To blog or not to blog

Where to begin? I am contemplating deleting this blog. Starting a new one called “Free Beer Tomorrow” or something light hearted. The topics would be easy on the head, funny and rather void of emotion. I suppose the issue with blogging about the infinite details of your pathologies is that you give people and insight into the neurotic chaos that is your mind. And as my friend emailed me the other day “you’re not a very nice person”. That resonated. Hard. And I realize that yes, given my actions it is probably fair to say that I am not a very nice person.
The other side of the coin is that this blog has been rather invaluable way to gauge my behaviour and actions as I progress through various trials and tribulations. Additionally, the act of writing is cathartic and it has helped me see (some) things more clearly than had I not expressed them at all.
So what now? I must say I am perplexed. One day I feel closer to knowing and understanding myself and the next day I realize I have no idea what I’m doing, that I’m careening through my life and it’s amazing that I have any friends left. Shall I continue to blog about my misdeeds and mistakes, or is it better to blog about, oh, say, the homeless guy that was arguing with my bus driver this morning? I don’t know.
I do know this: I have made mistakes. I am starting to learn from a greater proportion of them. I re-read my blog often and often I do not like what I see. I want to change that. I want to have guiltless, illuminating, positive blogs which are a reflection of my inner self. I need to work harder to get there.
This morning was a rather surprising one. I was supposed to go to B’s house for dinner tonight, but I sent him a lengthy email opting out, and telling him I needed to take some time to get my proverbial shit together. I was very honest in the email. He emailed back rather quickly and was kind and thoughtful. I realize that I judged him too harshly based on what happened earlier in the year and yes, I think my last blog (“Ownership”) is apt. Who am I to judge anyone? Look at me! I’ve been despicable and conceited. It is time to change that.
I’m limiting the users that can access this blog to those that have been with it since its inception. To those “lucky” few, I’d like to say thank you for your support and for not judging me and for being my friend. You probably know more about me then you ever dreamed that you would want to.
I have created a new blog (I can’t believe www.freebeertomorrow.blogspot.com was available) that will be accessible to all and I invite you all to read and comment on it.

Thanks, that was fun.

Duder

Ownership

After re-reading my last blog I realize what an asshole I am. I take responsibility for everything. I had an inkling of his personality going into this whole thing, and I should not be in the least surprised that the traits that I did not like about him are still there. Moreover, I was in essence "using" him and assuaging any pangs of guilt by telling myself that he deserved it because of the way he treated me earlier in the year. Yeah, that's totally the sign of a mature, self-aware, considerate person.
A final point would be that he could conceivably have a blog about me, and say all kinds of nasty things. I'm not perfect. I make all kinds of mistakes. There are definitely reams of things about my personality that he doesn't like. I'm sure there are many ladies out there that would trip over themselves to date him.
So there. I considered removing yesterday's blog because: a) it's unfair to him and, b) it makes me look like a jerk, but I guess I am a jerk and now it's evidenced for the world to see. Or for the four people that read my blog to see. Jerky!
I actually feel bad now. Pangs of remorse and regret. I'm a bad 'un. That was definitely a huge step back on the road to becoming a nice, zen-like person.
But dogs like me.

The whole old dog/new tricks conundrum

Yeah. So when was the last time I blogged? Where am I? Where are my pants? I think I might have sunstroke.
So Friday. Got together with B. Went for dinner, met up with Po and S for a drink at the 5 Point on Main Street. I do believe a good time was had by all. Ended up going back to B's place and he fed me coffee and mango in the morning. Love mango.
Saturday. Saturday I went to visit Michael at his place in North Van. I always bitch and moan that he's got nothing to eat when I go over there, but this time he was prepared. Like, uber-prepared. He had chicken, a plate of vegetables, a plate of fruit, corn, chips and dip, Gatorade, Diet Pepsi and sherbet. Yeah. I brought beer. Sat out on his deck for an inordinate amount of time, had a couple of beers (okay, I did) and shot the shit. It was fantastic. Then I made him watch some ATHF (I told you: if you are my friend I will make you watch this stuff). Then we watched Hot Fuzz. Awesome. Somehow it became 9:00 at night and I had to go to try and avoid the mass exodus from everywhere that is known as the Saturday night fireworks finale. As I was leaving I said, "Can we get back together now?". I mean, for the love of god. I get it. He's the one. There is no one better. I understand this. I have erred in my ways. All other men are inferior. He looks really good. I liked the dip. He said, "No. You're a shit head," or something to that effect. Okay. I'll try again later.
Today. Slept in, missed my 19k run: have to do it Monday now. Went to Pride with Big D. He said to me, "I was going to call you and tell you to wear a hat, but then I realized that you're a big girl,". Yeah. I totally should've worn a hat. I think I have sunstroke. Sunstroke accounts for all the spelling and grammatical errors in this blog. And all prior blogs. Ahem... So Pride was cool. The dykes on bikes were great, loved the drag queens, can't say I'm averse to a bunch of pretty boys gyrating in their underwear. Big D and I eventually left, grabbed a coffee in South Granville and I went to feed Po's cat. She's on a road trip with her lovah somewhere. I hope it's going well. They should go to Kitimat, do the Alcan tour. I hear all the cool kids are doing it.
B and I had made tentative plans to get together tonight and he came by. We cooked dinner together. It was fun. I kicked his ass at chess (again). And this is where the other flags started to go up. I know I'm beating a dead horse here, but bear with me:
- I'm not a good chess player, but I beat him when he was in town earlier in the year. And not just a little: I soundly trounced him. And I trounced him again tonight. He put his queen right in the line of fire and it was absurdly stupid. You know when you kind of scour the chessboard wondering if you've missed something? Well I was scouring. And I hadn't missed anything. He's just that bad.
- He referred to Ernest Hemingway as a "douchebag" because he said that Hemingway, apparently upon learning that seagulls mate for life, took to shooting one seagull that constituted a pair. I googled it (minimally), couldn't find anything to support this claim. I then said (as an aspiring writer and having read some of Hemingway's books) "so you cannot separate an artist from his actions?" to which he said, "no". It just seems kind of trite.
- When I was at Po and S's barbecue with him a few weeks ago a dog barked at him. Again, I know this is totally bizarre, but I'm an animal lover (uh, SPCA?) and have had dogs and cats all throughout my life. Animals are perceptive. The way that people treat animals I believe is indicative of their personality. The dog didn't bark at anyone but him.
- He frequently tells me that I'm "awesome" and that he's "fond" of me, but his actions don't support that. Michael used to tell me all the time that words are just words, it's what you do - how you treat someone - that matters. I didn't really get that implicitly until now.
So the evening draws to a close. We've had dinner, a couple of drinks, played chess, watched ATHF. I mention that someone will be swinging by around 11 in the morning. He makes mention of booking it. I leave it alone, we have some more conversation. It turns to how he hit "rock bottom" and how he discovered today that he doesn't "like himself" because of the way he treated me earlier in the year. He then mentions that I am kind of "distant" tonight. I reply, "You tell me that a lot. I'm not sure what to say except that I had a relationship with you earlier in the year that gives me a good reason to be distant". At this point he stops holding my hand. This boils down to: it's okay for him to admit being a douche bag, but I can't say anything negative about it. What the fuck is that about? So we talk a bit more, he makes more comments about leaving and I encourage him to stay, but he leaves. Oh - I totally look hot today, sunburned or not.
I'm not dumb. JupiterGirl: shut it. Here is why he left: he came over, I didn't exactly fawn over him; I whooped him at chess (again); I called him on his horrific treatment of me earlier in the year; I alluded to my busy and satisfying social schedule; I didn't pander to him as he waded through the pool of "woe is me" self pity.
Did I sense this coming as I sipped my first glass of Sauvignon Blanc with him over a month ago? Er, yeah. Was I hoping that he could just be some guy that I dragged out with me to perform "boyfriendly" duties for a duration of time of over the summer because I'm getting a little weary of being single? Absolutely. But I kind of expected him to put out tonight. It's funny: my place is a mess; I can't really cook; I do laundry and recycling sporadically; there are an inordinate amount of empties in my recycling bag; I'm athletic; I'm always up for a good time. Yup, I'm the quintessential male bachelor. Oh: but I LIKE Ernest Hemingway; I'm listening to Joni Mitchell as I write this blog; I deign to be fawned over; and hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
I know. Why the fuck did I ever even contemplate this? Oh. Oh oh oh. I'm so tired. I am so done with this. Women. Easy. Men? Infinitely complicated and sensitive.
I think I am destined to be single for a very long time. You know what? That's GRAND. I would rather spend a night with Greg Iles and Hootie and the Blowfish then deal with this self-serving, aggrandizing, patronizing shit.
When I get my new furniture, you are all welcome to a party at my place. Please bring your single, non-retarded, socially adjusted male friends. Who are good looking. And are maybe doctors. That would be cool.

Shut up, ya yo-yos!

So things have been a little busy with me these days. I’ve had no down-time, just scraping by and ensuring I eat relatively healthy meals and trying to keep my apartment in some semblance of order.
C came over last night because I am making all my friends watch Aqua Teen with me. He also brought a little treat. Yay treats! Like me, he was tired and so for quite a while we sat very still and said very little. I wanted to be a more engaging hostess, but I also wanted a nap. We had some meaningful conversations about running. This is what we discussed (and yeah, it’s totally verbatim).
C: “I went running today and it took me an hour and twenty minutes, but it shouldn’t have taken me that long.”
Duder: “Where did you go?”
C: “Down to the…” Duder totally tunes out.
Duder: “Yeah, that’s like ten kilometers. It shouldn't’ve taken you over two hours.”
C: “It wasn’t 10k. It was between ten and fifteen.”
Duder: “So it was ten and a half. It still shouldn’t have taken you close to four hours.”
C: “Don’t you have that map thing that measures routes? Why don’t you map it out for me.”
Duder: “Here’s what you’re going to do: you’re going to map that route for me and let me know how far you ran.”
C: “Did I tell you how good you look in those shorts?”
Duder: “Oh, do you like them? I – nice try. You map it out. Put that on your to-do list and keep me updated.”
C: “Oh, so it’s like that, is it? I came over here for this shit? And hey, where’s your furniture?”
Duder: “Ouch. Oh man, I am totally having a party when I get my furniture. It’s going to be a modernist’s wet dream. You’re not on the list, you keep up with this. I am assigning you a task: you map that route and you get back to me.”
C: “ But-”
Duder: “Too late! It’s on your list! I need a status update!”
As you can see, it was totally illuminating. It really only degenerated from there. Then, before we knew it, it was 9:15! I’m not sure why (perhaps because I had run 11.3k and C had run 7.2k) but we were both kind of bagged so he left. I could have gone to bed. That would’ve been the prudent thing to do, but I didn’t. I listened to some music. The iTunes visualizations are vastly superior to the Windows Media visualizations in their psychedelic-ness. I contemplated more ATHF, but given the issues I had brushing my teeth and washing my face (How long have I been in here? My teeth feel so big! I’ve been in here for like an hour. Am I making too much noise? I wonder if I’m making too much noise. This toothpaste is gritty. I wonder if my face is clean yet.) I decided to call it a night.
This morning. Little cobwebby. A bit of an effort to ensure I caught the bus on the correct side of the street. Turned on my cell phone: there was a voice mail from B – he had called at 10:45. Who calls someone at 10:45?
I have the attention span of a gnat. Awesome.

Today's poem brought to you by my insulin fit

Timbit, my chocolate Timbit, you
increase my blood sugar during its afternoon dip;
effectively replacing what would, in other countries, be a siesta.
I relish your sweet, sugary, chocolaty goodness and ponder:
is there anything stuck in my teeth?
Someone suggested a healthier option, almonds perhaps? A sliver of cheese? An anjou pear?
"Eat me," I replied. And then I ate you.

Is it totally evident I'm screwing the pooch today? I'd feel bad except C emailed me yesterday around noon that he and his work were going to Nat Bailey to see a baseball game. My boss is at the gym. The CFO came in with a monstrous hangover and left to "work from home" around 11. Yeah. No regrets.

I'm doing it as hard as I can

My place is a mess. I need to stay home and clean it one day. Or get a maid. A man maid. Man made.

Went to the art gallery to see the Impessionists with Po last night. It was quite overwhelming. I felt very priviledged to be able to view the works of Manet, Monet, Rodin, Dali (what was that guy smoking?), Van Gogh and countless others. I love art. I don't understand or "get" it a lot of the time, but I appreciate it immensely and I like to be made to think. Unless I'm at work, and then I really just want to eat bagels and chat with co-workers. Getting pretty adept at that.

My "girls" are heading out of town with their respective "boys" this weekend. Stupid happy couples. Frick. It's okay. I still have Aqua Teen Hunger Force. I think that in the dim, murky subconscious of my tiny brain there are some cells that are pushing the spectacles up onto the bridge of their noses while mulling over Rodin's "The Thinker", whilst others are quoting the Mooninites from ATHF and saying things like, "you know, one person's waste is another person's soap" and things of that nature, while smoking lots of dope and eating Doritos. That could explain why I have a headache. And am hungry.

Hills today. Funtime hills. Love the hills. I like to run up them, and then run down them. Six times. In the beating sun. I love that I'm in great shape now, and nobody is interested in seeing me naked. Wait, wait, let me rephrase that. I love that I'm in great shape and no one is interested in spending a lot of quality time with me, stroking my hair, saying witty things in an effort to make me laugh, opening car doors for me, helping me on with my jacket, going for long walks on the beach, contemplating marrying me... and wanting to see me naked. Phew.

All I can say is that I'm doing it as hard as I can.

Meatwad

Okay, first things first. I ran the 26k. I am awesome. You should revere me. More! Harder! Longer! The route was daunting and I'm feeling some pain today, but I'm happy I did it. The hurdle was as much mental as it was physical. I'm a mental runner. Ha ha.
Met up with Big D for lunch afterwards. I encouraged him to talk ceaselessly while I devoured my sandwich in about four bites and tried to look dainty doing so. We went shopping at London Drugs and when we returned to my apartment he said, "so what are you doing for the rest of the afternoon?" and I said, "napping". Yep, it's hard to keep up with me, eh?
So I did nap a little. Whatever. YOU run 26k and tell me how alert you are afterwards. Then I watched a few episodes of Aqua Teen Hunger Force, which my brother lent me. Okay, funniest shit ever. It's just so good and addictive. I don't have cable, but I believe it's on the Comedy Channel, so if you are one of the elite few of my friends that gets this channel... can you please invite me over? Or at least tune in to check it out. The characters are named Frylock, Shake and Meatwad. They get visited by the Mooninites who are... from the moon and look like something Atari might have created in the early 80s. It's awesome. It's my new favourite thing (besides CBC 3, and Gehringer Brothers Sauvignon Blanc).
Is there a point you can reach when you become totally un-dateable? Is this that point?

Music lovers, hello!

How are you? You look fabulous. I would like to strongly encourage everyone that likes music that doesn't SUCK to check out the playlist on http://radio3.cbc.ca/. It is mmmm.... good. Like, not just a little bit good, but like I'm adding almost all the music I hear to my personalized playlist.
On the other hand, last night was full of music that was not so enjoyable. My work had a little party to celebrate the latest roll out of of our product at Malone's downtown. Okay, I respect Green Day and their political views, but after the umpteeth song I could tell it didn't matter how much Sauvignon Blanc I was downing: I just wasn't feeling it. Chatted with some coworkers. Gazed fondly at M. Bid everyone adieu and went home.
Met B for dinner in Point Grey. He has been punctual for all of our meetings (?) since we started hanging out, but I was still a little surprised to see that he beat me to the restaurant. See, I was on time, where heretofore I have been at least five or ten minutes late because it pleases me. Anyways, I got this rather strange sensation as I walked into the restaurant. B was standing next to the hostess and as I walked in he was facing me, and I got the impression that I was being fondly assessed and warmly expected. I can't think of a better phrasing for it. I was a bit perplexed. He was dressed really nicely and I mentally kicked myself for thinking, "yeah, he's hot". Anyways, we had a nice meal, then wandered over to a nearby bar for drinks. Then went to Trimble Park and played on the swings. Whatever, it's my old stomping ground. I do what I want. Oh yeah, to continue on in the music vein: the music at the restaurant wasn't my genre. The music at the pub was mostly the BeeGees. I mean, I couldn't win for losing. Thank God I had some Thievery Corporation in my car.
Today I ran 7k. Michael's coming over shortly and we're heading into White Rock for dinner with my folks. And then tomorrow. Oh my god, tomorrow. I have to run 26k. It will be the furthest I have ever run before and I am scared witless. Please body, don't let me down! I have been good to you. I gave you pasta and red wine last night. You got coffee and a bagel this morning. I didn't push you too hard on today's run. Now I am going to clean you and make you look presentable because I know how you like to be presentable and nice smelling. I love you. I don't want you to leave me.

Dirty old lady

This morning my hot coworker, M (rescuer of the Christmas robot) came into my office and asked if I had scissors. I confirmed that indeed I did, which surprised both he and I given management's attempts to keep all sharp (and blunt) instruments away from me. And glue, too. He wanted to cut the tag off of the inside of his shirt (not the one at the back of the neck, but the one on the side). I gave him my scissors. He proceeded to pull up his shirt, exposing some flesh and cut off the tag. He was standing up, I was seated. I could have leaned forward six inches and kissed his side. You know, I should've. That just would've been totally awesome. He hands the scissors back and then notices there is another tag, pulls up his shirt again, holds up the tag and wants me to cut it. It was a bit too much. I started to cut it and then he was like, "T-! What are you doing?" and I thought, "Oh shit, I've cut his shirt", but instead I hadn't cut it close enough to the shirt and he was simply chastising me. He took the scissors, hiked up his shirt further and did it himself. You'd think he had taken his entire shirt off, or that I'd never seen a naked man before or something. I was riveted. I am a dirty old lady.
Then we joked about a couple of things and he made a comment about taking me out for dinner. This stemmed back to a conversation that we had had about an hour earlier: I went in to ask him something and I had a cheque in my hand. He said, "is that for me?" and I said, "no, it's not" and he said, "that's too bad" and I said, "it is too bad" (yeah, yeah, it gets better) and he said, "if it was for me there could be a dinner in it for you" and I laugh and say, "oh, so I need to commit fraud for you to take me out for dinner" and we both laughed. It was odd that he would then bring it up again. Oh, and even earlier in the day (you know, looking back on this blog I really ought to have done it chronologically instead of going further and further back in time) he complimented me on a jacket that I recently bought.
He's so hot. Rrrrrr. We're all going for drinks after work today. I'm going to try and sit next to him and fawn and touch his arm lightly while giggling at everything he says. Realistically? I am going to sit miles from him and scowl, while watching golf on one of the sixteen t.v.s designed to distract you from all intelligent conversation. Yay martinis!

The $14 can opener

After Michael and I parted ways, one of the things I was missing was a can opener, so I strolled over to the local London Drugs to pick one up. I was quite pissed off that the only one I could find was priced at $14. Why would a can opener cost $14? Um, is it going to open the soup and then cook it for me? But, valuing the cost of walking back home, hopping in my car and driving somewhere else for the sake of a goddamn can opener I decided I would just buy the thing and appreciate its aesthetic qualities and fine craftsmanship every time I opened a can of tuna. Until today. Today it broke. I swear, I've had the thing less than seven months. I've probably used it less than twenty times. The thing was (and with me there is always a "thing" and the "thing" represents the point where I should just concede defeat but I don't, cause I'm a friggin' champion) when it broke the can was sort of half opened. You know, it was in that state where you can kind of force it open with a fork and squish the contents out? I had a really good salad going: spring mix, pan fried yams, avocados and I really wanted to add this tuna. So I attempt to ratchet it open with a fork. But the fork kind of slides around and doesn't do the job. What does the job? Come on, what is the best way to open a jagged tin can? With your fingers! Yay! Can everyone just sense the train barreling down the tracks to become Duder's latest train wreck? I'm trying to force/bend this lid with my thumb and then - slip! - it slices the end of my left thumb open. The gush of blood was amazingly quick. I must have a healthy, strong heart. Yep. In other news, I don't do well with blood. So it's pretty much streaming off my thumb and splattering on my stove, but hey! the lid's open! In the dim, misfiring synapses of my addled brain I decide that a healthy lunch is really a priority at this point. I continue to scrape the tuna into my salad (being careful not to get blood in said salad), and get a nice little collection of hemoglobin in the empty tuna can. Awesome. It's rather evident that I'm in shock. I realize that I might want to call someone since I'm feeling rather light headed and I understand that it's not normal to continue on with food preparation when you're bleeding quite nicely. I pick up my (new! shiny!) cell phone and think, "who in the hell am I going to call?". I contemplate calling B: he doesn't have a car. I think of calling my dad since he has some first aid experience. I then realize that I would ultimately end up upsetting whoever it was that was the unlucky recipient of my call, and that I really need to better assess the situation. Into the bathroom I go. I looked in the mirror and was quite surprised to see I looked rather well rested and, given that I had run 8k earlier in the evening, my hair wasn't too messy. I said, "get it together". I think I said it like three times as some kind of mantra. Then I washed my hand and wrapped a clean washcloth around it. In and around this time JupiterGirl called me for a pre-arranged chat. I was like, "yeah, I'm bleeding pretty good. Can I have ten minutes?" and she's like "um, yeah. Can you see bone?". No bone. Score! I get it cleaned up, and before the blood starts again I see it's not too bad, doesn't need stitches. Have I mentioned I don't do well with blood? I sat on the bathtub and put my head between my legs for a little bit. Called JupiterGirl back, poured a glass of wine and thoroughly bloodied that washcloth.
The really retarded bit? I kept thinking "I really need to do the dishes and clean the counter tops and stove". The second glass of wine resulted in a different thought process "no one is coming over for a while; Polysporin will work miracles. The blood spatters can wait until Friday or Saturday". Ew.
So yeah. Feeling a bit nauseous. Kind of wished I had someone to take care of the situation this evening, and yet I managed just fine. And made my lunch to boot. Had a great conversation with JupiterGirl. I am sorely missing my partner in crime. I miss our conversations and her lack of pandering to my bullshit. It's exhilarating and scary how our lives just march on and diverge and go on tangents and we end up in places that we didn't anticipate.
But it's good. She's in a good place. With the exception of a little blood loss, I'm in a good place. I just need to find another can opener.

Grind, grind!

One of the perks (hmm, I may have to revisit the use of the word "perk" in this particular instance) of leaving work at 4pm these days is that I can now make the Wednesday night running clinic. This is the clinic that deals with such running nuances as speed and hills. Both are best avoided. In fact, I strongly discourage everyone from ever running a marathon. The only reason I'm still doing this is because I paid for it, and I'm cheap and I will not back out. Today we did hills. The concept is that you run up a 500 or 600 metre hill as hard as you can, then run down, and then do it four more times. We're working up to ten. I will simply say that the first one was easy. The subsequent ones, not so much. I bought a dorky water belt (since the only thing dorkier is bonking and ending up in the hospital with dehydration) and I was quite glad that I brought it along with me tonight. I tried to look cool as I rapidly depleted two of the little bottles and then stuck my tongue inside them to scrape out the last vestiges of moisture. Some guy gave me his phone number. I said, "Do you work for Canadian Springs?" and he said, "Uh, no" so I said, "Beat it then. And put your goddamn shirt back on: it's not that hot and neither are you".
I also got a new cell phone today. It's something new and shiny to entertain me and distract me from the lack of romance, sex and affection in my life. So I'm playing with it on the bus ride home, adjusting the volume and what not and I get a call from work. Of course at this point I had the volume right cranked and no one on the bus is talking so it's like RING RING RING and everyone looks at me as I try to answer it while maintaining some semblance of coolness.
And I downloaded the Scissor Sisters' "I Don't Feel Like Dancing" recently, and I totally dance in my apartment and crank it, even though it sounds like the BeeGees and there are handclaps and what sounds like rayguns being fired sporadically. Or what I think rayguns might sound like. I wish I had a raygun. That would distract me. I could shoot my fellow running mates and take their water. Pew pew!

My first monday

I worked today. For money, like. I feel like such a whore. I didn't sleep well last night, anticipating all the work that would be piled in my in-tray, on my desk and on my chair. Seriously, at my last job I returned to work to find that they had run out of available surface space and had resorted to piling shit on my chair. Uh, that means you need to pay me more money. Or that I need to quit. So I quit. Hee hee.
Eyes tired, muddled, I drag my ass in to work and find that a lot of my stuff has been taken care of. Seriously, it was the smoothest transition back to work that I may have ever experienced. I was still behind, but it wasn't insurmountable. I think I shall be caught up by the end of the day tomorrow! And I was able to enjoy the added benefit of fooling my coworkers into thinking it was Tuesday, since I'm not normally in on Mondays. That'll teach them, those friendly, engaging, cooperative bastards.
The piece de resistance was leaving at 4pm, since I know have a 35 hour week. I had to remind myself to leave at 4. It was sweet. I was like, "yep, check ya later". I was actually kind of worried about what to do with myself from the time I got home until bed, since today wasn't a running today. Got home, decided to pay some bills, clean some of my messes up. Get a call from C who wants to go for beers. What is it with guys and calling at the last second? I said, "I'll meet you at 7" and he balks. I mean, clearly I'm worth waiting for, but I know it must be excruciating. I compromise at 6:30. Dude, I was paying bills. I'm a single accountant, it's the closest thing that I'll have to sex for some time and you interrupted it. That's okay. I like beer, too.
So we have beers. Haven't seen him for a while. He rages about the garbage strike. I'm still blissed out from my week off and I'm like, "can't we just all hug it out?". Apparently we can't do that. Like, why can't we just lie in the grass and stare at the clouds and listen to Jack Johnson, man? He wants to buy some eggs, leave them out in the sun for a couple of weeks and then go egg the union boss's house. Give me a couple of weeks. My mellowness will dissipate and then I'll be like "yeah, yeah, let's take those fucking eggs, light them on fire and egg his house. And then cut his brake lines!". Okay, let's hope not. Mellow Duder is fun too.
I fill him in on the B fiasco and how B repeatedly tells me that I'm awesome. And how I think that if you feel someone is awesome, you ought not treat them poorly. He agrees. Then, as we're on the "awesome" topic, I tell him about Skyhammer who thinks we Canadians use the term "awesome" rather frivolously, as in "I found a used condom in the gutter! Awesome!". And then C says that he thinks that I'm awesome and I start to develop a complex. Awesome like B thinks I'm awesome? Is this C's way of telling me he's about to go to Mexico? Or like gutter condom awesome? Oh my god! And I still am unsure about the Mickey's bottle cap! It really can't be "an eye for an eye"! What is the circular object in the box!? Oh shit, I can't handle working Mondays!
Yes, I will have another 1516, thank you. And then we hug it out. Phew.

Ben Jammin' Skyhammer

Nothing says "I am hungover" like when the waiter comes to take brunch orders and your girlfriends are like: "tea" and "coffee" and then you say "caesar". Awesome. It did take the edge of though. So I have brunch with N and Po and the possibility exists that I was still technically drunk. Po throws out the idea of a barbeque at her boyfriend's place, N says she will ask her new beau if he's into it and suddenly I'm thinking that I ought to go and I should invite B. We plow through our meals (Po and N with a fruit accompaniment, me with hash browns of course) and our waiter repeatedly refers to us as "girls". I would have objected but he was really hot.
We leave. Po is meeting up with her boyfriend, S, and N is meeting up with her boyfriend that we shall heretofore refer to as Ben Jammin' Skyhammer. You know, because it's fun. I call B and leave a message, asking if he would be interested in a barbeque with my friends. The "old" B would not have returned my message because, oh, say he was no longer in the country or some such thing. The "new" B called me back and said that he was into it. I was pretty surprised. Swung by his place and we picked up some steak, asparagus and booze and headed over to S's. Po was already there, as was N with Ben Jammin' Skyhammer. A little while later an interesting fellow, T, dropped by and there was a lot of talk of boats. Lots of boat talk. And of converting Delica engines to run on vegetable oil.
While the boys talked about boats and how to get blood out of fibreglass, and where is the best place to hide bodies, we ladies tried to come up with a fun pen name for Po. N gave us a lecture that had something to do with consonants. I started to have Kwantlen flashbacks. The gist is that the name she end with a hard sound. I thought "Fuck" worked. It has the hard ending, and you would definitely never forget a children's author with that last name. Maybe she can spell it like "Phoque" or something. To ease with the social lubrication S produced 45 bottles of random alcohol and N made herself the most amazing orange juice and gin that I'd ever seen in my life. It kind of went from there. I believe the highlights were: Fireballs; the half of a cow I ate; an animated debate on crop circles; a large plate of pork; a really fucked up beer bottle cap; N treating us to the first 15 seconds of 62 songs; some fun puns to describe men's seeming inability to find and correctly stimulate the clitoris; photos being taken; Skittles; B getting a bit drunk (the shoe is on the other foot!); N putting stickers on her face. Yeah. I don't think I have ever met a happier drunk than N. And a phenomenal didgeridoo player to boot.
I guess I could blog about more embarrassing things, like the amount of food and alcohol that was spilled on the kitchen floor, or how Po encouraged N to crawl on the kitchen floor, or N's amazing ability to toss magnets onto the fridge, or S's real thoughts on iTunes, or Skyhammer's interpretation of the word "awesome", or T's joke about 28 year olds, but I shan't. Although it was fun when I offered T a space behind me on the couch because, as usual, I exude warmness and my body posture is always so inviting. I said, "I don't bite" to which B replied, "oh yes you do". And with that I decided to get a beer. This would be the beer with the world's most disappointing bottle cap. I can't get over it. It can't be true. I will retain this cap and continue to contemplate it. It cannot be "an eye for an eye". Nor can it be "an eye for a bomb in a box eye". And it's likely no "an eye for a hot box", though that was a valiant effort on T's behalf.
As I was heading over to the barbeque tonight I thought that it was such a cool, thirty-something thing to do. I was really looking forward to it, and I had so much fun. The food was fantastic. The company was utterly superb. I had met S before, but not Skyhammer and I was over the moon to see how much he doted on N. I was just so freakin' happy to see that my friends were happy. Yeah, maybe this is the new and sappy me, but I felt so privileged to be able to spend my Saturday night with such a fantastic group of people. I don't remember the last time I laughed so hard or met such interesting people. I can't envision a better night (okay, maybe if I hadn't had to drive home I could've had one of N's magical gin and OJ's but, as I explained twice to S: I live in a far away land and no, I wasn't crashing with B).
B and I left and, as we were walking back to his place he said a couple of things to me. He said that my friends really care about me, and that they're great. I agreed with him and said I was lucky to have them. He also said I was awesome. I agreed with that too, and said that, the more pot he smoked the more awesome I would get.
I think I will bypass the 8am run tomorrow. I shall go later in the day. Maybe it will be sunnier by then. B called to make sure I had made it home alright. Thoughtful. I want to call my friends in the morning to see how they are doing and get their input on B but they are likely feeling as pleasant as I was this morning and I'm sure they'll have company.
Sigh. I'm a good girl.

So hungover

Hey, here's a fun tip: don't have four glasses of wine and then three cosmopolitans. Uh, what was I thinking? Apparently I was on quite the mission last night. Wow, mission accomplished!So I'm back. I'm mellow. I enjoyed the Island. I came to some realizations such as: I need to relax about a lot of things; my parents are really great individuals, but I cannot treat them like my friends; I need to devote more time to just being (as opposed to doing); I really need to see Aqua Teen Hunger Force; not all babies are scary.
Got the world's most expensive haircut and color on Thursday while killing time waiting to meet up with Michael in West Van. Yup, that would be fun tip number two: don't get a cut and color when you're in West Van. It was a hundred dollars more than what I pay my hairdresser (and I already balk when I have to pay her!). My mom said it looked fantastic. It does. It should!
Met up with B again last night. We went to Bin 942. I love Bin 942. I asked him the question that had been burning in my little brain for some time; why did he not call before he just fucked off to Mexico earlier in the year? I had pondered this for some time and come to the conclusion that no matter what lame ass excuse he gave it would not be sufficient, nor would it adequately excuse his ridiculous behaviour. And that's pretty much what he told me. I was glad he didn't try and sugar coat it or weasel out of it. And he apologized to me: twice. Like real life apologies whereby he said he was sorry. It was good to hear it. Then he picked up the tab (which was $100) and I was glad, because I'm still reeling from the cost of my hair!
Then we went to East Van for more drinks, which was a really great idea. Then we went back to his place and listened to some music and then he called me a cab and I went home. It was nice. Poor cabby. I really have no recollection of the ride. Wow. Haven't had that much to drink for some time. The possibility exists that I'm still drunk.
Earlier that evening B had said that he wished that he had met me now, when his life was together and he was in a better spot. I said that I wished that I had met him now too. He's doing a very good job of trying to start fresh, make amends and impress me. Huh.
Before I headed out for the evening I got a call from a good friend of mine. He's not much of a telephone guy and I was a bit surprised to hear from him. He just wanted to say hi, ask how my trip was and let me know that I was loved. It was funny, he actually said that. It completed the trifecta I suppose: I hugged my brother at the Departure Bay ferry terminal (a public display of affection!) and he didn't try and and toss me in the ocean; I hugged my friend S when she dropped me off the next day (she said, "we're hugging now??" and I said, "yes, I'm an adult"); and then this random, friendly phone call. Good vibes. This is why that, even though I'm so hungover, I'm really happy today. Yep. Gonna have a nap later on though. And maybe a cheeseburger...

Island hopping

My mom drove my brother to my apartment on Saturday morning. He was supposed to take the bus from South Surrey, but she drove him to Vancouver and dropped him off at my place at 9am. Man. Where's the love? Oh yeah, Michael did drive from North Van to Tswassen to pick me up a while ago. Okay, so there's some love there.
So the trip was good. I am a spoiled brat. How many people can say that, while they were playing tennis (on their private tennis court) the ball sailed over the fence and... into the water (cause it's waterfront), and said ball had to be retrieved via kayak? Yeah, sucks to be me. Got in some kayaking, went running a few times, played some tennis, played some chess, drank some beer and wine (okay, drank a lot of beer and wine), finished reading High Fidelity, smoked a joint and laughed uproariously as my brother told me about some show called "Aqua Teen Hunger Force" that I have to watch. There is a character on it called Hand Banana. I'm straight right now, and it still seems funny.
Lasqueti is so beautiful. It will be a very sad day when I can no longer go there. It has such a calming, focusing effect on me. How can you be unhappy when you're gazing out onto the Pacific Ocean, listening to the sound of the wind rustling the arbutus tree leaves while ravens, hawks and eagles soar overhead. A nice retreat, a nice way to re-charge one's batteries, and a nice opportunity to do a little more self exploration. This is, after all, the year of Duder's self-exploration you know!
Oh, and we went for dinner at the restaurant on Lasqueti, which we have done in years and years. It was quite a treat. Our waiter was... um.... really relaxed and groovy. I think he was actually swaying a little as he took our orders (no doubt to some really far out music that only he could hear). The best part was when he struggled in vain to open the umbrella to shield us from the sun and he just couldn't get it open and my brother had to finally chirp, "Um, I think you need to take the ring off to get the umbrella up". See, there was a plastic ring that was slid halfway down the umbrella to keep it tightly closed and... well, you get the picture. Our waiter was vegetarian (surprise!), so it was really great when my dad asked him which was better: the cow burger or the chicken burger.
Caught the shuttle down island today with my brother continuing on to Duke Point (and of course my mom picking him up in Tswassen). I went to visit my friends S and D and their son M again. I was really excited to hear that I get my own bed this time! No fold out couch for this girl! S's aunt and uncle dropped by and we had a fabulous East Indian dinner and then watched M (who is now 15 months) repeatedly show his stomach and kiss people's knees. Very affectionate boy. I haven't had a good knee kiss in ages!
Then D offered to go pick out a movie. He said that he would call us from the video store, but didn't. This was his first mistake. He brought home a movie called "Gray Matter". S asked, "is it subtitled?" and I professed I had never heard of it. D gave me a quick synopsis: a brother and sister fall for the same woman. I coughed politely into my hand; "B movie!". And then had to explain what a B movie was. Look, I love Tom Cavanagh. Like, a lot. I saw him on 4th Avenue once, and it was the closest thing to having sex in a public place as I'll ever get. He's so hot. But let's face it: he is a B actor. As is Heather Graham. As was the plot. But we all endeavored to give it an honest try. This honest try degenerated when I would simply shoot a glance in D's direction (say, when the lesbian couple are dancing some Fred and Ginger routine in their living room, or perhaps it was when they had a bath together... or maybe it was when one girl was too drunk to get out of her clothing so the other offered to do it for her and then I started asking when the pizza guy was going to come and make a "special delivery") and he would mutter "fuck off" to me. I'm not sure I will be invited back. The long and short of this movie? One of the girls was wearing panties that seemed to go too high up her back, thereby giving an impression that she had a wedgy. Oh yeah, and it's totally implausible that any siblings in their late thirties would live together and love each other. Dude, I just spent five days with my bro and I tried to drown him twice and light him on fire.
Tomorrow I head home. Meeting up with Michael at Park Royal for dinner tomorrow night, then ramping up for another exciting weekend where I do too much, eat and drink too much, contemplate not going to the running clinic on Sunday but end up getting up at a ridiculous time to do it anyways. And oh yeah, I'm meeting B for dinner on Friday night. S wouldn't say much except shake her head repeatedly and suggest at least three times that I'm a masochist. This may be true, but everyone needs a hobby. And besides, if I didn't go, what the hell would I blog about?

Do you miss me?

I miss you! Looking forward to spending time with my brother. Having an anxiety attack about spending a prolonged period of time with my dad. This morning I was telling myself "You're an adult, you can just leave". Super.
Have fun, my peeps. No wait, don't have any fun. Save all the fun for me when I come back on Thursday, okay?

Oh yeah!

There was this other thing that happened on Wednesday night (after I got in my 8k at the gym): I met up with B for drinks. I had to scroll through my blog to see when I last mentioned him - looks like April. To recap quickly, B was the first guy I dated after Michael and I broke up. Initially I was totally enthralled with him, I thought he was so smart, self-assured and sexy. Then the phone calls became intermittent, dates were cancelled and yet still I allowed myself to be strung along. Ultimately he screwed off one weekend to San Francisco (we had had plans to get together on the Sunday I think) without telling me. So I felt like a loser since my phone calls and emails weren't being returned. He came back and I just wanted to end it, but he had my glasses. I got my glasses back and he convinced me to stay. Doormat, much? I will say that when we were together it was always a really enjoyable time. So I allowed myself to be convinced. Shortly thereafter I received and email that he was in Puerto Vallarta. I believe the opening line to the email was "I really, really suck". No kidding. So that's what happened, except recently he has come back to Vancouver. He has a good paying job, landed an apartment and wanted to get together for drinks. Absolutely.
I like Sex and the City. There was an episode where Carrie bought a dress that, when she wore, her friends referred to her as "sex in a dress" or something to that effect. I went out and bought one. I'm fit. I have a nice tan. I showed up for drinks late, effecting an air of nonchalance while looking like a million bucks. It was a good feeling. He liked the dress. He liked the leather bracelet that I had picked up in Victoria (and felt compelled to touch my arm as he fondled it). He noted my tan. And felt compelled to touch my shoulder and he observed my new found skin tone.
We caught up. He explained what he had been up to the past few months. He referred to himself as a "heel" a few times. He alluded to the fact that the last time we had been at Caffe Barney we had gone home together. I smiled wanly, and asked him for more riveting information about his life. He bought drinks. We walked down to Starbucks and grabbed a coffee and then he walked me to my car. I said I had one question for him: why, when his life had been falling down around his ears earlier in the year, had he thought it was a good idea to have a relationship on the go? He told me that he had kept expecting things to get better.
I got to my car, offered him a ride and he declined. He said he would really like to see me again. I asked why. He said for the scintillating conversation, of course. I put my coffee on the roof of my car, walked over and kissed him. Then I said goodbye, climbed in my car and drove away.
The next day I received my daily "good morning" email from him. He said it was nice to see me and that he had had a good time and wanted to see me again. He said, again, that he felt like a heel for his behaviour earlier in the year.
I thought about it for quite a while. He had never apologized for his behaviour. I don't think referring to yourself as "a heel" or saying "I suck" constitutes an apology. And the comment that he had made regarding why he had deigned it a good idea to have a relationship when he hated his job, didn't have any money and was getting kicked out of his apartment was lame. He thought things would get better? It was an utterly selfish comment to make. What about the other person into whose life chaos was being introduced? It reminded me of what I did to H: I had a relationship with him at a time when I wasn't ready to be in a relationship with anyone. It wasn't fair to H, it wasted his time and it hurt him. I apologized to him several times for it, and he doesn't wish to talk to me anymore. I understand and accept that.
So I responded to B's email. I told him that yes, he had been a heel and that the reasons surrounding his treatment of me didn't excuse that fact. I admitted, though, that I knew what it was like to be unable to commit to a relationship, ultimately stringing someone along and hurting them in the end, and that I had struggled to forgive myself for my behaviour. I told him that I now aspire to the quote "let no one ever come to you without leaving happier". I said that I did believe that he was a good person, and that he had gone through a very bad time. Obviously the email was a bit longer and more detailed, but the gist was that yeah, he was a jerk, but I'm not perfect, I've made peace with the past, I've learned from it and because of it I'm trying to be a better, more empathetic person.
He replied that my email was quite "thought provoking". He seemed miffed. I realize that perhaps one of the characteristics about me that he enjoyed in the spring was my inability to stand up for myself. I had some self esteem issues. I still do, but they're a lot better. I pushed back in that email. I think he was of the impression that he could come back, tell me he had his life sorted, refer to himself as a heel, buy me a couple of glasses of wine and all would be good. And maybe if had sincerely apologized and taken responsibility for his actions towards me instead of blaming it on his circumstances, and had indicated that he had learned from his errors it would all be good. But he still has some learning to do.
This morning I did not get my daily "good morning" email. I think I have offended him. Wow, I wonder what would happen if I just, I don' t know, dated him for a month and then just left the country arbitrarily.
In other news that matters: saw the Hip last night with Michael! Had the best time. They put on a great show, the music was fantastic. I'm so glad I went. Gord Downie has quite a dramatic on-stage personality. They played hard and loud and it was awesome! It was good to spend time with Michael (as always). I think he enjoyed it too.
On the way home I stopped off at the7/11 for a drumstick. I have lived here for 6 years and I have never been inside that 7/11 that I recall. I don't think that the fact that GM Place was essentially entirely hotboxed had anything to do with my 11:30pm ice cream purchase. Not at all.

No

I didn't go. Get off my back. I went to bed at 10 and intended to get up at 6, but my neighbours were listening to their TV or a movie loudly until about 11:45. And then sirens woke me up at 6am and I was so tired. I'm not making excuses! After the I fell back to sleep I slept until my alarm went off which I never do, so that is the evidence that I was tired. Whatever. Stop judging me.
Bad Duder, no donut.

It's getting hot in here

For some reason I thought maybe tomorrow would be cooler, but CBC says the high tomorrow will be 37. 37!!! For the love of... You know what this means, right? It means I have to get up at 6am tomorrow so I can get my 10k in before work and to avoid the heat. I should drop out now, I'm not sure I'm ready for this kind of commitment. That's what she said...
Contemplating selling my car. I hate cars. I mean, I love my car and (knock on particle board) I have not had a single issue with my Civic, but I thought maybe I could sell it (since the re-sale value is quite good) and then pay the difference to get a year old Yaris. I like Yaris's (Yari?). Plus, if anything breaks, it will be under warranty. My coworker M said that I was being materialistic. Maybe I am. I believe anything that comes from that sensual mouth. He invited me to come for lunch with him once and we ate pizza. I don't eat pizza that costs $2.00 that you have to blot with a paper towel because it's so greasy. And yet for him? The pizza was delectable. I furtively checked my teeth for green bits, because I got the pesto pizza.
It's really hot. HOT HOT HOT.
If I get up at 6 tomorrow and run my 10k before work I am going to have the most nasty donut as a treat. It will mean I have become a dedicated runner. I even got the stupid belt with those ridiculous little water bottles on it. I eventually have to run 32k to train for the marathon, and I can't go that far without sustenance. There's even a little pouch for keys and cash. I bet I could fit a sour cream glazed in there...

A bit of a down day

Well, today was the last day of my stint volunteering at the SPCA. It was really kind of bittersweet. As you may know I'm not the most outgoing or social person (unless I know you well, and then I can be hard to shut up) and one of the reasons I volunteered at the SPCA was to be more social. So of course today would be the day where I had lunch with a bunch of people and contributed to the conversation. And later on in the day I had coffee with a few people. It was nice talking to them and getting to know them better. I guess I should have tried harder in the beginning: they were all great people to get to know. And I came to the realization that the people that work for non profit organizations are markedly different from those in the private sector. They're concerned about the environment, they seem health conscious, they're maybe a bit more sensitive. The organization is flatter, less hierarchical. I bet that if you did a survey of people that worked for NPOs versus for profit orgs you would find that the NPO people are more positive, philosophical and concerned about the world in which they live. I just got such an incredible vibe from these people. I know it sounds New Age and flaky, but they really did help me in my quest to be a better person. The woman that I had worked for the most lamented my leaving and said that I had helped her out tremendously. I felt that they gave me more than I gave them. I felt sad to leave! It was incredible. I hope I get the opportunity to fit volunteering back into my life. Perhaps after I'm done my marathon training. At any rate, volunteering was definitely the feel good story of my year so far.
Came home. Napped in the park. I love napping in the park, except I keep waking up fitfully, afraid that someone's going to steal my... I dunno, shoes. Went for a run. Um, it was really friggin' hot. I like the way I don't sweat a whole lot when I run, and then when I come into my apartment my system is still hammering away and all this sweat starts jettisoning from my body and streaming off my nose as I bend down to unlace my shoes. What's with that? It's almost comical. Tomorrow's supposed to be 33, so I'll have to take water. Or chase down an ice cream truck.
Anyways. Feeling a little down that my time at the SPCA has come to an end. But I think I will try and be more social at the running clinic. They are also very nice, supportive, positive and encouraging people and I'm sure I can better my experience by putting myself out there instead of cowering near the sock wall.
I do need new running socks though.

This is me, doing nothing

So let's be clear. I did nothing on Friday night. This was followed up by me doing nothing on Saturday night, so I could get up at 7am and run 16k with people I don't know. And now I'm doing nothing again. I am not sure I can remember the last weekend that I didn't have plans on Friday and Saturday night. It's FREAKING ME OUT.
Anyways. Went to the running clinic this morning and did my time. It was nice, I actually met a girl who runs half marathons in roughly the same time as me, and she is training for her first marathon. After the run our clinic instructor asked if I was coming for coffee, but I said I had to meet someone. He said that I should make time for coffee next time. I thought that was nice. The people I have met at the clinic have all been very friendly, encouraging and positive: pretty much what I was expecting. I did join for social reasons, so I think my new routine on Sunday morning will be to drag my sorry ass out of bed, grind through a run, and then get to know some of my fellow runners afterwards as I stuff my face with caffeine and baked goods. The sad news? I haven't seen Hubert, my French Canadian lovah for a while now, so I'm guessing he dropped out. Bastard. Obviously his commitment to meeting people - running, I mean, commitment to running - isn't as strong as mine.
I was supposed to meet Michael afterwards to do a little furniture shopping in the South Granville area. I had picked out this totally awesome arborite table at a consignment store and was really jazzed to go buy it. Then a fun series of events happened. I get this bizarro call from Michael who sounds unwell and keeps telling me how he "bonked" on his run today. I'm like "what? What does that mean?". I'm thinking shit, he twisted his ankle again. He's a little bit incoherent and I'm growing concerned. Then the call drops. I'm totally perplexed. He calls back and I say "what, you don't want to talk to me now?" and then he goes, "I'm gonna throw up" and hangs up again. So now I'm all kinds of agitated. What the hell is wrong with him? I get him back on the line and he's got food poisoning and appears to have overdone it on his run today. He's got cramping in his legs and was saying he was having cold sweats, just a big bowl of wrong. I told him to take it easy. I was going to go buy this table and then I would come to North Van to see him.
The table was SOLD. Someone bought it last night. Bastards. The guy working there was like, "Yeah, that was a sweet piece". Uh, yeah, that's why I wanted TO BUY IT. Thanks for rubbing it in. Dejected, I wandered down to Urban Barn and bought some new dishes. If you want to see them, you should come over and cook me dinner!
Called Michael to see how he was doing. Not so good. I picked up some bananas and Gatorade and paid him a visit. We sat on his deck (he has a nice deck overlooking the water and downtown Vancouver). We napped. Uh, judge not less you too got up at an ungodly hour and ran for over an hour and a half. Napping ROCKS. Then we watched Citizen Kane. Then Michael wanted to nap some more. Poor Michael. I told him to have a bath, imbibe more electrolytes and take it easy. He didn't look too well.
And now I am here. Blogging. Sweet. I am so friggin' tired. This running shit is a bit ridiculous. I don't know what to do now. I should go poke something with a stick... maybe a bunny.

7:26 on a Sunday morning

Yeah. I got up at 7 today. I am going to go for a 16k run in less than an hour. I must be touched in the head. I actually awoke at some point during the night, thought "screw this shit" and turned off my alarm. Apparently my subconscious thinks I really ought to do this run. My subconsious does a lot of thinking that I'm not aware of, which really pisses me off. Why can't it do something a little more useful? I would really like to: subconsciously do my taxes; subconsciously do my christmas shopping; and more over I would like my subconcious to do this 16k run this morning while I go back to bed.
In other news. My family puts the "d" in dysfunctional. I had a great lunch with my friend L yesterday (and also bought a couch cause, you know, it's a nice thing to make your friend sit and contemplate fabric swatches with you) and she listened intently and seemed to understand my issues. We all have issues to varying degrees, it's just how you deal with them. I think I have the tools now. I have a shotgun and a couple of body bags. Oh, speaking of totally morbid, here are snippets from the last couple of dreams I had:
1) I dreamed that my uncle got a screwdriver stuck into his eyeball and a doctor came and was going to pull it out. I could hear him screaming in the other room as, apparently, they were doing it without anaesthetic.
2) Last night I dreamed that my dad had a cage of rabbits. I was like "why did you get these rabbits? They're such stupid pets". And then I noticed the cage had big, wide open spaces in it and I thought, how dumb are these animals that they believe the cage is inescapable, when in fact it isn't. And just as I had that thought the rabbits started to escape out of the hole, except they went bounding, one by one, into a traffic congested street. I stood (I think my brother was with me) staring in mute horror as these bunnies made a break for it under the grinding car and truck wheels. The last one didn't make it. It got hit by a car or two. I assumed it was dead, but it was still breathing. I went to find my dad (who was lined up for coffee in a coffee shop nearby) and said, "this was your fault: you need to fix it" and I gave him a shovel so he could finish the bunny off.
Isn't that fantastic? Dreams such as these gems are why you see me with bags under my eyes. Oh yeah, and apparently getting up at 7am on a Sunday to run 16k will start to have something to do with it too.

Do it

I want to accomplish a couple of things this year. I want to go see Wide Mouth Mason and Barney Bentall. Barney Bentall is playing in Comox on August 4th: does anyone want to go see him with me? It may suck horribly. I don't care. Where the hell is Comox? I'm sure it will be a pot-induced groove fest. Comox. Comoxxxx.... Right. Don't blog after three glasses of wine. What the hell else am I supposed to do on a Friday night? See, this is the reason that I just launch myself into one meaningless, self-imploding relationship after another. At least you have something to do on a Friday night. Just sitting here is excruciating. Ah! I must learn to love it. Learn to love the solitude.
What else, what else. Verbally gave away my couch and kitchen table to my brother today. So when he comes to collect I will have no furniture. I really need to buy some shit. I've got the couch picked out, hopefully I will go order it tomorrow. As for a dining room set, you know what I really want? A chrome and Formica table with some totally 50s Naugahyde chairs. Yep. When you eat breakfast at La Mason de Duder, it will be like eating in an old school diner. Suck it. I can do what I want. Well, not really since Clive Owen STILL isn't returning my calls. Bastard.
What else. Had a really good hair day. Haven't had a good night's sleep in a week. Bought some matching underwear. You know, so I can turn myself on. WTF. Made a tofu stirfry for dinner and it was not just edible: it was good. If I continue to cook meals of such calibre, and keep my trim body, and wear matching underwear, I might just keep me around.
Four more work days then I'm on vacation. I may blog to you from Lasqueti. My blogs will likely be like this: "Hey.... where am I? Holy crap I'm hungry. Where are the friggin' Doritos? Who are you? Where are my pants? God. I'm getting fat. I should go jog. Have I been typing all of this? Weird! Wow, my fingers are really fat. Seriously, who are you? Oh, I see. And where are the Doritos?"

Karma

Still content. Even smiled a bit on the bus in today. I think I may be sick. It's been a rather crazy week of self-assessment, re-evaluations and lack of sleep. I put my sugar in the fridge this morning.
The kind of funny thing that has happened since I have accepted and embraced my recent singleness? My upstairs neighbour (the guy who invited me over for dinner twice) has returned. I cannot wait to bump into him in the laundry room. Granted, he was away for roughly a month. We'll see what, if anything, he has to say for himself. Again, still looking for a free meal.
Funny incident number two? The infamous B is back in town. Would "love" to see me for dinner. Bring it. I have to laugh, what else can I do? I have this grand design whereby I will show up in some slinky dress, all fit and tanned and flirt with him relentlessly. And then go home with the waiter. In all likelihood I will end up going home with B instead. Yeah, I know enough about myself to have figured that out by now.
I know. Maybe when I bump into the upstairs neighbour and he invites me again for dinner I will show up with B. No, wait, I will tell B to meet me there, and then I won't show up! Excellent.
Lastly, C was moaning about how I underestimate him (in a film related sense) last night. I had rented "Igby Goes Down" and assumed he would not want to watch it. Fine. I am always looking for someone with which to expand my cinematic boundaries. I've been meaning to re-rent "Mulholland Drive", but I guess that would be cruel to propose as our first foray. So yeah, I'm totally going to make him watch "Lost in Translation" with me. If he survives that, we can try something with subtitles.

Contentedness

Day two of being relatively content. A strange feeling of calmness and accepting. What the hell is with this? It’s agitating! I actually started to get a little perturbed by something today and then thought, “Who cares? This is wasting too much of my energy. I have a lot of good things going on right now”. Seriously. I had that very thought process today. It’s blowing my mind man.
I do have to run at least 16k today, so maybe I will be in a different frame of mind when I get home from that. Ate a lot over the weekend and haven’t run since last Thursday. Yeah, I really need to shape up… in time to go on vacation of course! I guess I’ll have to bring my running gear with me when I go to visit my dad. Place your bets now on whether or not I will actually remove said running gear from my travel bag.
Talked to my coworker M today. He bought a manual lawnmower. I asked him to describe “manual” to me and he said it was the kind without a motor. I got a little turned on and said that I was quite impressed with his purchase. I then ventured out on a limb, probing the environmental wastefulness of regular lawnmowers. He scoffed, “inefficient, two stroke engines”. I licked my lips and inched closer, questioning the very idea of lawns themselves and suggested xenoscaping, an idea which seemed to pique his interest. Ah, the things he and I could discuss over coffee being sipped from our respective travel mugs. So hot.
In closing, I did post my profile back up on Lavalife. I “smiled” at a guy that made mention of Teddy Ruxpin (remember?) and Transformers on his profile. He was hot. Of course he did not smile back because my profile is like a page out of some bleak Albert Camus novel (I have to give props to H for introducing me to “The Outsider”). But I think I shall take down the profile. I realize I don’t need or want it. I did however receive an email from a gentleman that had emailed me back during my POF days. His profile was excellent and he seemed like a super guy, but he wanted kids and I said that was a show-stopper for me. Anyways, he contacted me and wanted to know if kids were still a no-go, but that even so he would like to meet me because it would seem that we might have good conversations. And he plays chess. I love chess. So I said sure. Right now I am enjoying my friends. I want to spend time with my friends. I hugged JupiterGirl on Sunday and Big D touched me (twice!) on Monday. It pleased me. I would not mind having another quality friend. Friends are friendly.

I like Victoria

Victoria was awesome. It was so nice to spend time with JupiterGirl in her new, cool city. She says she's never coming back to Vancouver, so I am thinking perhaps I'll have to move over there. Free parking on Sundays! No beeping! Friendly faces! We spent some time wandering around the market, had some tapas for dinner and went to bed at a reasonable time. I'm mellowing... I recommend Gehringer Bros. Pinot Noir: luscious.
In contrast, did a little shopping with Big D today. We were a little peaked and went to Caffe Barney on Granville for a bite to eat and I got the HAND from one of the waiters. See, there isn't a sign that says "Please wait to be seated" so I started to mosey on in to see if there were any free tables. I walked past one of the waiters who was chatting with a couple of patrons and he put his HAND UP to stop me. He didn't say anything, just the hand. I'm not sure why we stayed. When he finally did clear the table for us he didn't take us to it, instead he said, "it's up there on the left". What an ASS HAT. Our waitress, however, was nice.
Dealt with some rowdy Legionaires on the ferry on the way home. Man, those sixty and seventy year olds can get loud! It was really.... weird. Michael drove from North Van to pick me up at the Tswassen ferry terminal. Yep, that makes total sense.
So I'm single again. Whee! I think I'm really going to concentrate on running and sleeping now. It's been an exhausting week. I thought that things had come full circle when I broke up with H on Tuesday, but apparently there was still some more circling that had to be done in other areas. I've accomplished that, and now I feel a little dizzy. But oddly content.
Admit it, you love it when I'm cryptic.

More whingeing

So I still feel like a jerk for breaking up with H. I really am uncomfortable with upsetting people. I guess this makes me a caring individual. It has surprised me. I'm kind of in a funk about the whole thing. Last night I sent him an email telling him that I did really enjoy his company and that I would still like him to be a part of my life, though I realized it was callous of me even to ask. I said that if he didn't want to reply to the email that I would understand, but that I would leave the proverbial ball in his court. He has not yet replied. Which makes me feel even worse. Oh well, he's getting the last laugh by rejecting my offer of friendship. I don't think I would want to be friends with me either. I just want everyone to love and hug each other, but I guess that doesn't happen in real life.

In less complicated news, went for coffee with a couple of coworkers today. I had bought some Trident gum earlier in the day and M said (very a la Seinfeld), "I'm not such a big fan of the Trident, I prefer the Extra". To which I replied, "I like the Trident. The Trident is a solid gum, though the Extra has its positive points too". He said, "The Trident doesn't have any staying power. I need the staying power". I just about fell off my chair laughing. It was such a juvenile thing, and possibly I was overtired, but it just slayed me. It took my coworkers a good ten or twenty seconds to figure out why tears were streaming from my eyes. Staying power. Yeah, that's gonna be the least of my worries for the next little while. I must say I will also miss sex with H, he was most attentive and creative.
Not much else going on. Went to my running clinic after contemplating skipping it. Brutal menstrual cramps. Tried to weasel out by luring my friend C with the promise of drinks, but he had plans. His email to me (which I'm going to assume came via Blackberry) was something like, "You should go to your climic, your kicking ass th3se day". Um, don't tell me what to do. Alright, his spelling wasn't that bad, but he is right that I'm kicking ass. In fact, I kicked someone's ass on the bus this morning and when they turned to look at me I was like, "what?". I had also emailed my running instructor to tell him I was "under the weather" and that I wouldn't likely make it. He emailed back that he wanted me to come because he wanted to get photos of everyone. He said I should wear matching underwear and meet him at his apartment at 9pm, which I found strange. And also appealing, apparently. I went. He took a group photo. I got tricked into running a 10k when it was only supposed to be 8k (I made the mistake of following some really athletic people: bastards). My French Canadian future lover wasn't there. I bet he's got all kinds of staying power.
Frick.

I'm a shit

Worked today. Came home and ran 7k. Hopped in the shower and met up with H. He seemed pretty happy to see me. He's a nice guy. He's quite attractive and very smart. Great sense of humour. Okay, then we went for a walk and I ended it with him. It took me about an hour to get up the nerve to do it. It was awful. I hope it was more awful for me than it was for him. It's like you're rejecting someone's personality. You're rejecting them. It's horrid. I know: I've been rejected. He was very good about it. He said that he had been having a really good time and that he was disappointed. I was too mortified to talk for a very long period of time. I hope he meets someone that makes him happy. I actually hope that we can end up being friends, but I don't think that I have a right to ask him for that.
In other news, I'm considering Catholicism, since I have a terrific guilt complex. I'm looking forward to visiting JupiterGirl in Victoria over the weekend. I'm kind of looking forward to getting razzed by my fellow runners in my group on Thursday. I'm really looking forward to having a couple of beer's at A's dragonboat charity at Bimini's on Friday.
Mostly though? I'm looking forward to doing my own thing for a while. And if H can eventually forgive me and we can be friends, then that would be the icing on this girl's cake.

I did it: it's done

Wow, I can't believe that I haven't blogged since Wednesday. Oh wait, yeah I can: I've been ridiculously busy. Shall I recap? No? Who cares what you think - get your own blog.
Thursday I went to my running clinic and they said, "Are you running the half on Sunday?" to which I said, "Hells, yeah!" and they indicated that I shouldn't be running. I was supposed to be taking it easy and winding down. I went to for an 8k tempo run and did pretty good. Hubert, my French Canadian future lover, asked what time I was looking for at the half and I said an hour fifty, or an hour fifty-five. He looked at me incredulously, as did the guy running the clinic (all because I killed myself on the 8k run, so I looked momentarily good). Hubert figured I could do it in 1:45. I laughed and said that no, I was pretty slow. The prior two years I had clocked in at 1:53 and 1:54. They seemed convinced that I could do 1:45 and some discussion ensued as to whether I would finish in 1:45 and then loiter around just before the finish line to increase my time to prove a point.
Friday H came over and we had some Chinese and I lost at chess. Saturday morning I attempted to impress him with my culinary prowess. I ended up being reprimanded for depressing the plunger on my bodem too quickly after pouring the water in, and for putting water in my (teflon) frying pan after I was done with it, but while it was still hot. It's like I'm dating my mom or something. Hot.
Michael came over later in the afternoon and then we met up with Lor and Big D for dinner at Enigma: fun! Service was a bit spotty, but I enjoyed the food and more importantly I greatly enjoyed the company. I hadn't seen Lor or Big D in a long time and I felt that everyone got along so well together. I kept thinking to myself: I have such awesome friends and then giggling silently, as though it was a secret.
Sunday was tough. We got up at 5:30 for a 7:00am start time. I was so tired. I ran the first 10k with Michael, which I have never done before: he's much faster than me. Then I lost him at a water station. At kilometer 11 I thought I had a small rock in my shoe, agitating the ball of my foot, so I pulled over for my first ever "technical difficulty" during a race. I pulled off my shoe and sock and - no rock! What the? I realized it was something else: perhaps my sock was bunched up and agitating my foot, who knows. Nonetheless, I had another 10k to run and I felt a nice blister developing. Then it started to rain. And not just a bit: it was a torrential frickin' downpour. Water was streaming off my hat. My capris were plastered to my legs and my tank was suctioned to my torso. It was the ultimate wet t-shirt contest. It was raining so hard I could hear people squishing as I ran past. There was one guy that was singing and I contemplated that he might be delirious. I passed him and no, he was quite lucid. And melodic. Okay, good cardio to be able to sing Neil Young's "Heart of Gold" at kilometre 16 of a half marathon.
Before the Burrard Street bridge I had a bit more energy (yay! Gatorade) and I motored over it and started running pretty hard with another lady. We both kept each other going at a nice clip and I flew over the finish line, looked up and saw 1:48. I was quite happy! I knew Michael would have finished, so I looked for him just after the finish line. No Michael. I went and got some water. No Michael. I started to get cold, since my body was cooling and it was still pissing. No Michael. About ten minutes later, bordering on hypothermia I commandeered a garbage bag to try and retain some body heat. Finally found Michael. My body was shaking violently and I think my first words to him were, "Can we go now?". He was also freezing to death and retrieved a garbage bag. We were both too cold to punch arm holes in them, so we walked to the bus in garbage bags, with just our heads poking through. I thought I might die. He was like, "Where were you? I looked for you". I was like, "When? Why didn't you see me?". He said, "I watched for you at about 1:50". I said, totally nonchalant, "Oh yeah, I crossed at 1:48". He got all excited. I have no bigger cheerleader than Michael. It turned out my final chip time was 1:46 and his was 1:41 - so I was only five minutes behind him!! Anyways, we were saved from hypothermia but the kind bus driver that cranked the heat while we shivered noisily in our garbage bags. Michael kept saying the bags were the best idea I had come up with ever. Gee, thanks.
Spent the rest of the day with him. Wandered down Main Street. Had some coffee. Forgot where we parked and became convinced my car had been stolen. Ate and oat and fudge bar.
Went to see H afterwards. We watched Pan's Labyrinth. I spent a lot of time lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling asking "Can I come out now?" due to the graphic violence. Well, I'm assuming it was violent because I didn't actually see it, but heard lots of nasty sounds and screaming. Made tentative plans to see each other later in the week. He seems busy. Maybe he didn't like the way I depressed the bodem plunger. Huh. He should've seen me waterlogged, blue lipped, wearing a garbage bag at 9am this morning. I's dead sexy.

Into everyone's nostril a little bug must fly

Negotiated with the powers that be for a higher salary. Come July 15th I will be working a 35 hour week (7 hour days) and I factored in a 5% raise. I'm pretty happy with that. Better the devil you know, and all that.
Came home and decided to go for a run. After a couple of kilometres a winged bug flew into my right nostril. It wasn't a little bug, either. I was perplexed: how to deal with this strange, ticklish situation? I did something I thought I would never do: plugged my left nostril and blew hard on the right. No bug came out. I did manage to get snot everywhere. This was especially fantastic because I didn't have a Kleenex. So I wiped the snot on my arm. But then I could feel the bug moving around. What the hell was it doing, setting up shop? I glanced around, didn't see anyone ogling me and stuck my finger up my nose. No bug. It must have been seeking higher ground. I could still feel it (or maybe I simply thought I could feel it). It was driving me mad. I had planned to do an 11km run and this damn bug hadn't paid his $2.25. What to do? I crushed my right nostril, thinking if it was dead maybe it would be less aggravating. Okay. Finished the run, came home and immediately blew my nose. No bug! Michael says it's crawled into my brain to lay eggs.
Running is dead sexy. See picture of toe in prior blog.

The fawning has started

Today I got an email from H expressing what a great time he had with me this weekend. It begins. I smiled a small, secret smile. My day got even better when the hot SPCA guy pulled an Earl Grey tea packet out for me, in anticipation of my tea needs. And yes, he is in a relationship. With a girl at the SPCA. Who has cute hair and great fashion sense. Damnit. I knew my Sears brand t-shirts weren't up to muster.

On the job front: one offer is gone - it was only for two or three days a week. I need to eat! And now that I'm running five days a week (okay, okay, so far only four) I need to eat a lot! The other job offer will be put forth in writing tomorrow, so I shall mull it over. It will be sad to leave my current job. I love my coworkers - they're essentially the reason that I go to work. They think all the boys that don't want to date me are dumb, and they get all excited when I wear my boots to work. It makes a girl feel saucy.

Returned from the SPCA and subjected myself to a 19k run out to UBC and back. Kick ass. My toe is doing quite a bit better as you can tell (clearly) from the photo. Um, a key point would be to EAT something substantial before embarking on this. At kilometre 16 I considered walking the rest of the way, and possibly selling myself for some Gatorade or a Powerbar, but I pulled through. Boo yeah. Then I came home and made a gigantic hamburger resplendent with onions, cheese and avocado. Yes! Avocado. It. Was. So. Good.

Then I talked to Michael for a bit and told him how the landlords had painted the doors in the common areas. The doors are quite cool: they are wood with opaque glass (the kind that shows up as the entrance to some private dick's office in the 40's). So they painted the wood. I hate when people do that. Debbie Travis paints all wood white. So I'm talking to Michael and I'm saying "you know how I feel about wood" and he's half asleep going, "uh huh" and I'm determined and I say forcefully "I love wood!". It was funny. Made funnier by the glass of wine I've had.

And, to return to the fawning story: I got a phone call from H! The guy that does not make phone calls. He was drunk, though if he had not confessed this to me, I would not have been able to discern it. He was very articulate. The thing that was a bit off? He seemed pretty happy. I think he may be a closet optimist. Yeah, he was bordering on chatty. It was so freakin' hilarious. And he was so agreeable: what day did I want to get together? He (carless) would come and see me because he wanted to make sure the travelling was equitable. This from the guy that told me that life was "bearable" on Saturday night. Methinks he secretly wants to hold my hand and skip along the beach with yours truly. He wants a re-match, so I am going to pay a visit to him tomorrow night. I assume he meant a re-match at chess...

Not sleeping (and having cake for lunch) is awesome

I went for my run Saturday. Suck it. I did not, however, go for my run today. This would be because I got about two hours sleep last night. Yes, allow me to recap.
Saturday I slept in rather late. Went for the aforementioned run, had a couple of very lengthy conversations with Michael and my dad. Then H came over. We chatted a bit, ordered dinner, had some really great wine. Then I beat him at chess. Yeah, I'm a sore winner. You have your Masters in what? What's the meaning of life now, bitch?? Kidding. Sort of. I was pretty proud of myself given that had I had lost THREE online chess games and they had been set to "easy". Insert joke about my sexual repertoire here.
So after a while I make the offer: did he want to stay over. He replies that that would be lovely, but that he had forgotten condoms when he left his place. Great. It's 11:20 on a Saturday night. I said we could postpone it... yeah, what was I thinking. Is there a man on the planet that is going to postpone sex? The Shoppers on Dunbar was open late, so we went there. He came back with condoms, but more importantly: winegums.
Yadda yadda yadda... Greek men are hot and he's been well schooled. And takes suggestions to heart. And doesn't snore. And has really cool hair.
Nonetheless, I did not sleep well last night. It's hard when your bed is "empty" for so long and then someone is in it. He didn't do anything like hog the bed or fidget, but I still had a hard time fitting in some z's. I had this crazy dream about my brother in which he did something that made me laugh my ass off. I guess I had dozed off at this point, but the hilarity in my dream had reached epic levels and I started laughing in my sleep. At which point H thought I was awake and inquired what was so funny. Thereby waking me up again. Damnit.
Greek men are also fun to wake up to.
At noon we went to Starbucks for some coffee and breakfast. I dropped him off at work and went to see Michael who seemed to know intuitively that I had had a sleepover. I really love talking about my romantic life with my ex of six years. No awkwardness there at all. I had cake for lunch. I have no idea why he continues to be my friend.
Came home, decided I was too exhausted to go for a run. The half marathon that I have to run in ONE WEEK is going to kill me, let alone the full marathon. This training shit really cuts into my drinking, eating and sex life. I need to multitask and find a way to eat, drink and have sex simultaneously and still get to bed by 9.
Went over to H's place around 7. We watched some Britcoms. I love the Brits. They have horrible teeth, but are really fucking funny. The offer to stay over was extended. I declined. I have a blog to write, and I can't handle another night of not sleeping.
We'll see. I'm STILL on the fence. I guess I'm kind of accustomed to being fawned over more. H isn't a big fawner. Fawn, damnit. I'm not emailing or calling him. Flock to me. And if you don't flock, so be it. I can download Britcoms all on my own. I can do a lot of things all on my own.
Now I'm going to go to sleep. On my own.