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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If you were J, WWJD?

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

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

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

day 10691: and in conclusion...

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

day 10689: tip of the week

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

day 10687: pulllllllllllllllllllllllll…

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

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

Waiting to win the lottery.

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

Waiting for people to step up to the plate.

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

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

day 10686 ½: btw…

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

day 10686: ode to my cube

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

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

A conspiracy is afoot. Everyone I like is gone.

day 10685: oh jack…

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

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

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

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

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

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

day 10681: tee hee… i farb-dud*…

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

Yes, I AM that sensitive**.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

day 10679: looking over my shoulder

There’s a girl following me. I’ve seen her at the gym, I’ve seen her at the Timmy’s next to my office, and seen her on street corners all over downtown. I’ve even seen her at Jamie Kennedy Wine Bar on a non-Winterlicious night. (How weird is that?)

Funniest part of it all, I think she went to one of my high schools and I think she might have gone to my university.

AND…

I think she’s an accountant…

It’s getting kind of scary… as if she leads the parallel life to mine. I think I’m being stalked.

Somebody hold me…

day 10678: bruised and battered, but oh-so-giddy

Yep, I'm back. I'm alive. My legs are covered in various shades of purple where I banged against the rock. I've got scratches from battling cacti, and stories that you wouldn't believe.

A lesson learned from this trip... everything happens for a reason. Life is a series of fortunate/unfortunate coincidences that hopefully all works out in the end.

*Yawn*

More later. Nap first.

day 10668: tying up loose ends

18Feb06 To Monterrey
Air Canada flight AC993 terminal 1
Toronto to Mexico City 8:35am - 12:40pm

Mexicana : flight MX1584
Mexico City to Monterrey 3pm - 4:20 pm

26Feb06 To Toronto
Air Canada: flight AC9754
Monterrey to Mexico City 11:30am - 1pm

Air Canada: flight AC992 terminal 1
Mexico City to Toronto 2:25pm - 7:50pm

Staying at Quinta La Pagoda in Hidalgo (El Potrero).

Be good boys and girls, and I’ll tell you the stories when I get back.

day 10667: the gift that keeps on giving

The first time I filled out my organ donor card, it was accompanied by a lot of yelling, and a lot of tears from the maternal one.

Last night, when I filled out the donor card that accompanied my brand-spanking-new motorcycle licence, I filled it out as usual… “everything except heart.”

The maternal one who was acting as my witness, took one look at what I wrote and said, “Why? You don’t need it anyway. Cross that part out." And so I did.

It seems she can’t wait to give me away.

day 10666: psychoanalyst babble

As a favour to a co-worker, I’m volunteering to be a case study for her soon-to-be-psychotherapist cousin. Tonight’s session will be the commencement of many tear jerking nights where we’ll talk about my commitment issues with my favourite type of chocolate bar, my fear of abandonment by my dog, my authority issues with the Subway police, my fear of tiny white flowers in the middle of great big bodies of open water, blah blah blah…

Really, I’m not sure I have any major issues except that I’m stubborn to a fault at times, and I’m REALLY good at denial. These ones I can accept. Nobody’s perfect.

But, playing along with the grand scheme of things, I should probably have a goal or something I want to accomplish at the end of all this…

*drum roll*

EXPLAIN THE FOLLOWING:
~ What is my obsession with playing with my boy’s ears?
~ If I’m happy that I’m denial and I can accept that I’m in denial, am I still in denial?
~ How much wood does a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood? (Believe me, it’s much harder to type this than to say it…)
~ Are those voices that I’m constantly hearing just in my head, or is some drunken guy on the street yelling “JUST DO IT” over and over again?

Life is just peachy-keen, ain't it?

day 10664: ice ice baby

[ed note: Before I go any further, I want to thank My-Boy-Bacon for being so sweet and wonderful the entire weekend… for driving the 9 hours to Quebec City (and the 9 hours back)… for letting me pick the things I wanted to do even though this weekend really was supposed to be all for him… for being there while I fulfilled MY DREAM of sleeping in the Ice Hotel, and letting me use him (and his Christmas present) as an excuse to do it… for walking through half the city of Quebec looking for a restaurant I wanted even though the one he wanted was the first one we passed by which we eventually made our way back to… and most of all, for entertaining me during the long hours we spent in the car, because heaven knows, I really suck as a passenger… oh, and for not getting sick of me despite all that I put him through this weekend… ]

Wow.

I’m not sure what took my breath away first: the frigid cold of the teeth shattering -28˚C night, or the utter astonishment I felt when I first laid eyes on the giant ice cube in which I was supposed to sleep.

Ok. I lied.

It was the cold that did it. Snatched the breath right out of my chest and left me gasping and shivering like a mad woman. Teeth chattering, bone shattering, fcuking-can’t-even-talk-because-I’m-so-cold-ing, whatever the heck you want to call it, it was cold. Bitterly so. I don’t think I’ve ever felt my eyelids so close to freezing before.

Blizzard in NYC, bah… try driving up winding country roads where the snow banks are taller than your car, then we’ll talk. Toronto, schmoronto… call in the army, why don’t you… no wonder we’re the laughingstock of the country. I’ve been cold, and I’ve been colder, but somehow the thought of spending a night in the deep chill of Quebec did nothing to warm the blood in my veins (the bottle of wine, and the vodka drinks, on the other hand, was another story). But it was an adventure of a lifetime, and something that I’ve wanted to do for years.


Like most things Canadian, the exterior of the Ice Hotel was unassuming. I experienced a pang of mild disappointment as we drove up. That was it? Gosh darned it, the pile of snow in the middle of the parking lot seemed bigger. Where were the multi levels like in the James Bond movie? Where were the Aston Martins in the parking lot? Reality check… maybe my expectations were a little high.

We checked in and took care of all the administrative details before we attempted to breach the sentinel guarded gates. Arranged for dinner reservations, orientation sessions, dogsled excursions; my credit card receipt signing hand was a little shaky (from the cold). We hadn’t even stepped foot into the hotel yet.

“I feel like a Japanese tourist.”

“Bon soir. Good evening.” The sentinel greeted us with a warm smile and a casual glance at our zipper passes. We walked through the torch lit gateway and the metre thick snow walls into the compound that would be our home.


With fifteen minutes before we had to depart for our dinner reservations, it was a race against time. We wanted to explore everything. There was so much to see in that deceivingly huge complex. The ice sculptures, the Absolut bar, the N’Ice Club, the spa, the rooms – my God, the rooms. Everything glittered and sparkled in the brightly coloured lights; one moment red, another blue, and then green.

The elegance and the artistry were astounding. The subtle curve of one wall would meld in with another. Figures were carved in relief in the snow and ice, and highlighted with a carefully arranged spot light; lighting so casual and warm that you almost forgot that you were in a giant igloo. Indeed, after a while, it almost felt warm. -5˚C “indoors” was bearable.

It was late. The majority of tourists had already departed for the day. The only people still wandering about were other guests, like us, who had time to kill before braving the cold for the night. Our footsteps crunched beneath us. It was time for dinner.

après une cozy dinner for two

Warm again and stuffed to the gills, we left the Hotel Duchesnay for our orientation session. The problem (or benefit) with living in a bilingual country is that you get to hear everything in both French and English. We watched while she explained everything to the French couple, and then watched as she explained things again in English.

My French n’est-ce pas bon.

First you take everything out of the stuff sack. There is a pillow, a sleeping bag, and a cover for your sleeping bag in case you get cold. The “sheets” are inside the pillow. Step one, crawl into the “sheets.” Make sure it’s facing the right way if you want to see anything as you lie there in the dark, encased in a mummy bag. Ha ha. Step two, squirm into your sleeping bag. There is a fleece pocket for your feet. Don’t wear shoes. Yes, wear socks. Steps three to a hundred, get into your sleeping bag, zip it up halfway, attach the cover to the velcros, lie down, do up the Velcro near the top, zip up the rest of the bag, pull the cordalette that keeps the bag snug around your neck, don’t pull too hard if you want to breathe, ha ha, pull the cordalette on the hood so that only a small part of your face (i.e. nose and mouth) are showing. Good night, sleep tight, it’s too cold for any bed bugs to bite. You can arrange for a wake up call at the front desk.

PS. Don’t wear too much clothes. You don’t want to sweat because then you’ll be REALLY cold. Ha ha.

Wow. That was a lot of information. As accustomed that I am to camping and doing outdoor activities (or so I claim, but you really can’t prove it), I was floored. I’d never gone winter camping before. I didn’t even own thermal underwear. -30˚C rated sleeping bags… OMFG… brrrrrr… it was going to be one cold night. Morning might find me frozen solid in the fetal position huddled under a billion layers of clothing, and burrowed so close to My-Boy-Bacon so as to… um… yeah… onto the club.

alcohol helps, but so too, does a nice long dip in a hot tub

It takes a brave person to walk outside in -28˚C weather in nothing more than a swimsuit and a toque. It takes an even braver person to get out of the hot tub to streak across the frozen ground and into the sauna when your feet freezes to the ground if you stand still for a mere moment.

There’s something about a clear night in the middle of winter when the moon is almost at it’s fullest and feeling like you’re the only two people in the world that makes it seem worth it. Your troubles melt away and there’s nothing left except to sit back and enjoy the moment… if only to postpone the actual process of getting into bed.

We had pruned, and we had sauna’d ourselves until we were dry. It was past midnight, and finally time for bed. Dressed for bed (tights, socks, fleece jogging pants, dry-fit shirt with perspiration wicking properties, cotton t-shirt, fleece and a toque), we began the semi-arduous process of squirming into the various layers of bedding. Sheet, sleeping bag, tuck feet into fleece, zip half, cover, Velcro, zip other half, pull cordalette, arrange pillow, etc etc etc…

god help me if i have to pee in the middle of the night...

Finally settled, and actually feeling warm and toasty, we drifted off to sleep, snug as a bug, in a rug.


[ed note: We actually slept in a much, much simpler room. Picture above is a theme room… another $100… yikes… but I think definitely worth it had I known the difference… ]

day 10660: remind me once again…

Sitting here sipping coffee like a maniac. It’s barely past lunch, and I’m drunk as a skunk. Ok, not so much drunk as a skunk, but definitely on the happier side of sober - one of the joys (or pitfalls) of monkeyco, I suppose, depending on your point of view.

Off to Quebec tomorrow to freeze my boobs off. Ice hotel, Winter Carnival… mmmm… should be fun…

… and cccccold… brrrrrrr

day 10659: nerves of steel

I’ll admit that I’m pretty nervous about Mexico. I’ve spent the past days tying and retying knots, reading about building anchors, and cramming climbing knowledge into my already overworked brain. And while my body remains relatively uninjured, and my mental blocks have been temporarily eased, thoughts of factor 2 falls, rappels off the end of my rope and knots magically untying haunt me.

My palms sweat every time I think about it.

I’m at a place where I should be comfortable in my climbing abilities. The extra couple classes of yoga and the unending rounds of push-ups and sit-ups have me almost back to pre-May 12-accident shape. I know I’m still carrying a *few* extra pounds of spare weight, but it’s nothing that will hold me back. I’m climbing strong though I technically should be climbing stronger. But that’s only half the challenge.

The other half is the mental fortitude and determination that it will take to get up the mountain. That’s where I’m lacking. My body is capable, but my mind freezes. I have a habit of forgetting to breathe when I’m in a tough situation. I cling to the wall afraid to take the fall, and lose focus. I yell “take” even though I know I should push on. Stories of 35’ run-outs on a 5.10b constantly run through my mind.

I’ve done what I can and what I can’t do I’m committed to giving a 100% effort. But there are other people involved and I have to take their efforts and goals into consideration. Though I am the weakest one other there, I will not be the weakest link. I will not be the one to hold anyone back.

The only thing I can do is just grin and bear it. Ten days to go.

day 10658: someone else’s super bowl story

Once upon a time…

It’s never a good thing when the first email you receive after the Super Bowl is one from a cop asking for a copy of the picture that you took with him on Super Bowl Sunday and you don’t remember giving him your email address.

It’s an even worse thing when you don’t remember which cop he was and you have to email him all the pictures you took with MANY different cops.

The end.

Apparently, I missed one hell of a tailgating party this weekend.

day 10654: friday morning quickie

VP Legal: You should buy some shares so you can voice a motion at the AGM.

Schmassion: You should pay me more so I can afford to buy some shares.

day 10651: sometimes there is no tomorrow

A woman died today.

She wasn’t young. She wasn’t old. She wasn’t exceptional by any means. She never led a country. She never made a major contribution to society. No one will remember her for doing anything extraordinary. And except for the people who knew her, and a few plaques bearing her name in some remote school in some remote part of China, no one will remember her in a few years.

Her existence will begin to fade as soon as the last mourner walks away.

… … …

Yet, it feels like the news should be shouted from rooftops and plastered in headlines around the world.

A woman died today.

A good woman died today.

The world should know.

She was a mother, a wife, a friend to many, a person who cared about the well-being and feelings of everyone around her. She raised money for her charities, answering pledge calls even as she sat in emergency room after emergency room, waiting for her own pains to be diagnosed.

She bore her illness in stoic silence; never really saying a word about her suffering, never really asking for help. She hid the extent of her cancer from the world around her. She downplayed her illness, consoled others, hid her fears behind a smile and passed on stories of hope. Her children came and left after the holidays thinking that she was on the mend. Her husband only flew into town from Hong Kong last week. Her elderly mother still does not know.

She fought the battle courageously, but lost it quickly.

… … …

We like to believe that we are immortal. We like to believe that the people around us are immortal. We don’t pay enough attention to the present, thinking that we’ll always have time later to make amends and tell them that we love them. There will always be a tomorrow, we think, and so, we put it off.

We put off visiting our parents. We put of thanking them for guiding us into who we have become. We put off telling our grandparents how much we care about them. We put off telling people that we forgive them, and that we don’t really harbour a grudge. We put off caring about the people around us. We put off caring about ourselves.

There will always be a tomorrow, we tell ourselves.

But sometimes there isn’t.

… … …

She will be missed.

day 10649: when angels cry

What can you say when a doctor tells you that the best thing to do is to call your kids and tell them to get on the first flight home?

If you even believe in a higher power, please pray for peace.

Thank you.

day 10647: (not) geek accountant geek accountant geek accountant geek accountant

Last night, we went to see The Matador. The movie itself… meh… it was good for entertainment value with some nice one-liners, but that’s pretty much about it. A smarmy Pierce is really not so good for eye candy.

When I watch a movie, I pay attention to what they’re drinking. (Alcoholic that I am.*) Thus, little details really grab me… like the bottle of Makers Mark on the bedside table in the first scene, or the night they got drunk on Bushmills, or the two-fours of Corona at the bullfights, the Corona flags at the racetrack or the Corona they’re constantly drinking the entire time they’re in Mexico… and then I can’t help but wonder how much Fortune Brands, Constellation, and damned-if-I-remember-who-got-Bushmills-out-of-the-damned-takeover paid for the product placement.

Really, what they did with the alcohol was almost as bad as the Target logos blatantly plastered all over everything in Josie and the Pussycats.**

Almost.

*I SWEAR, this, by no means, has ANY correlation whatsoever with me being a geek accountant geek accountant geek accountant.

**See...I pay attention all the things that the studios are trying to subliminally advertise to us…

day 10645: I don’t get it

Dear Manchu Wok,

Ashamed as I am to admit it, I am a regular consumer of your high fat, low protein, high carb, low nutrient “food.” It’s kind of cheap. It doesn’t make me gag (that much) and spew chunks like some other places on the food court do (ahem… you know who I’m talking about). Best of all, you’re JUST ACROSS THE STREET. I only have to freeze my tuckus off a little in this -12 degree weather to get some of your ok tasting food.

But answer me this… when a carton of your SCRUMPTIOUS (note sarcasm) chicken or pork product costs $5.99, why, oh why won’t you let me get both sweet and sour pork and orange chicken in the same container?

It’s not like I’m begging you for that fortune cookie that you throw in for all of your other non-asian customers… don’t think I haven’t noticed. (I like fortune cookies just as much as the next person. Really, I do.)

It’s not like it costs you anything more to give me a little more variety and make me - a LOYAL CUSTOMER - a little happier. Really, I don’t think you want to lose my business to that no-name place next to Noodle King.

Love,

Schmassion.

Ps… I know what you’re going to say… they taste the same anyway. And ya know, they kinda do.

day 10644: voting schmoting... the day after...

Politics is becoming a joke in Canada. Minority government after minority government, it’s become more of a battle of ego rather than a battle for good, quality leadership.

It’s not even a question of voting for the best leader for our country. We’re now voting for the best of the worse.

I don’t generally follow politics. It’s a few people huffing and puffing and blowing steam, but never really accomplishing very much. It doesn’t interest me, because I don’t like to argue on suppositions and politic theory. I’d much rather argue accounting theory… that should tell you how much I hate it…

But some key schmassionisms on this year’s elections:

1. It is illegal for me to eat my ballot… too bad, because I remember that grey fuzzy paper to be mighty tasty when I was in kindergarten. I also liked the chemical smell of the ditto paper.

2. Our voting public is generally misinformed on where they can or cannot vote. A lot of people I know who have moved downtown didn’t vote because they didn’t want the hassle of traveling back to their home ridings. Really, all they needed was ID and a piece of mail from whatever riding they actually live in.

3. There was much ado about the Liberal “smear” campaign where no one ever saw the ads. Whereas the Conservative and NDP “smear” ads (about the Liberals) were broadcasted freely throughout all hours of the day. Talk about the kettle calling the pot black… monkey see… monkey do… monkey do nothing but smear poo…

4. Our voting public really doesn’t care. We had four days to vote. Most of us just didn’t feel like it. We are a nation of apathetic seamonkeys who just go with the flow…

5. The “majority” of people actually voted Liberal, but because of how the ridings work and how the population is divided, we have a Conservative government. That sucks.

6. The party with the third most votes doesn’t even really want to be part of the country… really, who can blame them… we’re seriously messed up sometimes. Gilles Duceppe looks like an elf.

7. It’s scary that Stephen Harper is pro-Bush. Anyone who’s pro-Bush is scary… but Harper also looks pasty and looks like he’ll keel over and die from a heart attack at any second. If he can’t take care of himself, how can he take care of a country? I swear he went to a tanning salon halfway through the campaign process.

8. Jack Layton has a porn mustache. He looks slimey. I don’t like his wife… I don’t like that he used his asian elderly mother-in-law as a picture op and tried to play on the ethnic vote. His Cantonese accent is really, really, REALLY bad… dude, you’d think after all these years of marriage, you’d be able to say SOMETHING that we can understand. Do you ever talk to your mother-in-law, or do you just smile and nod?

9. Paul Martin should have retired a long time ago, but I like that he didn’t feel obligated to send Canadian troops to Iraq just because the US did. I like a guy that doesn’t feel pressured by the neighbourhood bully. Seriously, when the Conservative tv ad talked about how his ships were registered in other countries for tax purposes, my geeky-accountant-side thought “Right on, dude!” (ok… so I’m obviously Liberal).

10. There’s a Marxist-Leninist Party of Canada… who knew… who cares…?

Awwww, fcuk it... it was a big waste of money anyway. We'll be going to the polls again within the next year. Just wait and see.

day 10641: i'm sorry, but wtf...?

I try to put the past behind me, but sometime no matter how hard I try, it just comes back and smacks me in the face.

Last night Triscuit decided to show up to a common friend's b-day dinner, and brought me a belated birthday gift. Other than contributing the typical $15 to a group gift, he's never bought me a birthday gift before. Not even when we were dating.

Except for wtf, I really don't know what to think or say...

But really, c'mon. Dude... if you're still spelling my name wrong, we obviously still don't have anything to talk about.

day 10639: until it happens to someone you know…

There’s a boy. Let’s call him Mike. He could be a Chris, James, Howard, Raphael, Peter Somebody the Third… but let’s go with Mike for now.

Mike was driving home to Brampton at 2am after a night of work and hanging out with his buds when he was pulled over by a cop. For speeding, he assumed. Except, his car is a clunker and barely capable of even making it to the speed limit.

He was polite when he asked the cop why he had been stopped. He was polite when the cop asked him to get into the backseat of the cruiser to take a breathalyzer test.

He’d had two beers hours ago, he told the cop. He passed the first breathalyzer test. Something must be wrong, blow again…

Are you giving me attitude?

No Sir, of course not.

He passed the second test.

According to the numbers, Mike was no where close to being impaired.

According to the cop, he was close to the legal limit. The cop had his car towed…

Mike wasn’t allowed to call his sister to come pick him up. The cop said he’d call him a cab, and left him standing on the side of the road… at 2am… on the 401… in the middle of winter…

The cab never showed. Mike had to call his own an hour later. He got home at 4am and is still wondering why he was pulled over in the first place.

You see, Mike is young.

Mike has an afro…

Mike is black.

Draw your own conclusions.

day 10638: running out of patience and time for other people's fcukwit drama

I hate it when two equally opinionated and pigheaded alpha males butt heads over simple things...

...and then having to deal with it when I should be working instead... oy...

day 10637: where would i be if it wasn’t for the internet

In a very short 32 days, I’ll be heading to El Potrero Chico, Mexico to do some wicked serious climbing. This trip has been in the works for the past year, and is finally coming together. The gear list is sorted - I know what I have, what I need to buy, what I don’t need (but want to buy). I’ve been eagerly anticipating the trip since we booked the non-refundable plane tickets way back in November (and, of course, have been terrified of injuries ever since). My palms are sweating just thinking about it.

Amongst other things (i.e. scorpions and tarantulas… limestone that rips off your fingerprints… oh my…), Potrero is famous for nice 5.10 multi-pitch routes where climbers “leap frog” up the wall (i.e. climb one pitch, belay your partner while they climb up behind you, climb again, and so on). Nice, I thought. I tried an easy multi-pitch route back in Rumney… 1200 ft how hard can it be… I’ve been training for the past while; I’ll be ready for the challenge.

No problemo, amigo.

But then, someone brought up something that I had never, ever even considered thinking about… not in a hundred million trillion years…

HOW THE HECK DO I GO TO THE BATHROOM HALFWAY UP THE WALL?

The climb will take the majority part of the day. We’ll start early in the morning, and will be lucky if we’re not rappelling down the mountainside in the dark. We won’t hit solid ground until hours after we start out…

Did I mention that we’ll be hanging off the cliff face for most of the day? Anchored into bolts 500 ft off the ground… swaying with the wind… grabbing bites of PowerBars for lunch, and hydrating from our Camelbacks that we’ve taken up with us…

If I was a guy, it’d be easy. But seeing as how I’m not, I can’t just “whip it out” and pee while hanging in midair. I mean, I could always unbuckle the back of my harness, drop trou (while still being anchored into the wall), and with a devil-may-care attitude, just let it rip, but EWWWW. I’d seriously hate to be the person climbing up behind me.

“Don’t look up… whoops… tee hee… sorry, dude... here’s a handy-wipe…”

Seriously. I’m having MAJOR issues with this. I’m a shy pee-r at best. I don’t even like to pee when there’s someone in the stall next to me, but I’ve dealt with THAT lost cause. If you thought camping without “facilities” was bad… this is much, much worse… so bad, that I definitely had second thoughts about going. But those damned non-refundable plane tickets…

Girlfriend of a geek that I am, I turned to the almighty Internet for answers. Some Googlees said not to drink too much water (um… did I mention that we’re going to be in the middle of the desert?). Some said to hold it. One person wrote about the wonders of using this and did you know that there very many dedicated websites teaching girls how to pee standing up?

Ugh. I really don’t think I can do it. Not in a million trillion years unless my bladder really was about to burst.

I know what doesn’t kill me makes me stronger and new experiences are always good for me. But ya know, some experiences in this world, I can really, really, really do without... kind of like the hole-in-the-ground toilets in China... you know the one's I'm talking about...

How’s that for fcukwit drama? Wish me luck.

[ed note: check out this Potrero site… the guy in the back of the pickup truck… look familiar??? hehe]

day 10635: a history frozen in time

Things I found while cleaning out my freezer:

~ chocolate goat milk ice cream I made for Triscuit two summers ago
~ homemade butter chicken (???)
~ vegetarian dish made by my grandmother last Chinese New Year
~ Buzz Lightyear
~ chestnuts that were supposed to be roasted over an open fire... last summer
~ 12 half eaten loaves of bread
~ 3 pints of half eaten Ben & Jerry
~ edamame from 2 summers ago when I used to live near a Korean supermarket
~ 2 boxes of ice cream bars from last summer
~ 1 tub of toffee ice cream that I don't remember buying
~ bottle of Belvedere
~ spinach and artichoke dip I made for my housewarming party in 2004
~ 7 packages of half eaten freezer burned dumplings
~ assorted cold packs for assorted injuries
~ 2 "special" cookies baked by Serious Boy
~ Mr. Potatoehead

day 10632: give me one good reason

Dear Monkeyco.

Why are you trying to piss me off? You need me. You really, really need me, and you're not giving me a reason to stay. I'd ask you to pay me (the official term is RETENTION BONUS), but that little voice inside my head keeps thinking that it's a little like blackmail.

I'm trying really hard to get over my personal ethics and my misplaced loyalty for you. I'm trying really, really, really, really, really hard to kill that little voice... capice?

Wishing you all the best in the new year,

Schmassion.

day 10630: days in which all you want to say is “kiss my flabby ass, fcukwit”

Much as I love this blog, I’m thinking that this part of my life will soon be over. Not because I don’t want to write mildly entertaining things about all the fcukwit drama in my life and not because there’s a lack of fcukwit drama, more because gosh-darn-golly, there’s too much fcukwit drama going on.

What with me holding a grudge against the maternal one, trying not to lose sleep over monkeyco not telling me whether or not I have a job in two months, training for Porterro, trying to teach myself French and Spanish at the same time and trying to sort out all the other little nitty-gritty details in my life, blogging about my fcukwit drama is just not doing it for me anymore. I have to do something to fix it instead.

day 10629: the story… finally…

Last night, I dreamt I hosted the Golden Globe Awards and won an award for being in a movie called Home Again. An extremely vivid dream, I woke up feeling elated, thinking that it actually happened. But the happiness I was feeling wasn’t from hosting the show, or even from winning best actress. Rather, it was because the maternal one finally said that she was proud of me.

The worse thing a child can hear from a parent is how disappointed the parent is in the child. We spend our childhoods trying to impress them and make them proud of us. We look to them for their smiles and nods of approval whenever we score a goal or do well in school. Even as adults, we try to gain their respect, and try to make them understand that we are indeed capable of living our own independent lives with minimal interference.

And for all that we accomplish and all the battles that we have fought throughout the years with or without them, it still stings when they claim their personal failure in life was because you didn’t live up to their expectations.

day 10625: things aren't all peachy-keen on the home front

Story to follow on the eleven o'clock news... stay tuned.

day 10622: um… yeah… happy new year and all that jazz

Because chances are that I’ll end up breaking them within a week anyway, I tend not to make any New Year’s resolutions. It’s just not my thing. If I want to do something and want to put my mind towards doing it, why wait until a certain date? Why not start now?

So… my list of to-do’s which just happens to coincide with New Year’s…

~ Je dois apprendre parler français pour le travail.
~ Stop eating crap and get into shape. Mexico is only a very short seven weeks away.

That’s it for now. Just trying to be the best me I can be.

day 10619: too busy living as they call it

On my one night off from family functions and get-togethers, My-Boy-Bacon and I partook in this. Call it morbid curiosity, call it life-long anatomical fascination, call it whatever-you-will… the only thing running through my mind THE ENTIRE TIME …

Who’s broken what... doing what?

day 10618: if you pretend hard enough, it never actually happened

The women in my family are not very good at saying “I’m sorry”.

We tend to fly off the handle at the slightest thing, say things we regret the next day, and then expect everything to blow over by being super nice to each other the next day. Sometimes this backfires… especially when you get reamed out by your mother in the middle of Pacific Mall for something that was entirely unrelated to you.

Yeah, I’m holding a grudge... whaddaya wanna do 'bout it?

day 10617: hope y'all had a fabulous poo-poo-filled christmas

nameless: Is that your phone?
schmassion: What?
nameless: The ringing...
schmassion: No. I'm on a landline.
nameless: oh...I'm pooing.

*click*

~

schmassion: Even the dog is getting into the holiday spirit! She's pooping out red and green!!!
my-boy-bacon: That can't be good... What'd she eat?
schmassion: Don't know, but it's FESTIVE!

ps... My-Boy-Bacon and I are going here in a month... BRRRRR...

day 10608: the meaning of fear

A moment of fear, knee deep in freshly fallen snow, thighs burning, brain surging with thoughts of “why… fcuk it… why,” skis crossing, short breaths, curses under my breath, a twinge of pain and then another. I should not. I would not. But then I did.

There was no way but down. It was too late to turn around. The climb up would hurt just about as much as the run down. Peer pressure. One split second decision after a week of saying “no.” Regrets? Then - yes. Now - maybe. Later – probably not. But much, much later… only time will tell.

It was a surreal moment not too long ago. Ok, crap, it was just over a week ago. The sky was blue, nary a cloud in sight. The occasional bird of prey soared by overhead. The smell of diesel (I’m assuming that snowmobiles run on diesel) was strong, yet somewhat comforting, as was the guttural roar of the vehicle that had come to rescue. An occasional familiar face floated momentarily into view, smiled reassuringly and floated away again.

And me? Flat on my back being pulled down the slopes on a sled. I begged for a lift on the snowmobile. Oh, how I pleaded and bargained to be able to descend with some shred of dignity. But flat on my face, ass up in the air, there was no way in hell they took my entreaty seriously. I tried to make jokes. I tried to laugh. Humour does wonders for the healing the body… or so they say… to no avail.


It was a surprise, the fall. I was coming to a stop, looked uphill for a friend, caught a backedge, fell down and went “Boom!” I thought I was just winded. Things weren’t really in that much pain. The only thing wounded was my pride. That is, until I tried to stand up. Soon afterwards, the only thought running through my head was “Not again, please God, not again… I have to go to Mexico in two months…”

This was supposed to be the year to “go hard or go home.” What’s the worse that I could do to myself that I haven’t already done? Torn rotator cuffs, bruised ribs, sprained ankles, bad knees, broken back… been there done that. Pshaw, I scoff in the face of danger! One week’s rest and I’ll be perfectly fine. No worries, x-rays came back clean. Rest, ice, compress, and elevate… yes, I know… and lots and lots of ibuprofen and muscle relaxants. I know the drill. Like I said, been there, done that.

But I was wrong. Yes, been there, done that, and have always blamed my body for not being able to do what I thought that my mind had wanted to do. First, I was too fat, my body was out of shape, my knees were weak and well, hell, I was just too darned tired all the time. But then I lost the weight, did an extraordinary amount of sit-ups to strengthen my core, my legs and arms were strong, and well, hell, I still couldn’t do it.

My mental game is off. It’s never been on. I very grudgingly admit that I *sigh* am afraid of speed… even on skis (hence, probably the reason for my very limited aspirations to race). Instead of focusing on my ability and gritting my teeth to tackle the slopes, I anticipate the fall. I let the images run over and over inside my head. I can almost feel the weightless sensation in the pit of my stomach. The metallic taste of dread in my mouth, I check my speed and let my fear overrun me.

I am afraid of the pain, and afraid of the repercussions. My body aches, recovery time is longer than it used to be. I don’t want to take the risks that will take me from being a dabbler to being an actual skier or snowboarder. I used to call myself that… a skier… and to a lesser extent, a snowboarder… but I no longer deserve the distinction that either one of those labels afford.

I used to love the snow blowing into my face, the coolness of the air against my teeth, the feeling of being alive and being indestructible. I should be filled with the anticipation and the exhilaration of flying down the snow covered slopes. Instead, my heart pounds, and not in a good way. I am afraid to step beyond my limitations, comfortable only in the familiar.

This is wrong. I should not fear the fear. I should not let my mind play games with me. Same as climbing, my mind blocks me from achieving the next step. I have the ability, but the mental game I play constantly with myself hinders me.

day 10606: when words aren’t enough

My mother’s friend is dying.

She found out only about a month ago and has been undergoing extreme chemo treatments to try to battle the disease that is rapidly killing her. But the treatments that are supposed to help her are killing her. She hasn’t been able to eat, hasn’t been able to keep down the pills she takes to help fight the nausea. She doesn’t even have the energy to undress so that someone can bathe her.

The prognosis isn’t good. It’s down to a matter of months.

But she has courage, and she has hope. So much hope that she hasn’t even told her extended family members for fear that they’d worry needlessly. Other than her immediate family, and her friends that are helping to care for her, no one knows. Her husband and kids are still living the same day-in-day-out rituals - running businesses in Hong Kong, going to work and studying for exams in the UK and Germany. They haven’t even flown home to Toronto to visit.

Perhaps they will at Christmas time.

She’s staying with my mother while she undergoes treatment. The nurse comes over once a day to monitor her IV drips and medication. Otherwise, she’d be home alone, lying in a pool of vomit, suffering in a silence that she doesn’t deserve. And though she is relying on the goodwill of others to help her through this, it took a lot for her to even ask. This is the woman who was fielding donation calls for her charities even on the way to the emergency room. She is one of the most selfless women I know, always going out of her way to make life easier for others. She has a strength of will that I admire.

I wish I was more like her.

I wish I could take the pain away from her. I wish there was more that I could do for her.

But I can barely talk to her. My linguistic ability is somewhat limited, and the words will not come to me. I don’t know what to say to make her feel better. I don’t know what I can do to let her know that I care.

I’ve offered my chauffer services to my mother. If ever they need a drive… through rain, through snow, I will be there in a matter of minutes. Apart from that, I don’t know what else to do, except perhaps feel guilty that I’ve been running around relatively healthy tripping from city to city for the pure enjoyment of being young and responsibility free... enjoying my life while others hate their's.

There has to be something more that I can do…

day 10604: so this is christmas?

It will be a year soon since the night we sat talking in the hall when everyone else was dreaming happily about snow. I asked you then if you missed me, and you replied, "All the time. I miss hanging out with you. I miss being close to you. I miss curling up with you, and waking up with my arm all tingly because you slept on it all night."

Sometimes, I still wonder the same.

We embarked an a path of discovery that night. We talked like we had never talked before. The year that we had been together were filled with other things besides talking. We were too busy laughing, and too busy living, but only in the moment, never thinking about the future.

I was happy that we were finally friends again. I was happy that we were finally “us” again.

But it shouldn’t have been that way. Even back then, we should have let things be and gone our separate ways. It would have been easier on my heart, easier on my mind and infinitely better for my soul. The subsequent six months would not have been and I would not have fallen more deeply in love with you. I never thought that I would care that much about a person.

When you broke my heart, you did it gently. You told me that you loved me, but that you weren’t in love with me. You were 95% there, but something was missing and it just didn’t feel right. I tried my best to love for two, but if we were not meant to be, we were not meant to be. I could not make you love me, and had you settled for only 95%, you would not have been true to yourself. I never wanted you to settle.

That night, I begged you to come home with me so that you could hold me one more night. I wouldn’t let you sleep for fear that the morning would come too soon. We made love one last time. You left early the next morning, and I cried one last time, got up, dressed for work, and started living my life without you. I mourned you. I missed you. I still loved you.

I hoped that we could eventually be friends again. You had been my best friend for so long. I didn’t want to lose that, too.

And then I found out the truth. The truth about the bachelor party in Montreal… the drunken night… the “friends” who were cops… and I found out that you had betrayed me. The lies you told me were bitter and they stung. The pain I felt encompassed me and surrounded me with a blanket of hatred. I confronted you, swore at you, and hated you for so long.

You almost killed me when you said, “It’s not like we were married.”

Yet, I still defended you, and to this day, still hide the truth from our friends. I knew that they would judge you harshly, and I didn’t want you to lose them. But you’ve chosen to withdraw from our circle, and for that, I am somewhat grateful. I protected your reputation for so long, because, really, I was still in love with you even though I didn’t like you. Yes, it is possible to love someone you don’t like.

It’s been an eon and a half since that day. I found an inner strength that I didn’t know I possessed. I moved on, and found someone else to love. And yes, I am falling in love with him. He is gentle, he is kind, and best of all, he is the man that you will never be… loyal, honest, compassionate beyond belief. He cares deeply for me, and calls me “Beautiful” everyday. Not a day goes by that I don’t think how lucky I am to have found someone like him. And instead of me thinking that you never deserved me, it’s me thinking that I don’t deserve him.

I still think of you. I will never forget you. I will always care for you, and will probably always miss you, the thoughts, the memories and the experiences that we shared. We parted in a way where we will never be friends. If we ever cross paths again, I’m not sure how I would react, but I hope that my words to you would be “Thank you.”

Thank you for letting me go so that I could have a chance at something better.

There is so much more that I could say, but I will end it here. I hope that you are happy. I hope that you never have any regrets in your life. Be true to who you are, and don’t let people influence you to be something you are not and were never meant to be. Because that was always your greatest downfall… trying to prove to others that you were someone that you were not. Choose your friends wisely. Not everyone has your best interests at heart.

I wish you all the best in life and hope that you eventually find what you’ve been looking for all these years.

Merry Christmas, Triscuit. I’m done with you.

day 10596: nutrition for dummies… part 1

Hypothetically speaking, should you go to the Vitamin Store to buy psyllium husk because you read in the paper that adding fibre to your diet helps with cholesterol and weight maintenance, and the guy recommends very strongly that you don’t because you’re already “regular,” you should probably believe him. He knows what he’s talking about...

day 10595: when you’re upset… I’ll find a way to cheer you up…

Excuse me. I need to talk about my vacation carry forward... I really need it. My sister-in-law's brother's dog-groomer's uncle's mother is getting married next summer and I promised that I would be there.

Where is it? Everest... It'll take me six weeks to hike up that damn thing.

Really, though, we're not even sure the wedding will go forward. After all, my sister-in-law's brother's dog-groomer's uncle's mother is 93 and a 6 week trek up 30,000ft is a little much for her.

She's working up to it though... she's walking around the block everyday.

It only takes her an hour... and a half... on the good days.

One of those san francisco hill blocks?

No… a Pacific Mall block...

day 10594: How do you rock? Let me count the ways...

~ Pre-dinner drunkenness
~ Beer showers
~ Post-dinner drunkenness
~ Surprises
~ Sparkles
~ All-you-can-eat
~ All-I-can-drink
~ All in
~ Vroooooommmmm
~ Bikes
~ Much imbibing
~ Much bling-blinging
~ Much saving of horses and riding of cowboys

Thank you. You guys are wicked.

Giddy-up.

day 10590: not sure whether to be flattered or insulted

I met with some insurance people yesterday (just for kicks). They loved me and thought I'd fit in perfectly with their corporate culture. I thought they were a bunch of your typical introverted accountants/finance geeks.

Apparently, somewhere along the line, I've become one of them.

Damn. I thought I had finally developed a personality.

day 10589 1/2: let’s play a game

It’s easy. Just fill in the blanks:

YOU KNOW YOU’RE GETTING OLD WHEN ______________.

I’ll start.

~ chocolate has become “too sweet.”
~ fried food is “too oily” and you start dabbing at it with a napkin.
~ a Big Mac and fries is “too much” and you’re “ugh… soooo full” from eating half.
~ it no longer makes fiscal sense to go to an all-you-can-eat place because even if you ate all-you-could-eat it would have been cheaper to just order what you wanted in the first place.
~ words like “fiscal” and “responsibility” start working it’s way into your everyday vernacular.
~ the Christmas presents that people ooohhh and aaaahhh over are bowls and wafflemakers and not Transformers ™ and Lego ™.
~ you wake up achy and hurting more days than you don’t.
~ fiber content becomes a key decision making factor when you’re buying granola bars for the homeless guys.
~ your 25 year old boyfriend needs to buy a suit for your office Christmas party because he doesn’t have one.
~ you’d kind of rather just veg at home and watch a chick flick for your b-day than go to a bar and get smashed.
~ it only takes two rounds to get smashed.
~ you don’t even want to think of partying like you used to.
~ the once-upon-a-time looming future is now the not-so-looming present.
~ comparison shopping for toilet paper and canned soup is a FUN thing.
~ the only thing you want for Christmas is an umbrella (a very, very good, and very BIG umbrella, mind you).
~ you realize that by the time your mother was your age, she already had two kids and a house.
~ you start making stupid lists like these instead of writing real posts.

Your turn… humour me…

day 10589: dream on…

Some days I wish I was adopted. Not because I hate my fam (because I absolutely love and adored them and wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world), but more so because I hate certain aspects of my life… what it’s become… where it’s not heading… the kind of shit that you start thinking about whenever you’re about to hit another “milestone” where you’re supposed to have accomplished XYZ, but haven’t started working on X. If I was adopted this would be the perfect time for my birth-parents (actually, a secret godfather would be perfect so I could still keep my amazing fam – no hard feelings, eh?) to swoop down from behind the scenes to take me to a sparkling new penthouse condo overlooking the ocean and set me up with a trust fund that will pay for all my hobbies, and then some, so that I would never have to work again.

All the brouhaha with Monkeyco over the past few months has left me feeling rather uneasy and unsettled about my future. I know future with Monkeyco is somewhat limited seeing as how the reasons why I chose Monkeyco over alternate-Monkeyco never managed to materialize. Things got shuffled around, projects got delayed, I lost my drive and ambition to actually accomplish anything beyond surviving to 5:31… let’s just say that long-term with Monkeyco is definitely not in the cards.

Where would I go? What would I do? My history has made me somewhat uncomfortable in certain situations. My memory for accounting principles is shit. I hardly ever know what I’m doing. My once-upon-a-time encyclopedic knowledge of personal tax is no longer relevant (and of course, my memory has gone to shit). Can you see that I have somewhat of an inferiority complex when it comes to my professional life? Reality is I can hold my own, but truthfully, I am no superstar… no matter how hard I try to convince the recruiters otherwise.

It’s not enough anymore for me to live day-by-day and let things happen as they may. I’m already feeling obsolete, wallowing in self-pity. I’ve lost direction again, and lost any ability to get to where I want to go… but then again, I don’t know where I want to go anymore. I don’t even know where I am. Do I suck it up and go back to public practice, working for one of the Tra-La-La-Big-4 for another few years until my inferiority complex is blanketed (as I succumb to being yet another accountant clone), or do I hope for the best and try not to allow myself to be pigeonholed as a finance geek only capable of doing financial reporting or consolidations? Option 1 would be best for my self-confidence, but, in reality (schmassion-take-two-steps-back) this is when people are leaving the firm… not entering the firm. Would I come out only to be where I am today? Option 2… what the heck is option 2… ?

I’m lost. I’m confused.

I hate the week leading up to birthdays. I hate birthdays. I hate getting old.

Fcuk me. I'm almost thirty.

AND. I. STILL. DON'T. KNOW. WHAT. I. WANT. TO. BE. WHEN. I. GROW. UP.

day 10583(?): lost in translation

Apparently your’s-truly-dimwit-here has lost her mind and miscalculated the days-of-our-lives… again. So it’s like I’ve traveled back in time and relived day 10583. I’ve done what countless centuries of scientists have been unable to do and figured out the space-time continuum. Yay me. I rock.

Now someone tell me where I misplaced the gloves I bought last Thursday (and lost on Saturday)… there’s only so much my genius brain can handle.

day 10583: some days i’m just not all there

It’s obvious that I don’t have enough on my mind when I can sit for a long time contemplating the possibility of taking off my underwear without taking off my pants and boots.

Because you never know when you might need to. Yeah…

day 10582: bowling schmowling

It’s funny how your imagination can take off with the simple phrase… “I wonder if they make high heel bowling boots.”

One second you're talking bowling... next second, your boy's in drag.

day 10581: ma chere ami

Par chance, mon ami when you called the first time, it really was a wrong number. I gave you the benefit of the doubt, told you ever-so-nicely that you had erroneously called me instead of your amie, and politely sent you on your merry-yet-clueless way.

Perhaps you didn’t understand what I was saying. English, we both know, is not your native tongue. But you sounded so jovial and well, hell, anyone can make a mistake, so I forgave you. I put you out of my mind. I do that with wrong numbers. I didn’t even think of you after I hung up.

When you called me again, I was the epitome of patience. I told you again that the number you dialed was incorrect. There was no such person at this number. You apologized. Again, I politely sent you on your merry-yet-clueless way.

Somewhere along the line, it must have happened. Please don’t blame me, mon ami. I didn’t mean for it to happen like this. I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t want it. I have a boy that I really, really like, and if he should find out about this, I really wouldn’t know what he would do. I really don’t know how to deal with it. I don’t know what to say to you.

You see, mon ami, somewhere along the line, you must have fallen in love with me. How else do you explain the “wrong numbers” and the “hang ups?” Admit it, you just want to hear the sound of my voice. I question this; the shrill sound of an irritated me repeatedly saying “Hello? Hello?” must get annoying after a while. You must really love me, otherwise, why would you listen to me saying “Who is this?” a few hundred thousand times before you hang up on me.

Be brave, mon ami, and freely admit your love. There is no harm in telling me. At least this way, it will be out in the open, and we can deal with this head on. We can face this issue and deal with the future (albeit definitely NOT together). That way when you call me every few minutes only to hang up or to tell me that “this isn’t my number” I can say something other than “Hello? Who IS this?” Honey, I know this isn’t your number. It’s MY number. And you’re using it a little too freely… I know I have an amazing phone plan, but, Sweetie, you’re still eating up my daytime minutes.

Please stop calling. I know I have the choice not to pick up when I see your number flash before me on my caller ID, but I’ve always been one to hate calling my voicemail, especially when I know who it is. I really don’t want to listen to endless minutes of you asking for your amie – you’re just teasing me then.

I know I’ve broken your heart, but I never want to hear from you again. You’ll just have to come to terms with the fact that we are but two souls destined to be apart forever. We shared a second (or a FEW seconds), but we can never be together. Be strong, mon ami. Be strong and put the phone back down.

Don't worry about me. I'll cope somehow.

Yours never,

Schmassion

(ps. Before you jump to any conclusions, I really am a reasonably good conversationalist. I can hold my own in almost every subject-matter. Well, except maybe nuclear physics, thermodynamics, and oh, Canadian politics (who in the heck wants to read up on THAT?). But that really is beside the point. PLEASE. STOP. CALLING.)

day 10578: past lives

I was not a nice kid. I mean, I was a nice kid, but not a nice kid.

Get what I mean? No?

I was a kid who was polite, respectful and every adult’s favourite, but I was a bit of a toughie on other kids. I’m not going to use the word bully, because I was never malicious or violently physical with any thoughts of personal gain. My “playful personality” could be interpreted as a little harsher than the sweet and innocent girl that you’d have expected if you had seen me back then.

I was a bit of a tomboy, and it showed in my personality.

I was a bit naïve as to socially accepted norms, and it showed in my personality.

I was a bit naïve about boys, and it showed in my personality.

I’m not excusing myself. I still harbour all sorts of guilt, and if I could find the children of my past, I’d fully apologize for acting like a fcuking jerk/idiot/bully (you fill in the blank).

Consider this a blanket apology. I’m sorry… wherever you are…

day 10577: once more for good measure

Tonight is the last football game. Thank god. I'm tired.

What I wouldn't give for one day to do nothing but sit in a bubblebath, and then by the fireplace all day.

day 10574: more incredibly fantastic travel tips by a mainlander

4. what to do-do-doo…hm… part two…

Stargaze. Starlight, star bright, first hundred stars I see tonight… oops… I meant thousand. Mauna Kea (at just over 13,000 ft above sea level) has got to be one of the best places in the world to stargaze. All the lights on the Big Island are a dingy orange so that all the observatories on top of this mountain can have clear unobstructed views of the heavens above. And, because of the proximity to the equator, we could see the stars in the northern hemisphere and the southern hemisphere. Mars on our right, and Venus on our left… of course Venus was brighter, and much more sparkly. If you rent a car… go with the 4x4. It snows up on Mauna Kea.


Snorkel. Yeah, I know I already talked about it. Don’t save it for your last day. You’ll kinda regret not doing a lot more of it. Looking at fish while you’re swimming in a crater with the fishes… it’s like being in a giant aquarium owned by aliens. Turtles, dolphins, flying fish, sharks… oh my. (Gotta save something to see during my next visit!)

Hilo. Skip it. It rains a lot. Base out of Kona if you’re on the Big Island, rent a car and meet up with your lava touring adventure group somewhere else. Trust me on this one. There’s really not much to do there except going to the farmer’s market, which btw is not open on Veteran’s Day. “I never liked the rain ‘til I walked in it with you.”

Buy a vacation home on Maui. I’ll be your BFF. I promise…

5. wildlife

“Feed the birds, tuppence a bag…” Ok, don’t feed the birds. Nene are some goose-type bird that’s supposedly highly endangered. It’s no wonder… given that they just walk around the mountain roads aimlessly and get run over by the lemming tourists. Why did the birdie cross the road? It didn’t… it just sat there. According to Posie, all birds are nene. Dumb birds.

Deer. No joke. There are actually deer crossing signs in Wailea. Apparently, someone (a whaler, trader, adventurer?) brought over five deer for some king way back when. Well, these deer were really prolific, and now Maui has over 5,000 of those things that randomly jump out on roads just to surprise people. Boo!

Cows. Watch out for the cattle guards on the road. Cattle guards are weird metal grates that go from one side of the narrow winding road to the other. I have no idea how they’re supposed to guard cattle, but it’s a weird sensation to drive over… especially if you’re going pretty fast. Yeah, there are cows wandering the roads too. I don’t think Maui has fences. Oh, and beware the invisible cow.

Midges. Some type of flying bug that dies when it lands on your car (I’m not sure why). It’s pretty gross when you get back from the beach and your car is covered with thousands of them. Thank goodness it only happened once. Ew. *shudder*

Sharks. Apparently, you only have to worry about the tiger sharks. Hammerheads and reef sharks will swim up to you when you’re kiteboarding or surfing and all you have to do is punch it and it’ll go away. They only feed at dusk and dawn. You don’t usually have to worry about sharks unless the water is cloudy and there’s little visibility or you’re doing something stupid like swimming through chum or swimming where a bunch of sharks are feeding off a dead whale. I say just avoid them altogether and don’t believe everything that you hear from your kiteboarding instructor who is trying to placate you after your anxiety attack brought on by your close encounter with a shark (ok, so it might have been a rock… who knows…).

Locals. Most are friendly to strangers and they don’t bite. At least, I don’t think they do, except maybe into your bank account. Give them a friendly “Aloha” and go on your merry way. Most of the time, they’ve already pegged you for a tourist so they’re all set to fleece you anyway.


TIP… TIP… TIP… (remember this if nothing else)… locals get DISCOUNTS on EVERYTHING (as high as 50%)... if you tan really nicely on your first couple of days there, and you tell them you’re from Oahu or some other island, and they actually believe that you’re a local without ID’g you, you’re golden. Billabong, Roxy, Quiksilver for 50% off MSRP… wicked. Apparently, I look like a local. But no, we didn’t try this. They just assumed… must be the hair… and the billions of tan lines… wicked cool…

6. all that and a bag of chips…

Photos. Take lots of pictures. A hundred pictures of the same thing (from a slightly different angle) is probably good enough to start (hence, bring the extra memory sticks or portable hard drive). Don’t forget to look up once in a while so that you’re not run over by a car, or you don’t drive over the edge of a cliff (photoing and driving don’t really mix). Don’t be afraid to climb up on things to take pictures if you’re too short to see over the heads of the other lemming tourists. Old white men don’t like it when a girl is standing on six foot high lava rock walls, and will offer endlessly to help her down (even if she is a climber). Then again, sometimes climbing up on things doesn’t necessarily give you a better picture… it just lets you see what’s going on because you weren’t aggressive enough to push to the front of the line. Game time: find Posie in this sea of lemming tourists…


ps… learn how to use your camera before you get there… thus avoiding… “How can I take a picture of those stars?” and “Damn, these pictures look washed out!” and “Argh! Why is my horizon always slanted?” Most often times, though, it’s not the camera. It’s you.

Lemming tourists. Finally… the definition… There is a phenomenon called Lemming Tourist Syndrome. This is when you’re driving along and you see a bunch of cars pulled over to the side of the road with tourists taking pictures of some unknown object, so you stop your car, get out so that you can see what you would have missed if you hadn’t seen the bunch of cars on the side of the road. Just because you didn’t want to miss anything. (FYI, this term was coined by someone else in relation to lemmings that hurl themselves over a cliff just because the one in front does it.) Chances are, you’re not really missing all that much. Yes, we were guilty of it too, but we caused our own fair share of it as well. ;)

7. "did you know that in hawai'i, aloha means hello and goodbye"

Yo, I don’t know what else to say. There are a billion stories and a trillion details. It was a fab trip and I'm glad I went with such a wicked, awesome, cool travel buddy. I have a ton of pics that I have yet to weed through, maybe someday I’ll post a little more.


Aloha.

day 10573: how to (or not to) do hawai'i (aka travel tips by a mainlander)

1. what to (or not to)bring

Sunscreen - BRING. From a person who now has a billion tan lines, I can't emphasize this enough. It isn't becoming to have a v-shaped tan line from the day you forgot while hiking Haleakala, one from your bikini, one from your tank top, one from your shorts, one from your surf shorts, one from your socks, one from your sandals... oh, and one from your bling. And it's not enough just to bring it. Wear it. I forgot... ouch crispy! For great aftercare, use Hawaiian Blend Aloe After Sun Lotion. This stuff is amazing. Instead of lobster red, I'm golden brown... different shades of course. Dumb tan lines...

Beach mats - DON'T BRING. It's a waste of luggage space. There's always going to be a K-mart, Walmart or Costco. Find one. Buy mats there and toss them when you're done. It's $1.99. Chump change. Just think of all the shopping I could have done had I more luggage space.

Camelback - BRING. It comes in handy on the many death marches that you'll be doing while hiking the lava flows or to the cinder cones. The sun is hot in Hawai'i. It's even hotter when you're hiking across miles and miles of rugged (SHARP!)black lava rock with steam venting at you, no shade... and actual molten lava under the rocks you're walking on. Red, burnt, crispy, puffy face pictures (from sun, heat,and dehydration) do not make for good pictures... especially if the adventure group you went with took pictures of you for their website. You'll just look hot, and not in the sexy kind of way.


Memory sticks for your digicam - BRING. You'll be taking a million pictures of the sunrise, sunset, water, beach etc. Guaranteed. It sucks if you run out of memory, and you'll get ripped off by a shop that sells duds on Fisherman's Wharf (San Fran...) and have to buy a new one. Luckily, it's cheaper in Maui. Consider bringing a portable hard drive. Between Posie and myself, we took more than a gig of pictures. That's a lot of pictures.

2. getting there

Fly. Unless you want to go by boat. But that will take a very, very, very long time. The Pacific Ocean doesn't look that big on a map, but trust me on this one... it's BIG.

Once there, rent a car. In Maui, try to get a 4x4 if you plan on driving the road to Hana. Sure, it's a little more expensive, but you'll feel much, much better when you're trying to navigate the winding, narrow roads with single lane bridges and blind corners. That way, if you feel "adventurous" enough to drive the 5 miles of gravel on the road from Hana (the one that the tour books tell you not to do... i.e. the one that the rental company technically forbids you from doing) which, btw, has the same winding, narrow roads with single lane bridges and blind corners... you won't slide out when making sharp turns because you're driving fast because you want to keep up with the car in front of you. And you do want to keep up with the car in front of you. Especially in late afternoon when the sun is setting, because with the sun in your eyes, and the dust from the road, you're lucky if you can see the tail lights of the car in front; nevermind a car that's coming towards you on the narrow road with the single lane bridges. Get the 4x4. We were ghetto and didn't have one. I think I might take up rally car racing as my next hobby. Fun.

3. staying there

Stay here. I love Mike. Mike is a lot of fun. Mike is great. Mike got up at 4:30am to pack hot coffee and fresh scones for us to take with us to watch the sunrise on Haleakala. Without Mike (and his hot coffee), I don't think I would have survived the drive and the cold to see this (I swear this is not photoshopped)...


Note, Mike's is a little out of the way for most other places. It's half way up the mountain to Haleakala, so bonus, we only had to drive an hour to see the sunrise instead of two hours like all the other lemming tourists.

4. what to do-do-doo...hm

Beach. White sand, black sand, red sand, grainy sand, no sand... there are a heck of a lot of beaches in Maui. Some of them are really nice. Some of them not so nice. Some places say they have a beach and they really don't. Shame on them. You'll find beaches everywhere where you least expect them - even in the store that sells everything gecko.


Hike. Walking around in scorching heat is no fun. Walking around in scorching heat with no shade in sight and in high altitudes is no fun. Bring a lot of water, some gatorade, a couple of energy bars, a pair of good shoes that you won't be able to wear again once you melt them on hot lava rock, and you're set to go. It's a tough little stroll sometimes (hence, aka death march) and definitely not a walk in the park (although, technically, you are walking, and you are in a park... hm). But be strong and suck it up. It's well worth the effort when you get to see what's inside this cinder cone... you'll have to hike it to find out.


While hiking, be sure to pay attention to the trail and your surroundings. It's no fun "skiing" down calf deep sand because you took the path less travelled... Oh, and bring a rainjacket (and hiking boots) for the hikes off the Road to Hana. Apparently rain is normal in a rainforest, and more rain makes the waterfalls more "picturesque" and less trickle-y. Who knew?

Surf, snorkel, blah, blah blah. I don't surf. There are sharks in the ocean. Did I mention my aversion to being eaten by a shark? I only tried snorkeling for the first time today. Apparently, someone from our boat charter saw a shark this morning while we were in the water... snorkeling. While I was in the water... snorkeling. Guess who's not a happy camper... I think I would have freaked completely if I saw it. Never mind my mind playing tricks on me while I was doing this... (it COULD have been a rock that touched me, but I swear I was in too deep for rocks)


Note. That is NOT me. I'm not that good. Not even close. I just get dragged behind the kite. Literally. And no, I'm not about to post a picture of me drowning as the waves crash over my head. No way, no how.

Rally car race. Just joking. Road to Hana. 'Nuff said.

Luau. It's cool. It's entertaining. Poi tastes really bad (no, it doesn't help if you eat it with paniolo steak, guava glazed chicken, or even banana bread... I tried all the combinations... it just tastes really bad), kalua pig is overrated, but mmm... hula boys... very niiice. Very much a hokey tourist trap, but hey, it's nice to walk in and (almost) instantly handed a mai-tai and then being lei'd. Did I say mmmm... hula boys... ALOHA!

... to be continued...

Aloha. Time for bed. More travel tips tomorrow...

day 10569: aloha

I'm in the middle of a rainforest on Hawai'i... there's a volcano somewhere behind me... an ocean somewhere in front of me. It's a rough, rough life I'm leading. I'm jealous and I'm here.

Early morning drives up winding scary dormant Haleakala to see an unreal sunrise. Death march through volcanic landslides to see the inside of a cinder cone. Near death experiences on the Road to Hana. Brush with death with SHARKS while kiteboarding...

So many stories, so many pictures. I promise to post as soon as I find a USB cable... and another internet connection. Hopefully, hopefully, the pictures will be able to do justice.

Aloha babes. :)

day 10564: dan the man from the ham

Dan the Man is in the music industry. Dan the Man is from the Ham. Dan the Man is into surfing… which was the line Dan the Man used when Dan the Man tried to pick me up in a Safeway. He gave me his business card. I kid you not, it says “Dan the Man.” So, if anyone in the SF Bay area needs a piano-singer songwriter that plays the synth-keyboard and is available for lounge grooves, special events, private parties, national anthems, and concerts… um… let me know. If it does anything for you, he rides a “bike”… um… ok, so really, it’s a scooter… and apparently, I’ve become a snob.

[ed note: WHAT ARE LOUNGE GROOVES?]

day 10563: i think i got issues…

You know the saying… ”there’s a sucker born every minute.” I think I’m the sucker for my minute and am still not convinced that I wasn’t scammed this afternoon.

It all started yesterday when I decided to get my artistic butt in gear and start figuring out how to use my camera. Yes, it IS one of those idiot-proof digi-cams, but hey, I’m a techron, remember? …technological moron… ? me and technology… we don’t mix. Actually, me and cameras have been bad news together ever since I left my dad’s old Minolta in a bathroom at a pit stop in Germany. That was a sad, sad day in Schmassion history. Schmassion famille has yet to recover but that’s another story I’ll save for a more depressing day. Anyway, with f-stops, apertures, white balance etc etc confusing the crap out of me, I ended up filling up my first 128mb memory card with things that while I don’t necessarily think they’re all that great, I loathe to delete them. Ah, San Francisco…

Need I remind you that my vaca has only just begun? I still have nearly two weeks of pictures to take and the glorious vistas of paradise Hawaii beckon a heck of a lot stronger.

So off I went in search of more memory… to… are you ready for this... Fisherman’s Wharf.

I.

Am.

The.

Genius…

… who goes to tourist spots to shop. (I will bend over now so someone can fcuk me up the ass.) “Really, how stupid can you get?” you must be thinking. Well. Duh. Pretty stupid, apparently. Actually, the price for the memory card was not too bad. Cheaper than Canada but probably a little high for the US, I wasn’t desperate enough to shop around and comparison shop for a $5 differential. I know I could have done better, but hey, opportunity cost… I was already running a wee bit late for dinner. Mmmm… Souffle…

It wasn’t until the salesperson asked to see my camera that the trouble began. Oh, and I mustn’t forget the small talk...

‘Where are you going? Hawaii? Oh, beautiful… you’ll have a lot of fun there… you know, you have a good camera here. You should consider getting a new lens for your camera…”

Stop. Right. Here.

Or, at least I should have.

Instead, I let him prattle on and on about how my Hawaii pictures would be oh-so-much better if I only had a wider lens, and oh, look how this lens can take macro pictures too. Didn’t want to take good quality scenery pictures in Hawaii? It’s a trip of a lifetime…

So I bought it… on impulse. I bought the memory stick and bought the darned lens for a combined low, low price of $189 plus tax.

I have yet to take a single picture with it… Kinda thinking that I was scammed… kinda… sorta…

~

hmmmms…

~ There are a heck of a lot of hills in this city… it’s not really old people friendly, is it?

~ “You get what you want out of it, if you put more of yourself into it…” I thought he was talking about sightseeing. He was talking about God. I was confused.

~ I found fish tacos. They were ok.

~ Strawberry margaritas for lunch is a good thing.

~ There are a heck of a lot of hills in this city…

~ There is a Starbucks on every corner when you’re not in dire need of caffeine, but when you actively go hunting for a Starbucks, they all go into hiding.

~ The Bushman only appears when you’re NOT looking for him.

~ Day two in San Fran… and I think I know the streets better than the Sista does.

~ Is it strange that I was extremely disappointed when I went to FAO Schwartz and found out that it had closed down?

~ There are a heck of a lot of hills in this city… maybe I should take a bus tomorrow instead of hoofing it from one end to another… Financial District to Union Square to Chinatown to Washington Square to Coit Tower to Lombard Street to Fort Mason to Fisherman’s Wharf back to Financial District…

day 10562: san francisco bay

I met the Bushman. Ok. So I didn't really meet him, just got freaked out of my mind by him. He made me spill my chai for the second time today when he jumped out at me from behind his "bush"... hence the Bushman.

Note to self... must learn not to be startled so easily...

The best part of being on vacation is not having to actually do anything. I can go sightseeing if I feel like it. But heck, if I just feel like lounging around in my underwear all day typing out God-knows-what while staring out to a fantastic view of some part of San Francisco, well, I could just do that too. I’m free, even of the obligation to “make the most of my time.” Sightseeing, schmightseeing…

At the moment, I don’t feel like doing anything. I’m relaxing after a long day of walking around town and hiking up the hills. My belly is full after a day of pigging out on obligatory San Franciscan foods. I’ve done the vegan burritos, the “best” hamburgers in the world, the obligatory clam chowder, and a really nice strawberry, lemon and sugar crepe to top it off. It won’t take a psychic to tell me that this trip will be bad for my waistline.

It’s been a long day, but I don’t feel like sleeping. No agenda, no plans means that tomorrow will bring what tomorrow brings. The only thing I want to accomplish sometime on this trip is to search out some really good Mexican food. Toronto, multicultural though it may be, is definitely lacking in a semi-decent fish taco. What I wouldn’t give for a good fish taco. Hm, a stop at In-N-Out may be in order as well… just for old times sake, ya know. I think my closet foodie-ness might be reemerging (except for the In-N-Out bit).

Do-do-doo… hm… what to do… what to see?

day 10561: leaving on a jet plane

Off to San Fran and Hawaii for a couple of weeks... check back in a bit. Will try to update... maybe...


... leaving on a jet plane...