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!

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...

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...

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.

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! :)

day 10196: dog-capades and other scooby snacks

dog-capades…

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.

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.

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…

anger/denial

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?

mourning/bargaining/depression/regret/despair/blame

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

DAMN HIM!!

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.

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.

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?

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.

day 10184: nothing to say today

Just happy being me.

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

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.

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.

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.

*sigh*

What is this world coming to.

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.

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.

”MISSING DUCK”

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

Day 10177: Hypotheticals…

Hypothetically, say someone was looking for a car-pool-buddy and was semi-desperate because she really wanted to car-pool regularly at least twice a week, and posted on a car-pool-buddy website. A couple days later, that someone’s ex-car-pool-buddy decided that he wanted to car-pool again and they agreed to car-pool on Thursday. At the same time, say a 24 year old Registered Massage Therapist and Personal Trainer responded to the post and wanted to car-pool, but had only car-pooled 6 times before, but can car-pool at the same level (seeing as how he’s gotta be a spectacularly fit PERSONAL TRAINER) but not with the same technique or finesse, but nevertheless, our special someone invited him out to car-pool with her and her now-not-so-ex-car-pool-buddy on Thursday to make a car-pool threesome.

What a night that would have been.

Old-car-pool-buddy, meet younger, probably much hotter, new-car-pool buddy.

The tales we could have told. The things we could have done.

Alas, and get your mind out of the gutter as this is not a ménage a trois, the 24 year old RMT and PT has decided not to join the car-pooling dynamic duo, seeing as how he’s posted his own car-pool post on the car-pool-buddy website.

Good luck buddy… regular car-poolers are not so easy to find…

But wouldn’t it have been funny.

Hypothetically.

day 10172: downtown observations log #46273284...

incident #46273284:

place... the northeast corner of Yonge and Queen

time... lunch

details...
1. shabbily dressed woman walking towards me yelling "Diarrhea! Diarrhea!"
2. view is partially blocked by typical asian kid with spiky hair and bright yellow sneakers
3. I dodge left to avoid crazy woman as she passes typical asian kid
4. then she yells... "DIARRHEA!!! Can you hear me?" into a silver cell phone.

conclusion...
Not every shabbily dressed person yelling "Diarrhea" is crazy. Some of them just have deaf friends.

comment...

A tad hasty with the judgements. Typical asian kid was probably not even asian. Nice dodge there. Check that urge to run.

grade...
B+

Good job soldier! For that, you deserve a Coke!

day 10171 1/2: chicken shit and other weird and wonderful things

chicken shit...

It really irritates me that I've been dealing with the entire Triscuit's-b-day-present-snowboard-pass-thing through Betty G.

Now I have a headache and it's all your fault.

weird and wonderful...

Since the day I joined Monkeyco, I've been staring out the window at that Eternity perfume ad with the two disgustingly happy people in bed. Just now, I get back to my cube, look out the window and see an entire new two disgustingly happy people (not in bed) advertising Calvin Klein Eternity Moment.

"When the heck did they change it?" I asked myself.

Then I see it... it's staring me in the face...

The slogan of the ad...

"Just one moment can change everything."

day 10171: in memory of a legend...

I received a distressing SMS from BMW last night. King's Noodles in Chinatown is closed. For good. Don't know why. King's Noodles where late night food is guaranteed hot and good. King's Noodles where we grew up buying the barbeque pork and roasted duck hanging in the window, where the bright orange octopus parts gleamed in sweaty display under the heat lamps, where the yellow cladded waitstaff were always hustling and bustling, but always remained relatively polite for an Asian restaurant. King's Noodles who is the ultimate supplier of downtown comfort food... of which I need lots.

How sad.

I never even got to say goodbye...

~ we used to stand outside the window after Chinese school, waiting for the mothers to come back ladened with the weekly groceries. The kids were herded in, we'd order our favourites and read books and play cards until the food came.

~ it was where my dad and my aunt shared a table in typical Chinese "dap toi" styles and didn't even realize it until they were both finished eating and looked up from their empty bowls. Yes, the food was that good that you just want to stuff yourself with more and more until your belly was full and your insides to the point of bursting.

~ it's the restaurant that everyone knows... even the non-Asians at work talk about it

~ it's where Triscuit and I went after "Moving-John-Holland" when we missed the fireworks because "someone" forgot the key fob in the condo and we were locked in the parking garage.

~ it's where we went after Duckie practices sometimes when Sunnyside cafe wasn't open and it was still too cold to sit outside on the patio

~ we went there after we moved BMW - he, his friend Sel, and I... the night before the Centre Island race and we were running through Chinatown looking for a Vietnamese sandwich store that was still open at 10pm because I promised that I'd feed the team the next day.

~ it's where we went after BMW and ICBBQ killed LZ and her boy in tennis and won a free lunch... I was just along for the ride... :)

~ we bought ICBBQ's congee there last weekend on the day he got sick and had to bail on his own housewarming party... remember that?

Oy, the memories...

Goodbye King's Noodles. I'll miss you. May you resurrect one day.

Somewhere. Soon.

day 10170 1/2: ultimate mean thought #1

email: "I'm pregnant... it's yours."

wait half an hour

email: "just joking..."

*******
[ed note: Where the heck did that come from? Must admit though, when it popped into my head, cranberry juice almost came out my nose...]

day 10170: project “find-J-a-boy”

I need a boy. Ok. Fine. I don’t need a boy, so much as I need a bed warmer. But I would like a boy.

I woke up to an unfamiliar sensation this morning. It was unpleasant.

I was cold…

I was shivering those little shivers that come just before your teeth start chattering and all your muscles tense up in one big knot. Forget the knot. I was already curled up as tightly as possible in a little ball, blankets drawn up over my head, trying to suck heat from the dog snuggled into my stomach.

Did I mention that it was cold?

I like being warm, and cozy. Fuzzy even.

So, I think I’d like a boy, now. I’m ready for one. I think. The dog just doesn’t do it for me anymore. Sorry Toots.

And for those of you argumentative types, there are tons more reasons (other than a bed warmer) why I would like a boy…

Such as…

I can’t reach my kitchen light to replace the bulb. I don’t have a chair or a stepladder. I can’t reach when I’m standing on a stool. Let’s face facts. I’m short. What I do have is my counter top and my stove. But even though I can do the splits and can probably reach the light fixture, I still need someone to spot me. You know, someone to, say, strategically place a hand on my butt should I start to tip over. You wouldn’t want me to hurt myself or anything, would you? And not just anyone is allowed to touch my butt… a girl’s gotta have some standards, you know…

I hate staying at home and watching television by myself. I need someone to make fun of the shows with me, and to laugh with me, at me. More importantly, I need someone to snuggle up with, and wake me up to tell me to go to bed after I’ve fallen asleep on the couch for the umpteenth time watching midnight reruns of CSI. Waking up at three in the morning to scantily dressed women advertising phone crap on television and hauling my own ass into a cold bed is no fun. I get grumpy the next morning… beware ye who cross my path before I’ve had my tenth cup of coffee… see it’s for the better good of the world…

I need someone to lead climb with, or at least someone to take the course with. Someone I can trust with my life and not worry that they’ll drop me 10 feet to the ground, or open the gri-gri and yell sit before I’ve actually put my weight on the rope… sure I can climb with a girl, but if I have to stare at ass while I belay, don’t you think I’d rather be staring at a boy’s bum, instead of a girl’s… what can I say, I like cute tushies…

It’s October. It’s almost fall. What better thing can you think of than walking through the outdoor marketplace, coffee in one hand, boy’s hand in the other. Wearing matching suede jackets and cool, funky, comfy jeans, bright red autumn leaves floating down to the ground beside us as we browse from stand to stand. Oy, I think I’ve been flipping through one too many Ralph Lauren catalogues...

So, as the story goes, I'm officially announcing the launch of Project Find-J-A-Boy. Friends, Romans, countrymen, spread out across our fair city and search high and low for my *sigh* one and only.

Good luck and Godspeed...

I'm off to my mother's house to "borrow" a couple more duvets... :)

day 10168 1/2: F$%#@ IT, @$#%$ IT, F!^@%#& IT!!!!!!

I think my freaking biological clock started ticking today. I really, really, really, really, really, really, REALLY hope it was something I ate.

Day 10168: thanksgiving…

*sigh*… What good is a long weekend if you don’t have anywhere to go or anything to do?

Thanksgiving weekend is fast approaching. Save for the flying lesson and a potential b-day dinner that “may-or-may-not” be rescheduled, I’m planless. How ironic. For all the days that I’ve been crazily running around, the weekend that I should be out of town running around doing silly pointless things like shopping or sightseeing, I’m not.

Why? Because good ‘ole new-monkeyco has requested that I don’t leave town… “just in case.” Fantastic.

[ed note: NOTE SARCASM]

Instead, I’m stuck in the city sans familia as my mother is going down to La-la land to spend some quality time with the Sista before she departs on yet another Caribbean cruise and HK for a month! Whew!

So I’m thinking maybe I should play tourist in my own fair city. Take one of those hop-on-hop-off bus tours, spend the day in Yorkville eating fresh baked pastries and drinking steaming lattes on the patio while reading some highly-touted-book-about-absolutely-nothing, go to Queen St West and go shopping in the Fashion District or go to Gerrard St somewhere to buy some sari cloth to cover my f-ugly grey IKEA rolly shelves and eventually, when my feet are tired and my eyes are shiny from the autumn sunshine, I’ll find a place that serves turkey dinners to other fellow lonelies and strike up a conversation with whoever happens to sit on my left.

Pub crawl anyone?

day 10165: happy birthday, da

He would have been 57. I think. Maybe he would have been 58. I can’t remember anymore. He stopped aging in my mind 9 years ago… I think he was 45 then. But that would make him only 54 now, wouldn’t it. I could have sworn that he was 30 when I was born just like my mom was 30 when my sister was born. Nothing makes sense anymore. I can’t remember anymore. It’s only been 9 years.

He wasn’t my first thought this morning. Instead, I thought about hockey and about how Triscuit is supposed to be there tonight… and *sigh* as ashamed as I am to admit it, I thought about what I was going to wear… to hockey… besides the shinpads, kneepads, shoulder pads, shorts etc etc. Hockey… wow, October 1st already… October already… October 1st… Da’s b-day… whoops… I almost forgot.

Happy birthday, Da? Dad? Daddy? Ba? Pa? Oh my God, I can’t remember what I used to call him. Ba-ba? Pa-pa? Daddio? Dee-dee? A-Ba? What the heck was it? It’s only been 9 years, and already I’ve forgotten so much.

I remember the year we forgot to get him a Father’s Day present. How we stole a tie out of his closet, wrapped it up, and gave it to him with a home made two-minute card. He loved it and was nary the wiser. Over the moon and around the corner… and then we burst out laughing our asses off and the game was up.

I remember how he used to pick us up from school everyday. He’d walk into the after school day-care, we’d come running and show him the little arts and crafts things we did, or our test scores. And even if it wasn’t so nice and even if we didn’t do so well, he never really said anything except “Wow, and that’s really good.” We’d all walk home together, we’d race the last little bit from the street to the house, and he’d cook dinner while we messed around in the house and pretend to practice piano when all we ever did was sight read top 40 songs, Les Miz and Phantom of the Opera. He’d sometimes try to sing along… I think he was a tad tone-deaf.

I remember the last trip we took to Tremblant together the Christmas before he died. How we ate chicken flavoured ramen noodles and frozen Clementine oranges for breakfast as was our custom. How we stayed off-resort in town and had steaks for dinner one night but had to smuggle out some salt and pepper from the cafeteria because we didn’t want to spend the $1.99 to buy a whole bag when we only wanted a sprinkle. How my mom was home by herself and she thought there was a gas leak, when really it was just the musky odour of the dried shitake mushrooms she was rehydrating and how we laughed when we figured out that she was perfectly fine and just extremely paranoid.

I remember the last thing that I said to him before he collapsed in the gym during our fencing lesson. He was teasing me about having a boyfriend. I said, “What boyfriend. I don’t want a boyfriend.” I didn’t say “I love you.” I didn’t say “You’re the best dad in the world.” I didn’t say any of the things I probably should have said had I known that those were going to be the last things he would hear from me. I remember his last meal – chicken with cream corn over mushy rice. I haven’t eaten it since.
I wake up sometimes thinking that he’s still alive and that I’m so excited about something that all I want to do is find him and tell him my news. And then I remember and imagine my conversations with him anyway.

J: Morning Da…
Da: Hey baby. How’s everything? [he never really talked like that, but I can’t remember]
J: Getting better, Da. Everyday is getting better. Things are going pretty well these days.
Da: I can see that. You’re smiling a little more. You’ve lost a little weight haven’t you? How’s your mom?
J: Mom’s fine, I think… she seems happier, a little. She’s stronger than I am.
Da: You have to lean on each other more. Be there for her. Family is everything. Go have dinner with her more often.
J: Yes, Da. I’ve been busy. I’m seeing her tonight though. I’m staying over at her place after hockey. What have you been up to?
Da: Not much. Catching up with your Grandfather. Little things. You should see the view from up here. Gorgeous.
J: I wish I could see it. Must be nice.
Da: You will. Just not right now. Enjoy things while you have them.
J: I know. That’s not what I meant.
Da: I know you know. Be careful down there, I don’t want to see you any earlier than I have to.
J: I will. I miss you sometimes.
Da: I miss you too… but hey, that’s what memories are for.
J: Yeah, but I’m starting to forget.
Da: Everyone’s like that. You remember the important things.
J: I want to remember everything…
Da: You’ll remember things when you need to remember them. Now, let’s talk about your boy.
J: What boy? I don’t have one, remember?
Da: Yeah, I know. Go get one. One that will love you and appreciate you… maybe even that loves you a little more.
J: I’ll try. But it’s hard, you know. I have to get up and get dressed now. Lots to do today.
Da: Ok. I’ll talk to you another time. Things happen when you least expect it.
J: I love you.
Da: Me too… I’ll talk to your mom and the surfer chick later… she needs a little talking to too! Crazy kid… I saw that giant wave she surfed…

Happy Birthday, Da…

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

pe-tu-eee

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.

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...
...hangover
...kensington market
...fancy martinis (aka twisted monk wannabes) at grazie's avec le triple shot bartending styles of Rob-the-Finlandia-bartending-comp-winner
...hangover
...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.

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...

Day 10150: And so the dance begins...

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

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

See ya'
Triscuit

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.

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…

Miscellaneous…

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…

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.

“THIS IS 10 ANYWHERE!!! GET OUT OF MY APARTMENT!!!”

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???

“FINE!”

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.

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.

Day 10144: the importance of being me

I have an inferiority complex. The reasons why, it doesn't really matter.

...it'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.

Somewhere.

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

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.

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...

*click*

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

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.

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."

[silence]

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

"Not if you need them this week."

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

Pride

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…

Envy

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.

Gluttony

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!!!

Lust

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.
[Silence]

Anger

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.

Greed

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…

Sloth

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?