Monday, May 30

day 10406: niles

Niles was Scottish. Warm, and friendly, he was a bear of a man; the kind that makes you laugh so hard the beer comes out your nose.

Niles arrived toasted. It wasn’t obvious. He was jovial and polite, making conversation with the ladies, shaking hands and backslapping with the men. He took the offered drinks and gin-laced lemonpops with grace, thanked the hostess, and talked politics and social economics with anyone with two cents to contribute.

Ribs were barbequing and the shrimp and mango kabobs were almost ready when Niles commandeered one the hosts for a “chat.” Really, they went to smoke a little weed. Buzzed, Niles stumbled as they were coming back from their “chat” and stepped on the other man’s toe. He apologized passionately before sitting down to a dinner that he had lost his appetite for.

Apparently drugs do that on occasion to some people. Makes them lose their appetite… and their coordination…

He only hid it well for a while.

Niles spent the rest of the night stumbling around. He knocked glasses off the table, he knocked the table askew, tripped over the dog, and tripped over the chairs. He entered the house to use the washroom, stumbled around a bit and came out a good while later. Maybe he had to use the phone. He dropped his keys and cigarettes at one point, bent over to pick them up and grabbed nothing but air. The ladies giggled nervously, unsure of what to do. One of them picked up the keys. The other one picked up the dog.

Everyone was good at pretending that nothing was happening out of the ordinary. Hey, everyone likes a good party sometimes. When it was time to drive Niles home, he thanked his hosts and hostesses profusely, saying how grateful he was for the mere invitation to dinner. And thus, he departed.

Leaving a trail of destruction behind…

A broken toe…

A broken toilet…

But no hard feelings, eh? Niles meant no harm. Accidents happen. They are very forgiving people. Very.

Until three thirty in the morning when Niles’ girlfriend called looking for one of the hosts.

“I’m sorry, he’s at work. Would you like to leave a message?” There was a tension in room. “Can you hold out for another half and hour? We’ll try to find him as soon as possible.”

Niles, as it turns out, is abusive when he’s drunk. He beat on the dog, hurled insults at his girlfriend and scared her enough that she phoned looking for help.

But instead of the police, she called us. Because apparently, she still cared enough about him to give him a chance.

There was nothing that we could do. It was a domestic dispute that we could not be involved in. Sleep was scarce that night as we lay in the dark wishing her all the luck in the world...

Friday, May 27

day 10403 1/2: sell, sell, selllll!!!

I've been playing real estate agent for the past week.

I'm doing such a good job garnering interest in the place, I've almost sold myself on it.

Everytime someone gushes about how much they love the place, I think, "Back off bitch... it's mine."

Then I try to remember why I didn't move there in the first place. It takes a while, but then it comes to me... THERE IS NO PARKING!!!!!!!!

How quickly one forgets.
day 10403: some days i really, really need a camera phone

... so that when I talk about the guy standing on Queen Street between City Hall and Osgoode, you'll know what I'm talking about. You know, that homeless guy with the pet ferrets, playing Frankie on an old tape deck, and petting the five rats he has draped over his arm?

Yeah, that guy.

Thursday, May 26

day 10402: so freakishly antsy i think i’m going to drown myself tonight

The worse thing about being on the disabled list is enduring the constant inactivity. Day after day of absolute nothingness. I can feel my fat cells growing again. I know that the couch potatoe hidden deep within is just waiting for the perfect time to burst out and reclaim all of its former 178lb glory.

Last night, I was going to try to do a little spinning on the recumbent bicycle, but my fish taco craving got in the way. I overdid it when I went shopping for supplies and lugging back a couple litres of milk, a big ass jar of herring (craving) and more than a few pounds of tomatoes, avocados, and goat feta (for avocado sandwiches) did nothing for my already sore and tired back.

So I took it easy, did a few months worth of laundry (apparently I just buy new underwear when I run out of clean ones), and sat back to watch the remainder of Episode V that I had fallen asleep watching the night before. (Yes, I fall asleep constantly watching movies, and yes, I’ve watched almost all of them since Sunday…) Episode VI I’m saving to watch with Triscuit tonight after he finishes climbing for the night.

Still antsy from not being able to, um, move without pain, I popped in this; which had someone told me that it was almost identical to this (which I actually liked...), I wouldn’t have wasted the $5 buying it from PacMall.

I’m going absolutely freaking nuts…is this how everyone else lives? I'm trying my hardest to be my usual happy-go-lucky self, and look for a silver lining in all of this, but thus far... nada. nil. zilch. zero. nothing.


(ps... ever since the Katie Holmes/Tom Cruise thing, I just don't see her in the same light anymore...icky)

Wednesday, May 25

day 10401: nothing but a toothbrush and maybe a change of underwear

Have you ever wanted to hop on the first plane with nothing but your passport and a toothbrush?

Be spontaneous… do it…

I dare you.

And then tell me all about it so I can live vicariously through you. I’d love to do it, but in my case, it would have to be the bus station instead of the airport. And somehow, it doesn’t seem nearly as fun…

Tuesday, May 24

day 10400: ready to face the sharks

My absolute-all-consuming terror of sharks stems from childhood. That’s what happens when your parents take you to the theatre to see Jaws and hum the “duh-dum-duh-dum” theme song on the way home.

It doesn’t matter if it’s the ocean, lake, pool or bathtub. “Duh-dum-duh-dum” plays over and over in my mind while my overactive imagination visualizes a great white shark somehow swimming its way up to Lake Ontario, squeezing into the pipes and bursting through the walls to come after me.

I was a very fast swimmer as a child, seeing as how I never wanted to be caught in the middle of the pool when the sharks came for me.

Tonight, I will face the fear. Swimming is about all the exercise I can do for the next few weeks, so swimming it will have to be. Memories float through my mind… a tearful Cape Cod trip where I was forced to enter the waters of the Atlantica… a rafting trip on the Ottawa River where Kapoopie snuck up behind me and yelled “Shark!”…

“I guess it would be mean if someone painted little sharks all over your new goggles.”

“I wouldn’t be able to see then… but really, I almost splurged for the hologram ones of razor teeth fish… just in case a shark does come through the walls, I might be able to scare them off. But they only came in kids sizes. Boo…”

“Well. Try not to get eaten and try not to drown.”

“Thanks, babe, for caring.”

Monday, May 23

day 10399: lost, found and lost again…

There are days when you just want to tell the world to “Fuck off.” There are days when you can be surrounded by people but still you feel helpless, lost and alone. It doesn’t matter what people try to say or what they try to do… because it doesn’t help. It doesn’t even matter.

There are days when you question everything said to you. Wonder to yourself if things are said because that is what they think you want to hear. You probe, you pick, but there are no answers, and anything said just makes things worse.

What makes us who we are? The people we love? The things we do, or the things we care about? What makes us unique and special in the eyes of someone?

What happens when life throws you a curveball and you end up losing half the adjectives that you once used to define yourself? Who do you become?

I’m a climber. I play softball on Tuesdays. I rollerblade, mountain bike on the odd occasion and play hockey better than a lot of boys… I was happy when I got to a point where I could run for four minutes without wanting to quit.

But do these things define the real me? Once upon a time, I thought they did…

…now who am I?

Someone tell me please, because I really don’t know anymore.

Friday, May 20

day 10396: more randomania from the land of jamania

'levator going down

J: Oh my god, this skirt is short!!
T: You only just realized?
J: Oh my god, yeah.
T: Relax, it looks good.
J: But is it appropriate for work?
T: Probably not. It's really short.

queen & yonge

Stranger: "'Scuse me ma'am! I just want to give you a compliment! You are very beautiful!"
J: {thinking} hm, he looks like Stephen Baldwin... did he just call me MA'AM?
S: "You probably have a husband. No? You probably have a boyfriend..."
J: {thinking} tee-hee... ok, stop following me... this is kind of creepy...did he just run out from McDonald's?

hurts to sneeze

Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow.

how do the people without siblings talk about the really important things

... like bathroom related things you can't talk about with anyone else, because they'll think you're stranger than a pie on the moon. Not that I am, of course. Strange, I mean.

Thursday, May 19

day 10395: can you keep a secret?

I'm finding it more and more difficult to keep my secret. Too many people are indirectly involved. Not that I'm THAT important, but I've made plans, and now I'm going to have to cancel my summer.

And really, the only person that can't know is the maternal one.

Oy. I really don't like thinking about the consequences of that one...

Wednesday, May 18

day 10394: karma... scharma...

With all the shitty-ass who’s-its and what-nots going on right now, you’d think that there’s some kind of balancing force up there that will help me out by letting me win the lottery. Or something equally good…

Cuz right now, life just about sucks ass.

Friday, May 13

day 10389: at last… the epitome of girlie-girl…

The quest for girlie-girl-ness is over. While it has been fun, and it has been quite a success, I believe I’ve taken one step too far into the abyss of pink. It’s time to take a break and reassess the situation.

Mishap last night rendered this girlie-girl into a mass of blubbery, red eyed tears. Tears coursed uncontrollably down my face. Scores of concerned faces looked at me while I tried smiling unsuccessfully through the salty leak.

And when finally the crying slowed enough to fist away the wetness with my grubby-chalky hands, I turned to a worried looking Triscuit…

… and said…

“How’s my makeup?”

… and the tears started right up again… crybaby-girlie-girl that I am… ;)

Wednesday, May 11

day 10387: and some words still sting

When I was six, the sun and moon rose with Michelle. She was a kind-of older sister. I wore her hand-me-downs, had sleepovers at her place and watched Captain Kangaroo while eating Cornpops with chocolate milk. She gave me a Snoopy doll holding a Walkman. We talked about the Jackson Five and how much she liked Jermaine. I’d nod and pretend that I understood. Obviously, I had no clue what she was talking about... I barely do now.

Things got busy. My parents packed me off to piano lessons, art lessons, and Chinese school. We lost touch and grew apart. No more sleepovers. No more hand-me-downs. The hero-worship thing subsided.

Then, when I was eight (maybe nine), she came to one of my uncle’s Christmas parties – a big family affair. The kind where family from all different sides get together and bring other friends, food, etc. etc… other kids etc. etc…

Needless to say, hero-worship resurfaced. The sun and moon still rose with the now teenage and therefore, grown up, Michelle, so I dogged her not knowing that “grown up” Michelle would want to hang out with the other “grown up” kids. I guess I just figured that we could hang out, watch cartoons on tape, and eat sugar sweet cereal together.

It was not to be. Instead, our former association embarrassed her, and she tried to hide from me. But hero-worship that I did, I kept looking for her. The more I wanted to hang out with her, the less she wanted to do with me. I got the hint… eventually

As my family left for the night, she and friend-du-jour perched oh-so-innocently on the second floor landing and together they yelled out, “Good R-I-D-D-A-N-C-E.” I, of course, had no idea what they were spelling.

I went home, looked it up in a dictionary, and have hated the phrase ever since. Every time I hear it, I cringe a little inside thinking that somehow, someone's inner child is feeling what I felt way back when.

Monday, May 9

day 10385: that’s when i said… “there’s no point to being crazy jealous bitch”

The day of the bonfire, Triscuit’s roommate (for who I still haven’t found a suitable nickname, btw) awoke with news that the bar he tends on Saturday nights was hiring another part-time tender. My first thought, of course, was “Whooo hooo!!! Yes, yes… me! me! me!” were completely knocked to the ground. Roomie wanted to relive the best-of-buds glory days from way-back-when (i.e. 18 years and a lifetime ago) and bartend with Triscuit by his side.

Fun and games, he claimed. An AWESOME time… can you remember the good ‘ole days?

Of course Triscuit whole-heartedly agreed. After all, he’s been instrumental in telling me how fun bartending would be and how everyone should do it at least one time in their lives. If not for the tips that I could make with my smile and my um… assets… then for the life experience.

So when he told me today that he had asked Roomie to speak with Bar-Boss for him and tried to justify it by saying that it was an opportunity to get back into the restaurant business should the whole programming thing fall through, I surprised myself by being strangely mature about it.

I expressed my concerns, talked about his scheduled sailing lessons Friday nights, and the bartending gig Saturday nights and how with my softball games on Tuesdays, we’d never really see each other any more except on climbing days (which really isn’t enough bonding time seeing as how climbing day is one big rush-around day). We talked about girls at the bar, flirting with said-girls at the bar and how it was okay to flirt with said-girls at the bar so he can get bigger tips, but how unhappy I would be if he actually went beyond the flirting and how OVER it would be if he actually brought someone home.

That’s when I said… “There’s no point to being crazy jealous bitch.”

(Being jealous is overrated. It really is. It sucks the energy and life out of you and makes you end up feeling and acting like the bitch you don’t want to be. I know from experience. Besides, it’s completely pointless. Being jealous isn’t going to stop anything from happening. You just kill yourself with the whosits and whatnots.)

And then we started talking about how cool I was and how I was going to use all my monkeyco connections to try to get a bartending gig myself… in a club… downtown… where the drinks flow faster and the tips are a lot fatter…

Friday, May 6

day 10382: hang-ups

A couple days a month, I really hate being a girl. I hate dealing with the crampy-bloating-discomfort, hate the up-and-down-mood swings, hate the teary eyed bitch that I become. The only thing that even comes even close to appeasing me is the thought of crawling into bed with a hot water bottle, drugging myself with a handful of Advils and curling up in the fetal position, all the while praying for God to give me a quick and painless death.

Needless to say, when faced with such adversity, I lash out. I want, no, DEMAND attention. I need hugs, and kisses. I need someone to tell me how beautiful and wonderful I am, and how the world really does revolve around me. And I need this ALL THE TIME.

So when I became increasingly stumped and frustrated on a bouldering problem at the gym yesterday, I told Triscuit I needed a hug.

“What? Now? Here?”

“Yes. Now. Here.” Pout.

“Ok. Fine.” Half-hearted wimpy one armed hug… what the heck was that? Pout. “Ok, so I have a hangup about hugging in the gym. On the street, in a club, fine. But in the gym… it just feels weird.”

Whatever. I go back to bouldering, trying to figure out the green overhang problem that feels so extremely reachy to me. Being shorter and being a lot weaker doesn’t help my sloppy footwork and messy technique. Being weaker just makes me scared to try anything that will throw me off balance.

Five tries. Ten tries. I persisted. There was no way in hell that he would be able to finish that route and I would not. Take a break, he kept saying. But no. Every slip, every fall ended up with me huddled over in near tears, but again, there was no way in hell that he would see those tears fall.

And then I got it. I matched and toehooked and fought my way to the top.

Arms surrounded me. A shout of jubilant joy from him! “You got it, now that deserves a hug! See… I’m getting over my hang-ups. That was really good! Now do it again, cuz I couldn’t see what you did.”

I did it again. And then again, to prove that it wasn’t a fluke…

Wednesday, May 4

day 10380: the importance of having wood

I overreacted. I know I have a tendency to do that. But you don’t understand. Let me preface this by telling you about the bet that JB and I have that he cannot burn all the wood that I gathered for Triscuit’s bonfire this Saturday.

Curry crab at Indochine is riding on this. And if you’ve ever been to Indochine, you know this is a BIG deal.

“Ok, are you sitting down?”

“Yes… why????????????”

“Terry just called. The woodchipper is making its way down the beach and grinding up all the wood in its path…”

“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! What about MY wood?”

“Don’t know. The chipper hasn’t gotten there yet. It’s still a little ways up the beach. Terry’s going to put a sign on it. I’ll update you when I get home.”

“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! The HORROR!!!!!!!!!!”

But there’s more to the story. I spent two days gathering the wood and lugging tree sized logs from one end of the beach to the other. Let’s not even talk about telephone poles and who’s-its or what’s-nots. I heaved, I hoed, I raked, I cleaned up the beach until it was very nearly spotless… the logs I didn’t have the strength to lug and pile up, I stood up, replanted and created my own version of beach art. Really, it looked more like a dead forest.

Like the anal accountant that I am, I even organized by size… for “easy burning.” Six wheelbarrows full of kindling to start the bonfire, smaller branches to get the fire going stronger, logs cut and logs uncut (i.e. trees).

(Yes, I know I am anal. I have come to terms with it. So should you.)

But there’s more. There was a temper tantrum on day two. It was a gloomy day. I had not planned on beach cleanup day… especially by myself while Triscuit worked on replanting grass in the front yard. I was feeling like slave labour, and friends of Triscuit’s last-summer-after-me-before-me-again-fling came rollerblading by. Needless to say, it was not a pretty sight.

I did the whole girlie-jealousy thing, but held it all in until everyone was out of sight or long departed before I let loose. I teared. I huffed. I flung stones with all my might into the murky grey waters of Lake Ontario.

I was not a happy camper. Neither I, nor my new pink work gloves were having fun anymore. I flung my rake down, turned over the wheelbarrow, planted my sand covered hiny on the beach and refused to do anymore.

Then, it happened.

Two kids… not more than sixteen… came riding by on their bikes. One stopped, lowered his sunglasses, whistled and rode off again…

I must be cute when I'm mad.

It cheered me up enough to go to the batting cages to work off the rest of my "grumpiness."

"Don't worry, your wood is fine. JB will have to burn it all this Saturday though, since Terry promised that it'll be gone by the end of the weekend. So you're going to lose your bet..."


Monday, May 2

day 10378: randomania…

softball is the sport of the devil

It’s been almost ten years since I played last, but because of softball, I lost all desire to be #1. I no longer needed to be better than anyone else at everything and learned to settle for mediocre.

I once almost blinded someone. It was my fault for holding up my glove while covering first base so that when she tried to beat the ball, she ran into my glove. Maybe she should have looked up while she was running.

I once almost knocked out someone’s teeth. But that was her fault. She should have told me that she couldn’t catch. I wouldn’t have lobbed the ball up high. I didn’t know she’d just stand there staring at it… she could have ducked.

Spring season starts in 8 days. Whoopie! I wonder what harm I can inflict on my fellow humans this time…

friendly stranger

JB and I took a walk down Queen St yesterday and made a stop here. I felt like such a tard since my experience with the um… you know… is severely limited. But at least it wasn’t me sounding like a tard asking for help and trying to figure out how to roll a joint. It didn’t help either that I was wearing my Billabong hoodie drinking taro bubbletea with multi-coloured coconut jellies either. I just looked like a preppie-druggie-wannabe.

I swear I “never” inhaled… ever...

Blood test is tomorrow. This weekend should be…um… “fun”…

I don’t know what you’re talking about. You never heard anything about that here…

i miss my sista

I miss someone telling me not to do things on impulse and that sometimes it’s not a good idea to stalk my boyfriend… especially when I’m on an ultra-emotional-super-pms’g weekend.

That way, when he says “I had a feeling you’d drop by today and surprise me,” I won’t find myself replying with, “I went out for Swiffer clothes and found myself in Hamilton because I couldn’t find any other Canadian Tires in the city.”

Yeah right. Sure I believe you. Sure… delusional-wierdo-chickie-freak…

Did I mention that Friday night was fight-picking-night. Fun for the whole family!!! Whoo hoo…

”i was all over her like a fat kid on a smartie”

Kudos to Bullpen Larry for almost making me spew water all over my monitor. Almost…

bartending classes...update

I know A LOT about alcohol. A little too much... and not all of it is work related. That's a little scary... doncha think?

Admittedly, it's pretty cool being able to recommend drinks left, right and centre. Ask me for something limey and I'll give you a list as long as your arm! ;)