day 10707: runner up #2…!!

Yay!

In the case that Bridesmaid and Bridesmaid runner up #1 are unable to fulfill their bridesmaid duties, it is my obligation, as Bridesmaid runner up #2 to step in and hand the Bride little squares of folded Kleenex during the ceremony so that her mascara doesn’t get runny.

Little does she know, I’ll probably be bawling alongside with the rest of the gang… we’re that happy for her.

day 10706: it’s all about me

When I say that the world revolves around me, and that it’s all about me, I don’t mean that everything has to go my way or else. What I mean is that there should be at least some consideration of me and my “feelings” and that I shouldn’t be feeling like I’m an afterthought.

Because on the flip side of everything, to me, it’s all about you.

day 10703: giving back

A bunch of us were feeling magnanimous last night and volunteered to do tax returns for kids at one of the children’s charities in the city… it was a complete and utter blast. The kids were cool, funny, and, well, it sure beats staying home and cleaning up after the contractors’ mess…

Schmassion: Are you married, divorced, single, common-law…?
Kid 1: I’m single. You single?
Schmassion: I’m here to do your tax return, not pick you up.
Kid 1: Too bad. You still in school? How old are you?
Schmassion: Too old for you. Do you have any kids?
Kid 1: No. Do you? Want some?

Kid 2: Yeah, but I’m cute. Don’t you think I’m cute?
Schmassion: Dude, you’re thirteen. Come back in three years.
Kid 2: Fine.
*two seconds later*
Kid 2: I’m back… and I’m still cute.
Schmassion: Why don’t you go get a cookie?

day 10702: day 4 of silence

Despite the rosy glow I try to paint in all my schmassion childhood stories, things were far from being peachy. Things weren’t disastrous by any means, but we had our bouts of spats, disagreements, attempted murder etc etc. We were a typical family; we children fought amongst ourselves, the parents fought amongst themselves. Sibling rivalry abound, I’m sure there are as many times when Sista hated my guts as when I hated hers. Probably more times for her, I wasn’t an easy person to get along with.

When times were good, they were great. Sunday afternoons, we’d finish lunch, watch American Gladiators or some other brain sucking television program and pile into my parents’ bed for a communal nap. Four of us in one bed, it was awesome. We’d lie there, laugh, chat and gradually fall asleep. Wake up late in the afternoon, and then get on with our days. To this day, nothing feels quite the same, nothing feels quite as content.

When times were bad, though, everyone watch out. I had a bad temper - a quick temper. I was a force to be reckoned with. Just joking. Not quite. All of us had tempers. All of us have been known to throw things, break things, lash out in anger with words, storm out of the room, hang up on each other, well, you get my drift. It was a long time before I learned how to even begin controlling my temper, and I admit, to this day, it still occasionally peeks through.

Sista and I fought about almost everything under the sun… toys, boys, television, music. The parents, on the other hand, only fought about two things. Money or family, both of which always had to do with things on my dad’s side of the family… long story that I’ll save for another day. We’d plead and beg for them to stop fighting, making empty promises about how Sista and I would stop fighting if they stopped fighting. Even then they laughed at us, knowing that the probability of us being able to accomplish such a feat would be slim.

Things escalated when I was about 12. There was a huge fight (probably about money or family, more likely about lending money to family), the Maternal One got pissed, packed her bags, grabbed Sista by the arm and left. Came back fifteen minutes later and decided to kick out Da instead. He came back after spending a couple of nights in the car somewhere and things were quickly back to “normal.” It was the only time I’d ever seen him cry.

During all this, and the times afterwards, I always wondered, why did the Maternal One only take Sista, and what the heck did I do to piss her off at me?

It’s day 4 of silence. It’s been much worse before, but this time, I feel like I'm playing for keeps.

day 10701: beefs, bitches, and a barrage of miscellany including a bling-flinging barrista…

Blame it on the crazy glue, and my obsession with figuring out underwear logistics, I know it’s been a while. So long that I haven’t even talked about Mexico and that was almost a month ago… too long ago…

A lot of stuff has happened over the past little while; stuff that you want to talk to your therapist about, stuff that you want psychoanalyzed, but you can’t because your pseudo-therapist cancelled on you. I think I scare her.

Oh, and I was just joking about the bling-flinging barrista. Who wants Starbucks when you can Roll Up the Rim to Win.

Beefs, bitches and a barrage of miscellany in no particular order…

~ Monkeyco moseyed close to the plate. They offered $5K less than the lowest number in the range that I gave them. Thus, search for new Monkeyco has begun. I don’t like being taken advantage of.

~ That said, well, maybe Monkeyco presented a good point about some things, but regardless, I’m still not happy. Thus, search for new Monkeyco has begun.

~ To the prospective new Monkeycos, please don’t ask where I picture myself to be in 5 years. The world is changing faster than my mind. What I want to be in 5 years is rich and retired, but how can I tell you that in a job interview… DUH!!!

~ Also to the prospective new Monkeycos, how do I tell you that I'm leaving because I don't really like my boss without sounding petty and vindictive... HOW? Just tell me how.

~ New Monkeyco search is going very slowly. I am being really, really picky. But, at this moment in time, my motivation is pure, undiluted greed.

~ Money isn’t everything. Greed can be for experience too… I just want it all… but mostly the money.

~ Condo management sent out a notice last week that water pipes were to be fixed in my unit, thus requiring the vacating of all items in the kitchen and bathroom so holes can be cut into the wall. I spent the WEEKEND cleaning things out, and the only hole in the wall is beside the couch… WHERE I STASHED ALL THE STUFF FROM THE KITCHEN AND BATHROOM. Needless to say, they moved everything around and neither party is impressed.

~ The maternal one keeps demanding that I move home and stop deserting her in her time of need. I have no good words to say about that one, except that your way or no one's way does not fit the definition of "compromise." ARGHHHH... source of neverending frustration.

~ I found my dream bike. It’s whatever bike is black and burgundy. Really, at the moment, it’s the GSXR-750, but paint it any other colour, and I probably won’t recognize it. Who knew I was such a girl. (When you click on the link, and I know you will, remember… BLACK AND BURGUNDY… *drool*)

~ Apparently speeding in a school zone is a major conviction and seriously affects your eligibility for cheap car insurance. Maybe I should have disputed my ticket 2 YEARS AGO! I swear officer, that school isn’t really a SCHOOL... it’s 8:45 in the MORNING on a SCHOOL DAY… do you see any kids? Honestly, folks, the playground was deserted.

~ Seriously, I think I use the word “seriously” too much. Who am I kidding, I can never be taken seriously… I’m never serious, seriously. Case in point.

I’m single until Saturday… anyone up for something Friday?

day 10699: let’s play another game… wwjd?

Say J’s mother was very, very opposed to J ever riding/sitting/riding on the back of/thinking about/dreaming about/etc a motorcycle and wanted J to promise never to do any of all of the above.

Say J’s mother wanted J to practically sign in blood that J would never do any of the all of the above.

Say J really, really, really liked doing all of the above EXCEPT riding on the back of a motorcycle, because realistically, J is a driver, not a passenger (let’s get real, folks). And J is about [this close] to buying one, and will definitely never give up riding one.

If you were J, WWJD?

I’ll tell you what J shouldn’t have done. ..

J’s response to the maternal one’s comments of “I lost your dad, I don’t want to lose you too” (and subsequent rambling) probably shouldn’t have been, “Well, I think he would have thought it would be fun, and he’d probably have wanted to ride one too.”

Response to further maternal ramblings shouldn’t have been, “Yeah, well, you probably won’t have let him anyway.”

day 10691: and in conclusion...

No, it's not possible to take off your underwear without taking of your jeans and your boots.

day 10689: tip of the week

If you get a run in your nylons, DON’T USE CRAZY GLUE.

day 10687: pulllllllllllllllllllllllll…

Some days I feel like a clay pigeon hurtling through the open air at some crazy ass speed, waiting for the bullet to hit and smash me into smithereens. I try my best to be positive, to look at the brighter side of things, but some days, a head full of bubble gum thoughts just doesn’t help.

You can tell me not to worry, and assure me that everything will play out in the end. You can tell me that my problems are no big deal, but really no matter what you say, in the end it doesn’t matter… I’m still just waiting.

Waiting to win the lottery.

Waiting for a new monkeyco to make me an offer I can’t refuse.

Waiting for people to step up to the plate.

Waiting for something to change so that I can live the life I want to live.

Then,when all the waiting is done, and something does happen, the world as I know it will be completely different. And probably not in a good way.

day 10686 ½: btw…

I ran/walked my first 5K today. Niagara Try-a-Tri, you’re going DOWN!!

day 10686: ode to my cube

Be vewy, vewy quiet. It’s wabbit hunting season…

It’s RESTRUCTURING time at monkeyco. Officially, I’m still here. Unofficially, I checked out a long time ago.

A conspiracy is afoot. Everyone I like is gone.

day 10685: oh jack…

The best thing about feeling sick is the sheer amounts of brain rotting tv that I finally get to watch while "recuperating". Alas, Sunday night, the only thing on was the Oscars. BORING!!!! No matter how hard I tried, I could't bring myself to watch it and channel surfed for a good three or four hours.

But then, something caught my eye. Jack Osbourne climbing the 3,000 ft Salathe Wall on El Capitan!!??? Incredible!!

*I wanna I wanna I wanna I wanna I wanna*

This makes my 1,200 ft Estrellita summit at Potrerro Chico seem peanuts in comparison. Damn, but I’m jealous.

Then they got to the part where they showed his friend, Bean, taking a pee while the cameras were rolling and I remembered that no matter how much I want to do El Cap, there's a really, really good chance that I never will... because I will never be able to pee on the wall...

They climbed for six days and slept on the wall for 5 nights. I'm good at holding it, but I ain't that good.

day 10681: tee hee… i farb-dud*…

Burp me the alphabet and I would be suitably impressed if you get past “T”. Tell me about the smell, colour, and texture of your daily offerings to the Porcelain God, and I will cover my ears and sing out “Tra-la-la-I’m-not-listening.” Fart at me or even near me, and I will scream for mercy and go running for the hills.

Yes, I AM that sensitive**.

So, when once upon a time, I heard stories of a Kentucky climbing trip that involved fire and huge amounts of passed gas, I should have clued in. Boys on trips without their girlfriends or wives = bad news. Bring a gas mask. And some matches.

Maybe it’s something they ate, or maybe they delighted in being away from respectable civilization and the freedom went to their brains… maybe it was the beans or maybe it was the magic sauce from the truckstop… I don’t know, but let me just tell you one thing…

Yuge can clear a room and has no qualms doing it.

*Backstory: Da was your typical run-of-the-mill asian immigrant who came to Canada for a decent university education. He studied hard, lost his accent, went on to bigger and better things, but somehow in his twenty-odd years in Canada, never learned the word “fart” as part of his vocabulary. That is, until we came home as kids with potty mouths and taught it to him. I’m not sure if it was a comprehension thing, a translation thing that just didn’t quite click, or something he delighted in tormenting me with, but for the rest of his life, “fart” came out of his mouth as “farb” and “farted” as “farb-dud.” And typical guy that he was, he’d let one rip, say, “Tee hee… I farb-dud” and watch with glee as we screamed and ran for the hills.

**Not to say that I don’t. But gas is a very private thing for me and something that should be kept to oneself, and never, ever shared…

day 10680: please sir, can i have my life back?

Naively, I believed that once I returned from the Epic-Mexican-Climbing-Adventure my life would return to normal and once again be simple. I’d have free days in my calendar and weekends perfect for sleeping in.

Except, I forgot that my life was never simple to begin with. Free days in my calendar never existed and a weekend perfect for sleeping in was just a figment of my imagination.

If it’s even possible, my social life is burning me out.