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.