back and forth about it for weeks. Should I act? Should I not act? Can I even make that kind of commitment right now in my life with all the other things that are going on?

I had a lot of fun last time. The play itself was so-so. I probably won't have chosen it had it been my decision. But, the performance was drop-dead-awe-inspiring amazing to say the least. It was just a lot of good times with people I love (mostly my family) with just a bit of acting thrown into it for good measure. Light-hearted at times, but still committed and dedicated.

This time, it feels different. It doesn't have the same feeling of "fun-ness" as it did before. It feels stricter, more enforced, a lot more serious, a lot more than a bunch of friends getting together to have a little fun, and showing the world that we are more than two dimensional people - that we have other talents besides accounting and finance, dragonboating, hockey, snowboarding, skiing, salsa dancing, rollerblading, rockclimbing etc etc.

I'm not sure why.

Perhaps because Sista and Bo aren't there. Perhaps because Binny-the-superhero-claims-adjustor is being relocated to Florida to help out with the hurricane aftermath for the next two months. Perhaps because I feel like every single moment of every single day is spent running around in circles not really accomplishing anything of importance and I go to bed exhausted every night.

Yet, I can still picture myself doing it. I can picture myself in the role of Victor, playing mentor and protector to Verezzi. I can imagine the fight scenes and the crowds oohing and awwing with every spectacular thrust and parry, backflip and drunken master fighting stance.

And, of course, without a doubt, I like the attention of it. The world revolves around me, you know... I just have to reinforce it at times.

I've never been this indecisive about anything before. I've never comtemplated pros and cons for weeks upon weeks. Usually, I make a decision, stick to it, and pull it through. I've never really BAILED on anything before... But now I'm contemplating it.

For all that's said and done, it will be yet another opportunity for me to mature and grow, yet another activity in my already busy schedule, another commitment in my jam-packed life...

To act, or not to act. That is the question...

ps...this book is making the rounds. I think I might need to go buy it.

Monday, September 27

Day 10161: my security guys think I’m a whore (and other lessons I learned this weekend)

1. My security guys must think I’m a whore. I come home with a different boy every weekend. Granted, most of my really good friends are guys… but why don’t any girls come over to visit late, late, late at night? It doesn’t help matters either that most times I’ve obviously been drinking (perhaps a little too much) and that I’m really cute and bubbly when I’m drunk.

2. It’s all about the attitude. If you act like you belong, no one really questions you. Friday night’s slick line by-pass at Devil’s trumped by BMW and TN’s own original version of line by-pass where they just walked in through the pearly gates as if they owned the place.

3. If you’re in club and you’ve been drinking, even people you’ve only met once before are your “very bestest friends.” Enuf said. Oh, and I think I met half of Triscuit’s Monkeyco at Devil’s… how very six degrees.

4. The quest for girly-girlness may not be as long, slow, and drawn out a process as I thought. Or at least, the shopping part… Four hours of shopping with TV resulted in the-funkiest-pinkest-coolest-diesel-shoes-that-look-like-ballerina-slippers, a pair of nine west three inch mary janers, jeans that make my legs look “elongated” and work pants that made TV exclaim “Girl, your ass looks sooo good in those pants. You HAVE to buy them…” So I bought them.

5. Neither La Fenice nor Il Fornello is as good as Grazie. Lichee martinis are not supposed to be blue. Nor are they supposed to contain grapefruit juice. Absolut vodka is surprisingly good. Better than Finlandia or Skyy… of course, though, I’m really a Polar Ice, Belvedere or Chopin’s girl. I have to be… *ahem*

6. If you don’t feel like mingling at a wine tasting, and you’re arguing about it with the friend that you went with, it’s not a good idea to compromise on talking to at least one other person, and right away turning to the person standing directly behind you and saying hi. Chances are that he heard your entire argument. Greater chance, also, that he’s a really dry, boring, dull plastics engineer who hates his job and doesn’t have anything witty or insightful to say, and that’s probably why he was standing by himself in the first place. I’m being mean, aren’t I? Sorries…

7. Sometimes it’s okay to ditch the people that you’re supposed to party with. Especially if you can do another slick line by-pass when otherwise, you would have had to wait at least an hour. And especially if they dropped the ball on you and forgot to call you when they left the restaurant. No worries BMW, I’d rather party with us too…

8. Don’t believe your trainer when he claims not to believe in “no pain, no gain.” Because, darn it… you won’t be in pain when you’re doing the exercise, but by God, you’ll be in pain the next day. And the day after. And probably the day after that.

9. Never try to drive on Waterfront Marathon days. You will never get home and will end up sitting in traffic for an hour when it was only supposed to take you 20 minutes.

10. When they say that a wine is “buttery,” it means that it has absolutely no taste on your tongue, but you get a weird stinging sensation in your mouth afterwards. Essences of pear or apple or aged oak are fragments of your imagination. Knowing a lot about wine makes you sound very Fraser-ish-pretentious. And snooty. And snobby… and generally not such a cool person to hang out with. In my opinion. *snort*

11. It is possible to gain ten pounds in a weekend. After all, if you have 35% milk fat cream and you reduce it 50% to make a cream sauce for your spice-encrusted salmon with a side of bok choy and crispy udon, you end up with a 70% milk fat sauce that ends up going straight from your lips to your hips.

Friday, September 24

day 10158 1/2: BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO me...

Boo #1:

I've decided that I look at myself in the mirror a little too much.

How much, you wanna know?

This much!

[extend hands as far as I can reach]

I look in the mirror soooo much, I walked into the door today while trying to see if my protruding fatty-boo-boo tummy was because of protruding fatty-boo-boo, or if it was because of my pants.

It was because of protruding fatty-boo-boo and now my co-workers are all laughing at me.

Boo #2:

I had a nightmare.

I woke up praying to all-that-is-holy that I wouldn't grow up to be one of those Chinese women with Hair A or Hair B.

Hair A: cut short (perm optional), sometimes a little spiky, most of the time shaggy, dyed/tinged red or brown to mask the greys.

Hair B: long, usually permed, incredulously fucktacularly frizzy, tied back with some wierdly be-laced hair clip that doesn't really match the small floral print dress with the boxy shoulder pads. Let the grey grow, baby... let the grey grow.

There really is no other kind.

Boo #3:

Last night I wanted to call and hang up, call and hang up, call and hang up, etcetera, etcetera.

I did that Wednesday while drinking raspberry sourpuss vodka lime tonics on ICBBQ's roof...

Got the machine...

Left heavy breathing messages...

Just joking...

Made you wonder though...

Didn't it...

I couldn't do the heavy breathing thing...

I tried...

But was laughing too hard...

So I just hung up...
day 10158: please god, it's me, j...

I went to an Asian fundraiser last night. Tickets were bought, so attendance was required. The cause? I really have no idea, seeing as how I didn't understand most of what was being said (i.e. whatever was in Mandarin). I suspect, though, that it was schools in China somewhere, but I might be slightly confused as they showed a lot of pictures of finding water, building pumps and installing taps.

So instead of pretending to pretend to pay attention, I ended up sms'g ICBBQ most of the night.

Beginning with my opening message of "I sooo need a drink..." I got these responses back...

I know how you feel. Have just one.

Poor girl. We'll drink tomorrow.

Good luck.

I mean in a good way.

See if he has a sister.

Has one approached you?

Let me know if something happens.

ha ha ha!!!

From which memory serves, and it usually doesn't, I was complaining at being at the fundraiser where I didn't understand a word that was being said, complaining about being bored out of my mind, and not being able to go to the bar which was supposed to be closing in 20 minutes (20 minutes ago) but they only just reannounced that it was closing in 20 minutes. Obviously, the emcee's were inbibing a lot more than I was.

Complaining about the eight hundred or so Chinese people in the same room as me and how it completely terrified me to the point of really, really needing a drink but I couldn't because I was with my mother. I went on to tell him how old Chinese men are slimy and how the only good thing that might occur from the night was if I somehow managed to find a sugar daddy. But I couldn't do it, because old Chinese men are really, really, really slimy... I think ICBBQ wants a sugar mommy.

In a moment of panic, I slipped out to the cash bar. Tried to be good and ordered a cranberry soda. Alas, the ensuing conversation with the bartender about how vodka isn't the least bit odorific or detectable led to a shot of vodka being poured into my hastely half chugged cranberry soda. Perfect.

And so the night continued... me, back at the table with mom, aunt, uncle, auntie and a whole lot of single women I didn't really want to get to know, listening to a lot of people speaking in tongues, sms'g ICBBQ about how my mom was sipping so much from my cranberry soda vodka and not noticing the vodka to the point where I thought I might even get her hammered... whooops!

Luck for me, it's a once a year thing.

Thursday, September 23

day 10157: tact

Some people have none.

They blurt things out left, right and centre, uncaring about the impact of what they have just said. Perhaps done out of forgetfulness, or out of spite. But more likely than not, just done out of ignorance and pure, pure selfishness.

On a sad note, I think I'm going to have to break the diet for a little while and stock up on my childhood comfort foods of Twinkies and Wonder Bread because this had to go and happen. Boo.

On an even sadder note, I'm feeling rather rejected. Hockey night in TO... only people so far, is cousin, myself and Triscuit... that should be a good game. Maybe I should make it full contact. We do have some unsettled business between the two of us, ya know.

Wednesday, September 22

Day 10156: 6 Mini Meals a day will help the fatty-boo flab go away

I need help. Actually, I need a definition of what a "mini meal" is. I've become all gung-ho about my self-inflicted program. I climbed on Monday, I biked a bit yesterday, I have plans to rollerblade today... but I can't seem to handle the whole eating thingy-ma-bobby.

I packed my lunch today... and my breakfast, and the 2 other mini-meals that are supposed to be consumed sometime between breakfast and and lunch and sometime after lunch before "dinner".

Ooooh, and I've been so good too.

Breakfast - Ryevita (I actually like the cardboardy taste) with a spoon of spicy hummus

Snack - mixed berries (strawberries, blackberries, raspberries, blueberries)and a little square of cheese

Lunch - salad with yummy sweet, ripe mini roma tomatoes and some cheddar

Snack - peanut butter and another bit of ryevita...

Sounds good, doesn't it.

Only, no one's told me when to eat them. So breakfast, has stretched into lunch. Lunch will stretch into dinner and who knows when I'll stop eating. I had the ryevita with the hummus. I picked at the berries the rest of the morning. It's lunch time and I've been eating the cheddar with the peanut butter... I'm not even hungry anymore... but eat, I will because it's supposed to be good for me...

Craziness. I think I'll go throw up now.

Tuesday, September 21

Day 10155: auto soap

For two hours this afternoon, I really had to go. Pee. I crossed my legs, I tried to think happy non-liquid thoughts. I hummed, I sang, I went into meetings. Nary a thought of trickling streams, babbling brooks or Niagara Falls crossed my mind. All because of a little sign stuck on the washroom door that said:

Please use washroom on another floor

Normally, I'm not that lazy. I'll take any opportunity to walk up and down a few flights of stairs, pop in and out of the various floors, whatever. But really, to get to the washroom on another floor requires no less than 3 uses of the passcard, walking around all the exec offices and elephant stomping my way down the hallway... because, you know, our building is old, the floors are really creaky and I do have a tendancy to "walk with purpose". Of course, I do have the option of going to the reception floor where any client can see me running out of the elevator and making a straight beeline for the nearest washroom. Great for business don't you think.

So I held it. For two hours. Probably more. But I was in meetings so I was distracted by the arguments of applying new Handbook sections that really aren't warranted.

Finally, when push came to shove and I really, really, really, REALLY had to go... I walked by the washroom one last time before making the trip upstairs. It was open again. Phew. The clanking and the clammering of pipes was over. The washroom was in relative peaceful silence except for the sound of running water from the floors above (we do have an old building, you see). All was happy in the world and I felt much, much better.

But the story, dear reader, is not how I felt... it's what I felt.

I turned to wash my hands, admired the new wave-your-hand-in-front-of-this-infrared-light doo-hickey of a faucet and stuck my hand under the new autosoap dispenser.


It felt like a wad of spit. It felt like a bird crapped on my hand. It felt like I'd been slimed...

I look down at my hand and see a glob of soap no bigger than a lima bean.

Lather, rinse, repeat, dry...

Maybe if they had auto-paper towel dispensers, then I'd be suitable impressed.

Then again, probably not.

Monday, September 20

Day 10154: not a lush...not a lush... soooo not a lushhhhhhhhh...

Things I soooo *ahem* did not do this weekend...
...shmooze it up with Woe and gang
...polar bear, B-52, crispy crunch, tequila, sapphire&tonic
...Canyon Creek Chophouse
...devil's martini...sapphire&tonic, sapphire&tonic, sapphire&tonic, sapphire&tonic, sapphire&tonic... damn that B-boy...
...kensington market
...fancy martinis (aka twisted monk wannabes) at grazie's avec le triple shot bartending styles of Rob-the-Finlandia-bartending-comp-winner
...congee wonged with mama et grandmama
...drove to niagara on the lake with mama
...stopped at beach along the way so that mama could see happy place number three with a quickie drive-by of Triscuit's house... never fear... no pitter patters of the heart here

It was a grand and wonderful weekend. I'm loving it...

PS. This is what I get for eating fortune cookies first thing in the morning...

Your love life will be happy and harmonius

mmmm... I can't wait.

Friday, September 17

Day 10151: No Mo' Tough Love

Sometimes you just want to know how the other person is doing or what they are doing. Sometimes you can't help still thinking about them and sometimes you can't help still caring about them.

If they're happy or if they're sad...

It does not mean, however, that you're still head over heels about them, or that you're dying to get back together with them.

Enough is enough... no mo' tough love. My heart can't take it no mo'. I want my friend back.

ps... check this out...

Thursday, September 16

Day 10150: And so the dance begins...

Email I just received wrt Lawrence's b-day dinner tomorrow night...

Just so you know, I'm not going to this.
Perhaps you could sign Lawrence's card for me - the usual. :>

See ya'

To which I responded...

k. if I don't make it, I'm sure someone will sign it for you anyway.

But really I was thinking...

Damn you! If you're doing this because you think that I wasn't going to go because you were going to go than you're way too full of yourself!!! NO ONE gets the better of me... not even you. You better change your mind, buster... I have a point to prove...

I was going to out with Woe to celebrate her first sale, meet up with them for dessert, wish Lawrence a very, merry, happy birthday and saunter right out to get royally hammered. Now, I have to sit and wonder why the heck he's not going... if it's because of me, or if it's because he has a date.

I hate boys.

Wednesday, September 15

Day 10149: It’s not who you can live with… It’s who you can’t live without

It’s always disturbed me when people ask me about my type… what I look for in a boy… what I want for my SO, my better half, my I-can’t-live-without-you-‘til-death-do-us-part etc. etc. blah, blah, blah… yada, yada,yada. Disturbed me because I didn’t know, and scared me, because I never really cared enough to sit down, think it through and create that list of what’s hot and what’s not. I always kind of figured that when the right person came along and accidentally smacked me in the face with his snowboard in the parking lot, our eyes would meet (the one that wasn’t swelled shut by the wack upside the head), we’d gaze longingly at each other (as he examined me for a concussion – him being a doctor and all) and he’d take me into his arms and hold me forever (as he half carries/half drags me across the grey-brown oil-slicked icy parking lot to the first aid hut).

But these days, in my newly singled state (ok, continually singled state, seeing as how the Triscuit “relationship” never officially existed), what with all the recent discussions of speed dating (I can’t believe I’m actually considering it), internet dating (I’m putting my foot down on that on, BMW), blind dating (wait… that issue has never come up…am I not good enough or something for your friends…?), self dating… oops… nix that one... I’ve begun to think about my wish list a whole lot more. *ahem* A whole lot more.

And why shouldn’t I? I’ll be the first to admit it. I’m not getting any younger. Oil of Olay aside, I might look like I’m 21… ok… 23… and I might act like I’m 23… ok… 21, but I haven’t been 21 or 23 for a very, very long time. And if the reports are right, and the best age to have kids really is 27-34 (considering health, wealth and mental abilities to raise semi-decent children), welp, I’m running out of time. Not that it really is a consideration at all, seeing as how a pack of rug-rats underfoot really does not appeal to me at the moment.

Regardless, it’s time to let go of the whole-wheat-nabisco-brand-product and move on (or get a rebound boy). It’s time to open my eyes, look deep inside me and figure out for myself that if the snowboarding doctor in the parking lot has “forgotten” to find me, well, I’m going to have to go out into the great blue yonder to find him. And I have to know what I’m looking for. No sense in waiting for fate to come hit me in the face, when I can stick my face out at fate. No sense in letting every single guy in the world become a prospect. This is a sit down, order a la carte kind of thing. I’m not interested in the buffet line… I don’t want a little of everything (and usually crappy-ass quality too)… I want what I want… and I want the best one out there… or the best one for me, at least.

So here goes, in no particular order, except how they popped into my head...

Laugh with me, not at me…

Be spontaneously silly. Have a sense of humour, a sense of wonder, a sense of fun, a sense of jest, a sense of merriment. Be ye not the serious fuddy-duddy who stands there in the corner with his arms crossed glaring at me when I say or do something silly. Because it’s bound to happen. I know it, you know it… everyone who’s seen me in a drunken, happily befuddled state knows it. But know what is appropriate. Sometimes, my fine fellow, it is important to act your age. You can’t be the froshie twenty-five year old prankster forever. Life doesn’t work that way…

Live a little, love a lot…

Be passionate about something. Love something other than yourself. Be it a sport, a place, a thing… your dog. I don’t care. Have a great past, a great present and a better future. Work towards something. Don’t accept things as they are. Strive to make things better… be the best darned person you can be. But do something. Travel. Ski. Snowboard. Paint. Don’t sit on your ass day in and day out and watch someone else’s life on the boob-tube all day. If you really need to stare at a boob… you can look at me. Live life as it’s meant to be lived, not as someone else wants you to live it... it makes good stories when you’re retired and have our grandchildren to dangle upside down from the 3rd storey balcony.

Talk to me…

Tell me how your day went. Tell me when you’re happy. Tell me when you’re sad. Tell me more than “yes…no…I dunno… whatever you want, honey…” Have an opinion. I’m really bad at guessing and if you don’t talk to me, I will not get it. I’m not good at communicating my feelings. I can’t do the guesswork for two. Tell me a story of the time you and your dad smuggled beer in from Quebec and tried to sell it to all the bars during the Ontario prohibition. Just talk to me. And tell me the truth – even when it hurts. I’ll love you more for having the courage to do so. That’s all I ask… that, and know when not to talk to me…

Touch me…

…hug me, kiss me. Pinch my butt when no one’s looking. Hold my hand when we’re grocery shopping just because you feel like it. Jump me in the middle of the afternoon with the windows wide open and the neighbours walking by. We don’t have to be at it like bunnies, but hell yeah, it’s important to me. Real important. Teach me, tease me. Want ME (and not the tall, skinny, blonde bimbo who lives in 12A).

I’m not your mother… or your housekeeper… You, on the other hand, are my handyman…

I promise that I’ll love your mother. How can I not love the person who brought up the boy I love? But I am not your mother. I won’t pay your bills, I won’t cook all your meals, I won’t clean the house by myself. For goodness sake, I barely know how to do my own laundry. So, unless you like your tighty-whiteys really tighty-pinky, lunch is not a PB&J everyday, dinner is not Mac and Cheese, just because it’s got broccoli in it doesn’t mean it’s yucky… and yes I still forget to separate my whites from my reds.

Know yourself…Love yourself

Be secure in yourself. Like who you are. I don’t want to deal with your insecurities too. Be open to new and wonderful things. Try something new. Not once, but twice. Just because you don’t like it the first time doesn’t mean you won’t love it the second. Experiment a little. Learn a lot. Teach me something. Know more than I do about something, anything, everything…


Love me, love my family. Respect me, don’t just humour me. Open doors for me (especially car doors… mmmm). Pay for me on the rare occasion. Buy me flowers, make me lunch. Do things just because and not because I have to beg and plead for it. Try not to hurt me. Really try not to kill me. Be a gentleman in every sense of the word – all the time. Not just when it’s convenient.

And, last, but not least…

tall dark and handsome… ;)

Seriously… need I say more??? In all fairness, I’ll settle for tall, fair and reasonably cute… ;)

And in return? I promise to love you forever, and ever, bear your children, hold your hand when it thunderstorms and marry you for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, until the fat lady sings and the pigs turn blue.

So, Mr. Snowboarding-hockey-playing-dragonboating-doctor-dude… ready or not, here I come…

Tuesday, September 14

Day 10148: I want some nosy neighbours…

The dog barked in the middle of the night. Her teeth were bared, she was growling for all her little 7 pounds of bone and fluff were worth.

“Hush, baby… hush… it’s just the neighbours coming home. Go back to sleep.” I roll over, snuggle deeper into my lumpy pull-out couch and try to go back to dreaming happy chocolate dreams. She’s been super sensitive for weeks. Any little sound outside gets her riled up, wound up, and ready to attack.

I drift back to sleep. Warm, cozy… semi-happy for the first time in a long while. Things are good, getting better at least. I made it through a bad day. Survival mode…

I’ve got plans, I’ve got goals… I’m going to get my life back in order… soon as I wake up…

I hear the jangle of keys. Voices jar me out of my half-sleep. Strange… neighbours don’t usually take that long to go inside.

The door knob turns. Someone is pushing against my door. The jangle of keys again, the scrape of the key fob against the wood of the door.

“What the hell?” I spring out of bed, rush to the door, pulling on clothes as I go. Crap, I forgot my glasses. Run over, pick them up, fumble to get them on my face. I stand behind the door, trying to block it should someone try to push their way in. It takes me a split second to summon the courage to look out the peephole. I’m afraid of what I might see. Hairy men in wife beaters, balaclavas pulled over their faces, wielding machetes and knives… help me… there’s nothing in here worth stealing. Take my money, all $21. 48 of it. I don’t care.

The doorknob keeps turning. I want to grab it so they can’t come in. I peek out into the hall. A man and a woman. She’s pushing on the door and tries to turn the key. She tries, then he tries.

“What do I do? What do I do???” I’m panicking… I don’t want to open the door, but how do I get them to stop?

Finally, I open the door a crack. Leave the chain on… “What good would it ever do?” the voice in my head nags… “You’re going to get killed and there’s no one around to even care…”

“Can I help you?” I ask. Why am I being polite to my soon-to-be-murderers..

“You’re in my apartment. You have my cat. Get out of my apartment.” The woman says. A wave of stale, fetid, alcohol breath hits me in the face.

Great. She’s drunk and she’s trying to break into my apartment. Even so… I stick my foot behind the door. There’s no way she’s coming in.

“I’m sorry? I live here.” And there’s no cat here… Did she used to live here once upon a time? Why the heck would she think that this was her apartment?

“No, that’s my apartment. I’ve lived here for a month. See suite 123…” She points at the numbers on my door. “1-2-3”

“I think you’re in the wrong building.” My heart is still hammering. My mouth is dry. My brain is barely functioning. “You must live in the next building…”

“I live here! GET OUT OF MY APARTMENT!” She’s yelling now. Hopefully loud enough to wake the neighbours. Maybe, then. someone will come to my rescue.

“This is 10 Main Street. You must live in 10 Anywhere…” How the heck do you reason with a drunk? I look over at the guy she’s with. He just stands there with a bemused expression. Just watches the scene unfold before him. Not doing anything about it.


She’s crazy. She’s drunk. She’s trying to break into my apartment.

“I’m calling the cops.” What the heck else can I do???


I shut the door and lock it. My hands are shaking… I stumble in my dark apartment looking for my phone and my phone book. I can’t find the number. When did I move in? I finally find it and dial the security desk…

“I’mcallingfrom123andthere’sacrazydrunkwomantryingtoforceherwayin… pleasecomehelp”

“Calm down, ma’am. I’ll send someone up right away.”

In the hallway, I can hear the woman talking to someone… maybe the guy she’s with, maybe someone on the phone…

She’s sobbing…”There’s a crazy bitch in my apartment and she won’t let me in… She has my cat, the crazy bitch…”

But I don’t care anymore.

I sit down in the middle of the floor. I’m sobbing too. The dog is hiding somewhere and I can’t see her in the dark.

I fumble for my phone… and dial Triscuit's number.

Monday, September 13

Day 10147: Tell me why...

I dreamt about you last night. I dreamt that for some f.u.’d reason, we were all in school wearing disgustingly dismal drab grey uniforms of classical UK variety, and that we still weren't talking to each other. The principal wrote me a note asking me to reexamine my connection to your uncle Leo, and that for some unknown reason it was not a good thing in "polite society" to claim to have known him... even though in actuality, I really don't. The inexplicable power of dreams, so to speak…

I came to you angry and on the defensive that someone who didn’t know him could make that kind of statement. I was angry for you because I knew that he was important to you. And then I was angry at you because you were having such a great time with all your new friends and didn’t seem to care that I was going through this emotional turmoil… for you… instead of you.

Words don’t mean a thing, you said.

Let them say what they will. Actions speak louder than words. Let it go.

I railed at you. You were too calm. I yelled and I screamed about the unjustness of society. How no one took the time to look deeply at anything anymore. How they looked only at the surface and believed want they wanted to believe. Judging based on appearances and not on what really is.

You shrugged.

And I slapped you across the face before I stormed out of the room to fight a battle I knew I could not win.

I woke up angry, confused, and almost hating you. I really need to stop dreaming about you. I can control my thoughts when I’m awake, but I hate that my subconscious insists on clinging to you… I hate that you were the first thing I thought about this morning and very many mornings before. I hate that I cannot control my thoughts as well as I can control my actions. I hate that I still care about you and that I still thought about you yesterday and wondered if perhaps for a heartbeat you might have missed me at your bonfire last night.

You probably never even gave me a second thought…

Then again, I never expect that you ever would.

Tell me why it is so much harder to end the friendship than it ever was to end the relationship. Tell me why I can go through days not really thinking of you, but I haven’t been able to get through a night without dreaming of you since I told you that I didn’t think we could be friends anymore. Tell me why I felt the blood drain from my face… why I got so cold and started to shake when I got your bonfire email last week.

Tell me, because I don’t understand.

Nothing like this has ever happened to me before.

Friday, September 10

Day 10144: the importance of being me

I have an inferiority complex. The reasons why, it doesn't really matter.'s a little bit funny, the feelings inside...

I'm not pretty enough, skinny enough, smart enough, cool enough, fun enough, sexy enough... it doesn't matter... I'm just not enough.

So I'm going to fix it. Started Monday night.

I'm going to become the skinny-minny, the smarty-pants, the cool chick, the girlie-girl... I'm going to find new hobbies, new projects, new cool and wonderful things to do. Like scuba diving or flying or learning to ride a motorcycle. I'm going to find new people to do these things with...

I'm going to find myself.


Out there... in the great beyond of a city some rapper dude called T-Dot.

Thursday, September 9

Day 10143: Betrayed by my unconscious self

Just when I think I'm almost fully recovered and that my heart has stopped skipping a beat every time I see Triscuit's name, my unconscious self decides to betray me and rewind all my hard-earned closure...

Last night, I dreamt that I had Triscuit's baby.

No, I was not happy about it.

No, I did not tell him about it. He did not know that I was having his offspring.

My mother and my grandmothers, on the other hand, were estatic. Surprise. Surprise. So ecstatically happy, in fact, that they threw me a rooftop party WHILE I was giving birth.

Lucky for me, the baby just seemed to pop right out and I didn't dream about the pain of childbirth - thank God for that one!

It was a girl... rather skinny and gangly (all arms and legs), but really kind of cute. I couldn't decide what to name her...

And then I woke up, and in my half wake-half asleep grogginess, I came up with the perfect name... Sapphire Joelle...

How amazingly fucktacularly ironic. Ouch.

Wednesday, September 8

Day 10142 1/2: In the past year...

~ Sista dated someone my parents really didn't like and almost broke the family apart
~ Tricuit and I got together, broke up, got together again and then broke up again... and now, I am no longer speaking to him but am feeling really, really sad about it
~ Sista moved away - first to Texas and then to Calli
~ I changed jobs
~ My last remaining grandfather died (although sometimes I do forget that it happened)
~ My townhouse was repossessed by the landlord
~ My parents split up

Isn't it time for something GOOD to happen to me??? Please, God, please???
Day 10142: Thanks Po-po

Recently, every single conversation with my dear beloved grandmother (po-po)...

J: Hi Po-po... how are you doing?
P: Be careful...
J: Ok Po-po... how are you?
P: Be careful...
J: Ok Po-po... um maybe I should talk to Mom again...
P: Be careful... you're not too clever you know...


J: Ummm... hello? Are you still there Po-po?

Tuesday, September 7

Day 10141: The Inevitability of Just Being Friends...

It doesn't work. End story.

I'm not sure what hurts more - that I feel like I'm losing one of my best friends, or watching him flirt with other girls. Either way, my decision has been made. I can't go on pretending that everything is fine anymore. Sorry. It really isn't the same.

People told me that it very seldomly works out. I didn't believe them. I thought that if I worked at it hard enough, we could still remain close friends. We can't... I can't.

Damn, this hurts... more than the actual breakup itself.

Thursday, September 2

Day 10136: That's NOT my job... aka photocopy it yourself, I'm not your secretary...

I've always hated people who go around saying, "That's not my job." You might plead and beg for the tiniest scrap of assistance, but they turn a blind eye to your plight and force you to go to the utmost extremes whereby had they even thought about lending a hand, it would have taken them all about 30 seconds and they would have earned eternal gratitude.

Hence, I have never said that to anyone. I lend an ear, a hand, a shoulder - I will and do often go out of my way to help...

Even if I dislike someone...

... like I-think-I'm-God-I'm-so-wonderful, high and mighty Lawyer-Dude...

... but sometimes, there's extenuating circumstances...

"Hey, can you give me a hand with the new photocopier? I keep pressing the button, and all I get is a blank page..." he yells across the office.

I get up, walk over, press the button. Sure enough, it's printing blank pages. I open the lid, look at his documents, move them over to the other side of the copier, press the button, and presto... non-blank pages come spewing out... whooo hooo... score one for technology and big-fat zero for Lawyer-Dude

Later on in the day... my phone buzzes.

"Hey, remember that analysis you were doing for Company ABC. Do you have invoice XYZ and invoice HJI from X date to X date?"

"Sure, I have the files on my desk. Do you just want to pick them up and look at them?" I'm typing away furiously. Completely swamped - just tell me what you want.

"No, I'd like copies please."

"Sure, no problem - drop by anytime. The files are at the corner of my desk."


"Can you make the copies for me?" Sigh.

"Not if you need them this week."

Wednesday, September 1

Day: 10135: Miscellaneous ramblings a.k.a. Why I’m going straight to hell…


Yesterday, guys (and girls) were checking me out left, right and centre!!! Whoo hoo!!! Hmmm… could be that the top three buttons of my shirt accidentally popped upon so that I was flashing everyone as I went on my merry way down Yonge Street...

AND, I was almost killed because of it. I think she was jealous of my rack, so she tried to run me over when she made a left turn. Then the next guy followed her without looking and the guy after that… though he saw me, just as he was half a foot away from taking out my head with the side mirror of his SUV. But at least his eyes widened with appreciation when he saw my exposed chest… maybe it was fear more than appreciation… hmmm.

Then… this morning, THREE guys checked me out within 50 paces of my front door. Ok, one was obviously gay (I think he was checking out my dog for his dog), one was a homeless dude, and one was probably thinking “What the heck is her problem” because I was glaring at him for dropping his garbage on the floor… right next to a garbage can..

Makes a girl feel good to be checked out so much, doesn’t it. Oh my, I think it’s going to my head…


I saw a skinny-minny today wearing the most gorgeous outfit of dark brown, tan embroidered capris and these absolutely fabulous looking shoes. Needless to say, she was also blonde, skinny, TALL, and just-my-luck probably incredibly rich to boot… I hate her… I want to be her.

I almost went up to her to ask her where she got those shoes… instead, I took another bite of my Egg Mcmuffin and vowed to learn how to use a treadmill without falling off.


Senses opened Monday morning in the building almost next door to my office… Gosh, golly, darn, gee-whiz, I think I’m in trouble. Melt in your mouth chocolate orange cream domes, rich dark chocolate raspberry hexagons, sparkle cookies… need I say more? I’m salivating at the mere thought of it all… Crème brulee to go, SVP!!!


Sunday afternoon, my mother, grandmother and sister visit. We bump into my new next-door-extremely-friendly neighbours (Dave and Yasmin) at the elevators.

D: Do you all live next door?? Or are you just visiting?
[my place is 480sq ft - there's 4 of us buddy...]
J: No, Just me.
D: Oh, I thought it was your boyfriend who was moving in.
[Pause. Anxious glance at mother and grandmother.]
J: Who? No, just me…
D: You’re boyfriend… the guy with the curly hair?
[Silence. Grandmother is listening intently, sister trying not to break out into outright laughter, mother looks outright furious]
J: …Um…he’s just a friend… um… *cough* helping me move...
D: Oh, I get it.


Maybe I shouldn’t have yelled the fuck word at my mom last night. Maybe I shouldn’t have taken the baseball bat to the mattress. Maybe I shouldn’t have left that footprint in the wall when I tried to kick a hole through it and ended up hurting my foot.

Maybe I shouldn’t want to kill my soon-to-be-ex-stepdad for hurting everyone I know, and causing so much grief, pain, and suffering.

Maybe I shouldn’t have smashed my knee into the freakishly painful metal door because I was walking really, really fast to get out of my parking garage and didn’t manage to turn the door handle properly. Damn, that hurt… I would have laughed, but it really, really hurt.


For lunch, I want a Big Mac, some fries, sushi, BBQ chicken rosti from Marchelinos, ice cream, cookies… wait… maybe that’s gluttony…

Hmmm... get back to you on this one… this may be my only redeeming factor…


I did not want to clean out the townhouse. Ok, not so much because I’m lazy (although maybe partially), but I want to make a point – if he causes so much havoc in our lives and leaves us with the mess of picking up the pieces, then why the hell shouldn’t I leave a mess behind for him. Human decency is only deserved if you have any decency whatsoever. What comes around, goes around…

I do not want to go down to the locker room and pull out that yucky, ugly, STAINED mattress that someone left behind. If I didn't need the space that badly, I would never do it. Maybe I should pour a bottle of bleach over it and set it on fire...

I’m blogging at work and the freaking auditors are in… need I say more?