Snow day!
Another weekend has passed, and oh! how time flies when you’re spending an inordinate amount of time on the BC Ferries. I’ll get to that in a moment. First I will fill you in on my Friday night. Yes, Friday night I went to the Shark Club downtown with Jupitergirl23 to celebrate a friend’s birthday. I wasn’t happy with the locale - equating it with all the ambience and originality that Joey’s has to offer – but I went anyways. Even after I mentioned my impending visit to the Shark Club in passing to a coworker who swiveled his chair around to stare at me in horror and disbelief. Even after another coworker, no doubt trying to assuage some of my mounting anxiety, told me “yeah, it’s a good crowd: there are some older people that go”. I asked him to define “older people”, to which he said, “you know… late twenties”. Even after we then reviewed the photo gallery on the Shark Club website and surmised that I just wouldn’t have enough time to dye my hair blonde, get a boob job and find an outfit two sizes too small before I was scheduled to make my dramatic entrance. Yep, still I went. I’m a trooper. Four drinks and a firm handshake later, I bid adieu. I had to get up early (9:30!) to catch a ferry the next day.
Michael dropped me off at the Horseshoe Bay terminal Saturday morning (funny, he is always so eager to drive me anywhere I want to go if it involves me LEAVING for any length of time). On the other side I was meeted and greeted by S, a friend that I have known since I was like six. How cool is that? I’ve known her for roughly a quarter century. Why did I go to the Shark Club? What was I thinking? You know, the only thing that place was missing was a frickin’ trampoline where women could disrobe and you know, bounce for free drinks while men throw wieners at them or something. God. Anyways, S was accompanied by her husband D and seven month old baby M. It was a little weird. For a moment I wasn’t sure she recognized me. Then she said “wow, you’ve totally changed” which I interpreted to mean: you haven’t aged well. She followed up with “you’ve cut off your hair… and did you always have glasses?” which I interpreted to mean: by cutting off your hair you’ve lost a major part of your femininity, and those glasses make you look like a lesbian lawyer. Hey, maybe it was the hangover, coupled with the always great duo: lack of sleep and PMS, that led to this feeling of slight insecurity. Some guy said “hey”, and I interpreted this as: your ass is gigantic in those jeans and you really need some highlights; you kind of look like Shaggy from Scooby-Do.
We hopped in the car and I learned that S and D (not to be confused with S and M who are also good friends of mine but are kind of weird…. I think they sell Amway) had been house hunting during the morning. I didn’t realize that they were millionaires, and then they explained that outside Vancouver, housing exists at prices under a million dollars. Who knew? I hate you, Bob Rennie.
We stopped off at Thrifty Foods to pick up dinner. I stood in the middle of the store with eggs, bread and bacon for inordinate amount of time. It’s what Islanders do for fun on Saturday afternoons apparently. Then we went to the liquor store. I was unfamiliar with the concept. A store that sells “liquor”. S bought port. We purchased what seemed like a lot of alcohol… at that point. It was snowing pretty heavily when we left. We all seemed incredibly surprised by this. I’m not entirely sure why.
I noticed many of the Islanders spoke with a thick, unintelligible patois. The cashiers at both Thrifty Foods and the “Liquor Store” engaged in strange facial acrobatics, whereby they would exert force to extend the corners of their mouths upwards, sometimes exposing their teeth. I was told that this was “friendliness”. I couldn’t find any parking meters.
Back at S and D’s house we caught up. I hadn’t seen S for roughly eight years. I think I was driving a 1980 Toyota Corolla at the time, and we had gone to a shitty place known as Bonita’s for some moronic reason… the night had not ended well. It was a bit weird: my last memory of S was that of a smart, fierce, edgy, slightly angry, party girl. I wasn’t part of her life when she met her (now) husband, got married, became a teacher and had a baby. A bit of a disconnect to see her in a totally quintessential role of loving wife and mother. And not just playing at it either: totally digging it. As new and exciting as her life was to me, there was still an element of familiarity there which made me feel totally at ease. Not so at ease that I was going to start discussing orgasms, but pretty comfortable nonetheless. Yeah, D would bring that up later. Had we even gotten into the wine yet? I don’t recall. It was definitely before the port and the Kahlua, though.
And the kid. Wow. I’ve never been great with kids: I feel like an idiot when I talk to (at?) them, and I have this sneaking suspicion that they’re looking at me and thinking “you would be such a bad mother; please, don’t even pretend”. But M was very good. He seemed to revel in every doting moment his parents gave him. He liked to watch tv. He really liked to pound his highchair and send Cheerios cascading to the floor. He liked to look at me while having a quiet bowel movement. I was like a focal point or something.
Dinner was fantastic – roast beef, which I totally make all the time too. We made D drive back to Thrifty’s to get dessert in the blizzard. That’s love. They taught me a game called Stupid. After my third glass of wine I would simply push my cards in their general direction and say “I have this many”. I won, apparently. After we got into the port (S: it’s like syrup, but with alcohol. Me: can I put it on my pancakes in the morning?), we tried to figure out a way to review and remunerate teachers based on their job performance. Voices were raised. I got distracted by a shiny object. We moved to the living room where we started discussing S’s fervent love for Jon Stewart. I finally got to watch the much touted clip of Jon Stewart on Crossfire with Tucker Carlson. I suggested the Bill O’Reilly/David Letterman interview of late. I got to re-tell my CBC/CTV story to a rapt audience (for those of you counting, I now have two stories: the one about my dad getting stung by a scorpion in Yelapa, and the CTV exec story). I told them about my lifelong dream to become Mrs. Stroumbouloupolos. I might have to work on my gigantic ass and Shaggy haircut.
We caught up on each other’s lives. We decided that our grade 6 teacher was a sexist, racist pedophile… which my therapist says has been a tremendous breakthrough. I learned about breast pumps. At eleven o’clock we were all thoroughly exhausted (okay, maybe some MARRIED people more so than others) so we made up the pull out couch. Yes, bedding was provided in some sort of gigantic Ziploc baggie to seal in the cotton goodness or something. I’m still trying to figure out what happened there. The cats kept trying to sleep with me throughout the night (S: I never did see the big showdown between Max and Bandit. My money’s on Max, he’s fat but… well. Okay, I guess he’s just fat).
The next morning got off to a slow start. I got bacon. M discovered the joys of pineapple. There was a lot of snow and some concern that I might have to stay another night. S was praying for a snow day.
And then the morning sort of wrapped up quickly and goodbyes were said. D valiantly risked his life to drive me to the ferry terminal. I tried to express my happiness at having met him and seeing the family dynamic with stilted words and sock puppets. He admitted that I was far less mentally challenged than S had originally let him to believe, which was nice to hear. We talked about finding a balance in life, about priorities.
I boarded the ferry. I contemplated life, love and the importance of things. I decided I was envious of their life. I don’t mean that I regret that I can’t have kids, but rather I envy their happiness and the way in which they enjoy their lives. They love each other and they love their son tremendously. S is a teacher and she wants to make a difference in the lives of some less-than-privileged kids. D is currently on paternal leave and I can honestly say that in my 30 years I have never seen a father more devoted to his wife and son than he is. And a good cook!
I want the best of everything for them. I hope they find their perfect first house. I’ll help them put in the flooring or paint the wood paneling white. I’d like to drink port with them again...I may even let them win at Stupid.
Michael dropped me off at the Horseshoe Bay terminal Saturday morning (funny, he is always so eager to drive me anywhere I want to go if it involves me LEAVING for any length of time). On the other side I was meeted and greeted by S, a friend that I have known since I was like six. How cool is that? I’ve known her for roughly a quarter century. Why did I go to the Shark Club? What was I thinking? You know, the only thing that place was missing was a frickin’ trampoline where women could disrobe and you know, bounce for free drinks while men throw wieners at them or something. God. Anyways, S was accompanied by her husband D and seven month old baby M. It was a little weird. For a moment I wasn’t sure she recognized me. Then she said “wow, you’ve totally changed” which I interpreted to mean: you haven’t aged well. She followed up with “you’ve cut off your hair… and did you always have glasses?” which I interpreted to mean: by cutting off your hair you’ve lost a major part of your femininity, and those glasses make you look like a lesbian lawyer. Hey, maybe it was the hangover, coupled with the always great duo: lack of sleep and PMS, that led to this feeling of slight insecurity. Some guy said “hey”, and I interpreted this as: your ass is gigantic in those jeans and you really need some highlights; you kind of look like Shaggy from Scooby-Do.
We hopped in the car and I learned that S and D (not to be confused with S and M who are also good friends of mine but are kind of weird…. I think they sell Amway) had been house hunting during the morning. I didn’t realize that they were millionaires, and then they explained that outside Vancouver, housing exists at prices under a million dollars. Who knew? I hate you, Bob Rennie.
We stopped off at Thrifty Foods to pick up dinner. I stood in the middle of the store with eggs, bread and bacon for inordinate amount of time. It’s what Islanders do for fun on Saturday afternoons apparently. Then we went to the liquor store. I was unfamiliar with the concept. A store that sells “liquor”. S bought port. We purchased what seemed like a lot of alcohol… at that point. It was snowing pretty heavily when we left. We all seemed incredibly surprised by this. I’m not entirely sure why.
I noticed many of the Islanders spoke with a thick, unintelligible patois. The cashiers at both Thrifty Foods and the “Liquor Store” engaged in strange facial acrobatics, whereby they would exert force to extend the corners of their mouths upwards, sometimes exposing their teeth. I was told that this was “friendliness”. I couldn’t find any parking meters.
Back at S and D’s house we caught up. I hadn’t seen S for roughly eight years. I think I was driving a 1980 Toyota Corolla at the time, and we had gone to a shitty place known as Bonita’s for some moronic reason… the night had not ended well. It was a bit weird: my last memory of S was that of a smart, fierce, edgy, slightly angry, party girl. I wasn’t part of her life when she met her (now) husband, got married, became a teacher and had a baby. A bit of a disconnect to see her in a totally quintessential role of loving wife and mother. And not just playing at it either: totally digging it. As new and exciting as her life was to me, there was still an element of familiarity there which made me feel totally at ease. Not so at ease that I was going to start discussing orgasms, but pretty comfortable nonetheless. Yeah, D would bring that up later. Had we even gotten into the wine yet? I don’t recall. It was definitely before the port and the Kahlua, though.
And the kid. Wow. I’ve never been great with kids: I feel like an idiot when I talk to (at?) them, and I have this sneaking suspicion that they’re looking at me and thinking “you would be such a bad mother; please, don’t even pretend”. But M was very good. He seemed to revel in every doting moment his parents gave him. He liked to watch tv. He really liked to pound his highchair and send Cheerios cascading to the floor. He liked to look at me while having a quiet bowel movement. I was like a focal point or something.
Dinner was fantastic – roast beef, which I totally make all the time too. We made D drive back to Thrifty’s to get dessert in the blizzard. That’s love. They taught me a game called Stupid. After my third glass of wine I would simply push my cards in their general direction and say “I have this many”. I won, apparently. After we got into the port (S: it’s like syrup, but with alcohol. Me: can I put it on my pancakes in the morning?), we tried to figure out a way to review and remunerate teachers based on their job performance. Voices were raised. I got distracted by a shiny object. We moved to the living room where we started discussing S’s fervent love for Jon Stewart. I finally got to watch the much touted clip of Jon Stewart on Crossfire with Tucker Carlson. I suggested the Bill O’Reilly/David Letterman interview of late. I got to re-tell my CBC/CTV story to a rapt audience (for those of you counting, I now have two stories: the one about my dad getting stung by a scorpion in Yelapa, and the CTV exec story). I told them about my lifelong dream to become Mrs. Stroumbouloupolos. I might have to work on my gigantic ass and Shaggy haircut.
We caught up on each other’s lives. We decided that our grade 6 teacher was a sexist, racist pedophile… which my therapist says has been a tremendous breakthrough. I learned about breast pumps. At eleven o’clock we were all thoroughly exhausted (okay, maybe some MARRIED people more so than others) so we made up the pull out couch. Yes, bedding was provided in some sort of gigantic Ziploc baggie to seal in the cotton goodness or something. I’m still trying to figure out what happened there. The cats kept trying to sleep with me throughout the night (S: I never did see the big showdown between Max and Bandit. My money’s on Max, he’s fat but… well. Okay, I guess he’s just fat).
The next morning got off to a slow start. I got bacon. M discovered the joys of pineapple. There was a lot of snow and some concern that I might have to stay another night. S was praying for a snow day.
And then the morning sort of wrapped up quickly and goodbyes were said. D valiantly risked his life to drive me to the ferry terminal. I tried to express my happiness at having met him and seeing the family dynamic with stilted words and sock puppets. He admitted that I was far less mentally challenged than S had originally let him to believe, which was nice to hear. We talked about finding a balance in life, about priorities.
I boarded the ferry. I contemplated life, love and the importance of things. I decided I was envious of their life. I don’t mean that I regret that I can’t have kids, but rather I envy their happiness and the way in which they enjoy their lives. They love each other and they love their son tremendously. S is a teacher and she wants to make a difference in the lives of some less-than-privileged kids. D is currently on paternal leave and I can honestly say that in my 30 years I have never seen a father more devoted to his wife and son than he is. And a good cook!
I want the best of everything for them. I hope they find their perfect first house. I’ll help them put in the flooring or paint the wood paneling white. I’d like to drink port with them again...I may even let them win at Stupid.
posted by Duder at 11:19 PM
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