Dum de dum

In a good mood. Got off a bit early from the SPCA today. The people there are really nice. I finished all the data entry that they wanted, so I actually hope that they find other things for me to do so I can go back there. It's just a really different culture compared to the corporate one. It's a little more low key. There's more conversation and consideration and respect. They are concerned about the bottom line, sure, but their main goal is to help animals. Yeah. I dig it.
The rest of the weekend went well. I went over to North Van and Michael and I saw "Blades of Glory". It was pretty funny. On Sunday we helped JupiterGirl pack her stuff into a tiny U-Haul container. Michael is a master packer: he seems to see things very spatially and would definitely excel at Tetris. Maybe that's why he has his Masters of Architecture. My accounting diploma came in handy as I was able to solve such complex issues as: if we remove two small boxes when can put in one large one. Super. And I got mashed into the closet trying to move JupiterGirl's bed which didn't have handles. Beds should have handles. And not just for moving! Ha ha, kidding. Oh my god... At any rate, today is the big day for her so I hope her move is going smoothly.
Sunday night I met up with someone that I used to work with back in the Hudd days. She looked utterly amazing. Kind of bordering on super model-like. I was all, hey, do you like my cargo pants? I wore them during the move and they're kind of dirty. We chatted for a couple of hours about work, life and mostly men. She has met someone nice and their relationship has been coming along nicely. I started crying, stamping my feet on the floor (which was difficult because we were on bar stools, so I had to slide off so my feet could actually reach) and wailing "I can't find anyone to love me". Some really attractive guys next to us leaned over and said, "Get the hell outta the way, we're trying to watch the game! And your pants are dirty!".
That pretty much sums it up. Now I need to get some fruit, milk and yogurt because I'm out. Then I am going to meet my parents in Kits for dinner which is cool. I don't remember the last time they came out my way for dinner. I'll put up with them fussing over my weight, and lecturing me about my eating habits and safe sex (dad: I'm thirty, let it go) providing they pay for dinner. Parents are supposed to, right?
Then I go to work tomorrow. Sigh. M and I talked about getting together early this week but his work schedule does not allow for it. At first I had a knee jerk reaction because this sounded so suspiciously like you know who, but then I bought it because a) he tried to make arrangements to see me on Sunday night (though unfortunately I couldn't) and b) he said he would call me during the week and that "hopefully" I would answer. So we'll see. I will wait for this mythical phone call. I hope he calls, but I'm trying to distract myself with shiny objects in the meantime.

It's Kerrisdale Days again

Minutes after I posted my last blog I received an email from the doppleganger. Let us refer to him on a go forward as M. Doppleganger takes a long time to write out. At any rate, the email was quite complimentary and we made arrangements to get together on Friday night (last night) to go see a movie entitled "After the Wedding". We had discussed the idea of going out afterwards to dissect the movie. The movie let out around 9 and we then went to East is East on Broadway for some excellent Indian food. I panicked at the idea of having to parallel park because I felt pressured. I was kind of joking, but not. For some reason I get nervous trying to parallel park in front of people I don't know well. Look, I have a limited amount of time to get this blog done before I have a nap, so let's discuss my many hang ups later, okay? At any rate, M assured me that there was no pressure to parallel park and I could take my sweet time, or even seek out a better parking spot. Which I did. And he didn't point and laugh which was nice.
Around 11 we were done dinner and, as usual, I had forgotten where I had parked. I then stood in the middle of the street and declared "I get lost a lot. I am constantly afraid that there is something stuck in my teeth. I just thought you should know that". He replied that that was absolutely fine because he has an excellent sense of direction, and he promised to always tell me if I had something stuck in my teeth. That weird declaration made, we then decided to go somewhere for dessert, so we ended up at a really funky place on Main Street. At some point I looked at my watch and realized it was broken: it said it was quarter to one in the morning. I expressed my concern to M who confirmed that it was indeed closing in on 1am. For some reason I had a really, really hard time understanding how it had become 1am. I wasn't tired. It kind of seemed like we had just sat down and then they were closing the joint. The evening felt.... unfinished.
At any rate, back into the car we went and I said I would give him a lift to his place. We both expressed a high degree of amazement at how time had flown by, and how neither of us were tired at all. I find this most amazing given I had not slept well on Thursday night, was fighting a cold and had been up since 6:30 that morning. M then suggested that we just keep on going. So we went back to his place. Okay. Seriously. At 3:20am I left (after receiving a very friendly HUG). I got to bed at 4 this morning. I can't remember when I had such a night. It was a lot like the movie "Before Sunrise". It just kept going and going and we kept talking and talking.
This morning I woke up suspiciously early, but wasn't really that tired. I tried to make myself stay in bed, but around ten the MARCHING BAND kicked of this year's Kerrisdale Days by crashing around the neighbourhood for half an hour. Bastards. Now horse drawn carriages are going down my street, the passengers staring at me as I perform such fun tasks as: cleaning my tea kettle; putting away cutlery; and picking my nose. I try to wave at them as I pick my nose. The kids seem to like it.
Now I am listening to the cool riffs of some jazz band (because they have live music all over the place during Kerrisdale Days too, of course - I'm quite sure the DTES has something really similar going on right now) float through the cherry blossomed breeze into the cool stillness of my apartment and I am contemplating a nap.
Yeah. So wow. I am feeling a little reserved about this because of the whole B thing so I'm trying not to get all giddy and excited. Quite difficult.
Okay. I know I must be tired so I think I am going to have a nap. I don't feel tired though. Perhaps a little. Alrighty. I am going now. Peace out.

Okay, I wasn't that sick

Last night C came over. For dinner no less. When he arrived he said to me, “You look good”. He is now my best friend. I’m not sure how I ended up cooking dinner; he had called to say he would be by around 8pm and that he wouldn’t be having dinner so could he eat with me, otherwise he would pick something up en route. I said sure, come on over and join me. Then I looked in the freezer and no back up pizza! Oh my god. Now what? All my meat was frozen which left me with eggs. So I started to make an omelette type thing with pan fry-esque other things, and toast. I do toast pretty well. Half way through it I was getting flustered since I had ventured greatly from my traditional dinner routine of eating over the kitchen sink while talking to someone on the phone. I thought, what in the hell am I doing cooking? For a man? And then I looked down and I was in a shapeless housedress, with bare feet and I was pregnant! That must have been why I looked good to C. Just kidding.
I brought him up to speed on my current dating activity. I think from now on I am going to collectively refer to the men with whom I have gone out on a date as “my mens”. So you can now email me and say “what’s the status with your mens?”. It makes me laugh. I told him about my date with his doppelganger and then proceeded to show him pictures to prove my point. C was sufficiently weirded out. As we were looking at the pictures someone tried to initiate an IM session with me which C totally wanted to get in on. Dude, get your own profile.
A couple of beers later I explained the whole scenario with the doppelganger and how I wanted to see him again and he had indicated that he wanted to see me too, but no email or call had been forthcoming and Po had scared me with the whole “He’s Just Not That Into You” book revelation, so what was I to do. He said that I should email him. More specifically that we should email him together. I said no way. I think C is a closet single person. I asked him to give me a general idea of what he would put in the email and he said that he wouldn’t know until he started typing it. Okay, two beers plus stream of consciousness emailing to a guy you went on one date with = bad idea.
So we talked about euthanizing cats for a while, made more plans to go for our fabled “run” and then he went home, full of a poorly cooked meal and grand email ideas. Not wanting to disappoint him, I did fire off (what I thought was) a humorous email to the doppelganger. It wasn’t clingy, I think I wrote: “You are uber-hot and I know where you live. You better call me.” Kidding. I sent a copy to C for his review and feedback. Haven’t heard back from either of them. Story of my life thus far…

I am sick

In so many ways. I am coming to you live, from my bed. I'm still in my pajamas. I am going to find the makers of Cold FX and kick them in the shins. I'll get to that later.
Last night I met up with my friend C's doppleganger. And yes, he was quite attractive in person. And funny. We ended up chatting for over three hours. I found him very amusing and interesting and we seemed to have a lot in common, except for the fact that his job is really interesting whereas mine is not so much. At all. But that's okay! We can't all have interesting jobs. Anyways, he walks me to my car at the end of the evening and stands like ten feet away from me. Er, not a good sign. He said he'd like to see me again and I said I would like to see him again as well and then said I would leave the ball in his court since he has a more hectic schedule than I do. So we shall see. I hope he calls or emails or something. I had a really great talk with Po the other day that ties into this.
After my Wednesday night date, I called a friend of mine to say that, though the guy hadn't been my cup of tea I thought that she and he might hit it off. She hemmed and hawed about getting on POF and I encouraged her. Misery loves company. Oh yeah, remember the blog a while ago when I said I was getting off POF? Yeah, totally didn't do that. At any rate, while I was talking to her Po left a message that she was reading this really great book and she wanted to tell me about it. So I call her back. The really great book that she was raving about was "He's Just Not That Into You". At first I thought she was being facetious and pulling my leg, but no, she was quite jazzed by this book and wanted me to read it. The main premise that she was excited about (which is so common sense it's borderline idiotic) was this: if a guy says he's going to call, and then he doesn't call it's because he's just not that into you; if he was into you, he would be clamouring to call. Duh. I think in the dim recesses of all women's minds we know this. After digesting this, Po used her new found knowledge to apply it to a guy she was smitten with, that had said he would call but didn't. She basically called him on it, said that she gathered he wasn't into her because he hadn't called and she wanted to move on. She said he sounded relieved. I didn't get it? Why relieved? Well, this brings us to the next part of the book (which I still haven't read). Apparently men are so afraid that we are going to cry or engage in all manner of histrionics that they won't come out and say "yeah, I'm just not feeling it". I must admit I was a little surprised by that: I mean, aren't men supposed to be the more forward, blunt sex? After my date last week I was the first to tell the guy that I wasn't into it. I want to be straightforward and I don't want to lead anyone on. But no, apparently men think women are emotionally unstable creatures that can't handle the truth.
This, of course, applies in so, so many ways to the whole B scenario. It actually made me question whether or not he did fuck off to Mexico like he said he had - was it all some elaborate ruse just to get rid of me? Anyone up for some stalking in the West End this weekend? Kidding. Anyways, I will hold on to my belief that he really did like me and that the timing was off and that he did move back to the US, because it helps me sleep at night. But if it really was a tall tale just to get me to move along, then he's quite the asshole. Just say, after the the second or third date: I think you're great, but I don't see this going anywhere because of xyz, so maybe I'll see you around. Fine! After two or three dates that's acceptable. After six weeks it's not, because now I have a vested interest! Stupid men. But then, stupid women too. If he wants to see you, he will make arrangements to see you. Women shouldn't pursue men. Who would've thought that men would be the more subtle sex when it came to this?
But, like Po said, when you are into someone you do tend to want to pursue them. Sitting back and waiting for the phone to ring is a little easier said than done. As I sit here. Waiting for my phone to ring. Would there be much harm in just sending one email? Talk to me in six weeks...
Oh yeah, and as for the Cold FX stuff that I took last night to try and knock the cold out of me? Well I'm not entirely sure what in the hell is in those capsules, but I think it might be speed. Last night, happy, slightly sick and tired, I popped one of those things and then lay awake until about 2:30am with my heart pounding in a state of high agitation. I called in sick today because I still feel a bit rotten, but moreover now I am totally frickin' exhausted. I checked the packaging this morning and it said "non drowsy". No shit, Sherlock! I should pop a couple of those things before I do my next 10k.
Alright. Now to go amuse myself while not making contact with the guy from last night.

The thing I totally forgot to blog about yesterday

Right. So I was early (per usual) for my “date” last night, and I went up and ordered a cappuccino. The guy was very friendly, took my order, and I went and sat down. After a few minutes I thought I heard my order being called out, so I went to retrieve it. No cappuccino. Since I had left my seat, and since three or four minutes had passed, I decided to loiter around the coffee bar because certainly my drink would be ready momentarily. I even made eye contact with the guy that took my order a couple of times. Then some more patrons came in and I thought “well, perhaps they are a bit backlogged”, so I went and sat down. After another five minutes had passed and my “date” showed up and chatted with me for a minute I indicated that I had ordered a coffee and that I wished to check on its lengthy, arduous progress. I walk over to the same guy with whom I had placed my order say twelve minutes ago and I said, “Hey, how’s it going?”. He looks at me and says, “Good, how are you doing?”. I was more expecting something along the lines of “Oh my god, I totally forgot your drink”, but that was not forthcoming. We stare at each other for a few moments, him with a bemused look on his face, me with the dawning realization that I may be dealing with someone that has difficulty tying his own shoes and I say politely, “Um, I ordered a cappuccino like ten minutes ago”. Dig this. He expresses surprise and says, “Really?! From who?”. Wow. It must be fun to come to work high. I say, “Ah, I ordered it from you”. Awkward silence. I must try some of his herbage. He apologizes profusely and asks the barista to make a cappuccino and then, thinking he will do me one up, upgrades it to a medium, free of charge. I say “I actually did order a medium”. So he then upgrades it to a large. Which is probably why I had to take half a sleeping pill last night and then had a nightmare in which B was a pirate with a really weird accent.

Getting into the groove

Today was a pretty good day. It was a bad hair day, due to the rain, but I am starting to accept that these things happen. A lot. Nothing really super spectacular happened, except that I did a little IMing with a really hot guy on my lunch hour. He was like "are you leaving now?" and I was like "um, I'm at work so I should probably log off so I don't get busted and fired" and he was like "okay. don't get busted. or fired. have a great day". Oh yeah, he's 6'1". Sweet. We're going for drinks tomorrow night.
Alright, so I guess there is a bit of a weird angle to this. He looks amazingly like a friend of mine: C. Not just a little bit, not just a passing resemblance, but freakishly like my friend. I actually experienced this once before. Michael, his niece and I were at a coffee shop in North Van and we saw a woman that was almost identical to his sister (and his niece's mother). It was mind blowing. We were so wigged out that we wanted to take a picture of her, but how to explain? Michael's niece actually called her mother (on a cell, long distance to Toronto) to tell her the story once we had left. But this is about me. And the guy that looks like C.
It got me to thinking. People that know me quite well would have a pretty good idea of what I'm looking for in the online dating world. I have a CBC shirt: it's easy to infer that I like CBC. I scream at people that leave the water running when they brush their teeth: I am somewhat environmentally conscious. I work out a bit: fitness is important. I drink. You know, occasionally for the health benefits. You might infer that I like wine. I likely mentioned that B was 6'1" and that I found that height most appealing.
I IM back and forth with this guy and we make plans to go for a drink and it appears that Thursday night is not a good night for him. Which is really odd because I'm seeing C on Thursday night. I start to think: would my friend be so cruel as to post a fake profile knowing all the things that I am looking for, and throw up some pics of himself since I may have mentioned that I don't want to gouge my eyes out when I look at him? That would be a cruel, cruel joke! It's like Superman and Kent Clark: I will never be able to get the two of them in a room together. Plus my friend will have to wear lifts because he is not 6'1". And he'll have to engage in liberal banter with me, and decry the inefficiency of certain vehicles... one of which he drives. Yes, some fun could be had.
The alternative is that there is a bigger, better version of C out there (sorry, man) and we're going to hit it off and get married. Hey, aim high, right? Then we can all go snowmobiling off into the sunset. Sigh. I hope he thinks I'm pretty. The pictures on my profile don't do enough to showcase the enormity of my nose. But nor does C's photos do enough to hide the fact that he's really 5'8" and I'm going to murder him if this is his idea of a fun gag tomorrow night.

The pond is small

I had my date on Friday night. It went pretty well: we met up at 8pm and chatted amicably about many things including - but not limited to - my desire to be the Prime Minister of Canada and the religion that I'm going to create. I am lucky he had a great sense of humor. We then wandered around Kits and I got home around midnight. While he was a great conversationalist, was wickedly funny and was quite intellectual, I didn't feel that spark so I decided I didn't see much of a future. I got the impression that he was pretty in to me however. My impression may be wrong though, since he hasn't emailed or called since our date. Maybe he's starting canvassing various districts to drum up support for my ascension to power. Perhaps the fact that I was a bit brusque when I dropped him off (brusque meaning that I kind of slowed to a roll, pushed him out of my car and peeled away) turned him off. I don't like the end of the evening to kiss or not to kiss scenario. Even if I had found him wildly attractive I wouldn't have kissed him. I mean, the concept of kissing a guy that you've known for all of four hours is just a bit weird. But sleeping with a guy that you've known for three weeks is perfectly acceptable. Shut up.
Saturday morning I met up with a friend that I realized I see far too rarely: she is really fun to be around. I encouraged her to get on to Plenty of Fish. Cause my experiences have been so stellar? I guess more because misery loves company.
Michael came over later and we watched the debacle that was the hockey game, before going to see some real entertainment at the Jazz Cellar. Another enjoyable evening. The Jazz Cellar is rapidly becoming one of my favourite places. The keyboard player looked amazingly like Kevin Kline and the drummer was hot. What's with me and drummers? Oh, and they did a jazz rendition of the Hip's "Ahead by a Century". Um, no. No, no, no. I think I may have to listen to the original to get the residual bad taste out of my mouth. Other than it was very enjoyable.
Today I met up with Po and N for brunch in Kits. We are all on POF so we regaled each other with horror stories. It's fun to compare stories and decide whose self esteem has been the most decimated since we chatted last. I've worked myself into a nice groove of apathy interspersed with random spurts of hopefulness. N is in what appears to be a vanilla holding pattern. Po seems to be relatively smitten with a fellow she has met on the site but, having seen the fun crash and burn scenario betwixt me and B, is trying to take it slowly. Good times, good times.
After brunch we decided to take a stroll to Granville Island. I started to talk a little bit more about my Friday night date, and happened to mention the gentleman's name. Yep. It would seem that N also went out a couple of times with this guy. Funtime awkward quasi-incestuous moment! We all resolved to advise one another of the names and locations of the men that we are going on dates with in the future. Yessir.
We shopped around a bit at Granville Island and Po bought some pens. They are called def tone pens. They were red. I think they are for people that are tone deaf and color blind. I'm not sure what the deal was there. Sometimes she scares me a little.
Because I had burned off like 50 of the 10,000 calories from my breakfast, I enjoyed some gelato with Po and N who briefly contemplated disowning me when I confessed I was a gelato virgin. I like gelato. I may become a gelato whore.
N had to leave us to go to a one year old's birthday party. I encouraged her to make some friends her own age. Then Po and I headed back and had a discussion about fish tacos and the status of her leg (which was broken and now is mending). I feigned interest in her recovery as hot men jogged by. Ah, spring.
I may have another date with another POFer this week. I told N and Po and his name and neither of them have dated him. Yet. Whew.

The bus lineup

You don’t butt in line at the grocery store. Or in a movie line up. You don’t interject your body in front of some else’s when they are waiting to rent a movie, purchase produce or pick up some Wyndham Estate Bin 555. So why would you take the position of precedence at a bus stop, when two other (hot, young) women were there first? It happened this morning… again! This older man simply arrives at the stoop, regards us, and ensures he is the first on the bus. A few months ago this would have irked me a little less, because there always seemed to be an abundance of seats in which to slot my fine behind, however due to somethingorother (sky rocketing gas prices, construction downtown, concern for the environment, the desire to ride with one’s fellow proletariats), seating has become slightly scarce. I suppose I should not be surprised: assholes abound. And yet I am always puzzled when seemingly normal people do jerky things.
Surprisingly (not surprisingly?) this is not the first faux pas this gentleman has committed. The last time he butted to the front of the line, his act prior to this was the equivalent of an open-handed smack in the mouth to me. I was actually so offended that I resolved that, should he do it again in my presence, I would certainly comment on it. Here is what he did: upon arriving at the bus stop, he liberated a Georgia Straight from a nearby dispenser. I thought, okay, it’s reading material for the bus. He then proceeded to flip through it for a maximum of two minutes before dropping it in the garbage can at the bus stop. It was so unsullied that he actually could have put it back into the box and no one would be the wiser. Conversely, he could have carried it with him to his place of employ and recycled it there. Maybe five years ago I wouldn’t have noticed this, but it really is inexcusable in this day in age. I’m not purporting that I am some great, considerate, empathetic environmentalist who is totally self-aware, but come on. Some things are basic. Don’t touch my computer monitor. Cover your mouth when you’re coughing on the bus. Don’t chew gum with your mouth open. Boycott Ted Nugent (http://www.cnn.com/2007/US/04/19/commentary.nugent/index.html) and CNN.
I have a date tonight. I am going to the Naam and I am going to eat vegetarian stuff and wear my CBC shirt. There will likely be a lengthy line. I will wait patiently.
Namaste.

What a great day

The sun is shining. It’s spring. Everything is fresh and cheery. I got to have sushi last night. LOST PISSES ME OFF. Why do I keep on watching this show? Big D and I discerned that, since we’ve stuck with it into the third season we now have a vested interest. God. My plants are slowly dying, but I pay rapt attention to the ridiculous plotline of Lost. If the men on that show looked like… I dunno, the men on According to Jim my chances of tuning into Lost would be significantly reduced.
I also now have a real internet connection. No more hacking unsecured networks for this girl! I had fun playing on my computer last night. Now I can use my nice, solid connection to do important research and trace my family lineage. Yeah… It’s really all about the blogging and trying to judge people based on their appearance on such fine sites as POF and Lavalife.
I’m looking forward to the weekend. Going to the Jazz Cellar with Michael on Saturday night, meeting up with a friend for a much overdue coffee on Saturday morning. I have to do my taxes. Badly. Need to get that taken care of ASAP. I don’t think I’ve ever been so lazy or late getting ‘er done before. I think I still have a tax hangover from college. I have my diploma! I got me some educashun.
Boy. My blogs are getting boring without B to complain about. Maybe I should complain about him, just a little? No. What’s done is done. To sum up the past six weeks I will have to say that I am grateful to him for helping me with some introspectiveness; that when we were together it was fun; and that I will absolutely bail the moment this pattern repeats itself with another potential boyfriend. I think I shall go treat myself to a coffee now. I am deserved.

Laissez-faire

Yep. I think in some small ways I am maturing somewhat. Starting to ask questions that are a little more relevant, a little more exploratory. Why do I allow my feelings of self worth to be influenced by people that don’t even know me? All my friends know and love me (or so they tell me), so that should be sufficient. I think I’m a decent, good person: that should definitely be sufficient. And so it shall be sufficient.
I am going to take down my POF profile this week. I have come to this conclusion based on two trains of thought: 1) it is somewhat of a popularity contest (and I have never been adept at winning those – though I could totally win a sarcasm contest any day) and 2) when it’s supposed to happen it’ll happen. Oh yeah, I still need to work on my human interaction skills since I’ve fallen off the “let’s try and make eye contact and smile at people” bandwagon. What? My face was starting to hurt from all the insincere grinning. I do have a nice repoire with my bus driver now though.
What else. I’m really enjoying Chekhov: Ward 6 and Ariadne were both great stories about human nature, human foibles, perceptions, misconceptions, elitism and –to some degree – feminism. My book is going to be about unicorns and rainbows.
I wish I had more interesting things to blog about, but I really don’t. I dropped a fork between the counter and the fridge and I can’t fetch it. I didn’t necessarily try very hard, so maybe I will endeavor to fish it out this weekend. My boss’s children came in and played with my robots yesterday. It appears I still have issues with sharing my toys. I received a notification that my modem from Telus has arrived and I can pick it up at the post office today. Ironically, the unsecured network that I have been hijacking to get online when I’m at home has been surprisingly fast and solid (which is why you have been receiving one email from me instead of three, and blogs are being posted once instead of four times). Ah well. It’s similar to my haircutting scenario: my hair never looks as good as the day that I go to get it cut. It’s like it’s trying to behave for fear of being lopped off (I’m sure there is a good Bobbit joke there).
Well, I guess I should get to it. Yep.

If he wants to lick the pole, let him lick the pole: Part II

Right. So I walk into S & D’s place and D regales me with “I thought I sensed someone from the mainland here”. Ha ha. I felt rather conspicuous with my chic blonde hair and groovy wrap. Everyone at the party was really nice. Nonetheless I did find I had a bit of a hard time identifying with my fellow partygoers since: a) they were all paired up and b) they either had babies, or wanted them. Yep. I was the hipster from Vancouver living the life of debauchery and… and online dating. Whatever.
Eventually the majority of the people left except for a couple of D’s friends, who I will refer to as NippleBoy and EngagementFundGuy. Strangely, I seemed to get along with these gentlemen quite well. Possibly because we were all drinking. We went downstairs to watch sports and play sports trivia with a child of eleven? Who bested us all. He was all like, “Who won the all male Ice Dancing Championships of 1997?” and I was like “Ummm… Jarkko Ruutu?”. I hate Ruutu. I like saying Radek Bonk.
NippleBoy looked amazingly like Patrick McKenna from Traders and the Red Green Show. It was a bit weird. He told an interesting story about D licking a pole and the health ramifications and reverse psychology therein. You would think maybe it was a stripper pole, or perhaps a flag pole (perhaps it was a drunken bout of patriotism?), but no: it was a bus pole. Yep. You may as well just put money in your mouth. Ew.
EngagementFundGuy was quite funny also. He has been with his partner for five years and is balking at an engagement ring. This is all well and good. I indicated that after six years there is a large possibility that the problem will resolve itself: in that she will leave him. I’m not bitter. NOT BITTER. I think I also made reference to laying the smack down to the next ass clown that tells me women are complicated. Not only am I out of a six year relationship because he “didn’t believe” in marriage – I’ve wasted six weeks of my precious life on some idiot that can’t even seemingly operate a phone or two-finger type some stilted email from time to time. And no, the fact that we jumped into bed really quickly had NOTHING to do with it. Whatever. Where was I going with this?
Oh yeah, the sports prodigy/eleven year old boy wolfed down two hotdogs while screaming that the television for half an hour, and then trying to touch everything was his Dorito hands. Why do I not want kids, you ask? Because I think white leather sofas are luscious. That, and I can’t work the goddamn kiddy gates. D made a big show of pretending he had installed it incorrectly and getting out his tools to “fix it” in order to make me feel like less of a dingus. Thanks, D.
NippleBoy and EngagementFundGuy left and then S & D went to bed at 10:30. Bitchin’. I didn’t mind because they have way more channels than I do so I stayed up until midnight watching that movie with Sharon Stone, a Baldwin, and Tom somethingorother. Yeah, that was worth it.
The next day S and M (yeah, what else am I going to say?) and I went to tour downtown Nanaimo. I love that, for thirty years, I have been traveling up to Lasqueti and passing by Nanaimo and I have never walked along the seawall or toured the downtown. It was really nice! I embarrassed S by taking pictures of everything. M ate a lot of gravel. Crunchy. Why do kids do that??
Then I caught the ferry home and was left to read Chekhov unmolested. Why will no one molest me? Michael picked me up on the other side and informed me that I had a flat tire. We took it to Canadian Tire. THREE HOURS LATER we left and I watched Borat with him. It’s fun to watch the movie with people that don’t have a frame of reference when you say things like “my moustache still tastes of your testes”. Yep.
And then home again home again, jiggity jig! I had my first day of volunteer work at the SPCA today. I enjoyed it: the people seem nice and the animals don’t talk back. Seriously, how many kittens do you all want for Christmas?

If he wants to lick the pole, let him lick the pole: Part I

Saturday morning I got up at the crack of dawn to catch the bus to Horseshoe Bay so that I could ride the fabled and famous BC Ferries (the corporation that I know and love so dearly) to Nanaimo, where I was expected at S and D's housewarming party (and more importantly their son M's one year birthday). And by crack of dawn I mean like, 8:30. I got up, fumbled around, tried to make rhyme or reason out of my new haircut and trundled down to the bus stop. The bus was late. This, in and of itself, is not unusual for the #16. It was, however, more than a little irritating today, because I needed to be at Seymour and Howe to catch the 11:19 bus to Horseshoe Bay so that I could catch the 12:30 ferry to Departure Bay. Needless to say, because the bus was running late, the driver felt compelled to stop at every pedestrian crosswalk and allow stupid humans to cross, as well as deciding to hold up for all the poor saps that just couldn't get their shit together enough to show up at the bus stop on time. Laggards! Leave them all behind! I did manage to get on the bus to West Van which was good, because I had reached a rather palpable level of agitation as we slowed down for every wheezing fat bastard that hailed the bus.
The ferry ride over was, as always, a delight. It wasn't quite as fun as the time that my brother and I went over with a coven of bikers that were meeting for some debauchery jamboree in Nanaimo. That was a fun trip: open beers and black leather everywhere. Hey, would you tell a 250lb biker with sleeved out tatties that open alcohol is a no no on this particular vessel?
Anyways, this trip over was made exciting by a degenerate moron that fancied himself the next bloody Eminem or something. First of all, his wavery, reedy voice was kind of effeminate. And he was ugly. And stupid. After listening to a prolonged conversation that he was having with the two Asian hangers-on that he was travelling with about how anyone can make it through the Canadian education system - he was apparently living proof after scoring 14% in Grade 11 math because he failed to attend most of the classes and smoked a lot of dope - I was very close to punching him in the mouth. He failed math three times which kind of makes it seem that in fact no, not everyone can "work" the Canadian education system. Then he regaled his fans with his career aspiration: to become a famous rapper, branch into movies and make 20 million a picture. I will now share his idea for the 20 million dollar picture. Are you ready for it? It is a Japanese anime romp through medieval England. I don't even know. I wonder if his parents had any children that survived. I will let you know that his whiny, painful voice was piercing my ability to concentrate on the series of short stories by Chekhov that I was trying to work through. I shit you not.
I then hopped into a cab and spent a rather long time trying to convince the cabby that the particular address that was my destination actually did exist. Yeah. He kept asking me where it was and I kept repeating: a) the address and b) the fact that I had not ever been there before so I was really relying on him for that.
The housewarming party was nice. The house itself was nice. It's really, um, disconcerting to know that for the price of a one bedroom condo in an upscale area in Vancouver you can buy a three bedroom house with a full downstairs that can be suited out. Yeah. I should start stockpiling the catfood that I will no doubt be eating during my retirement now. I think there's a sale on at London Drugs.
Will finish this later. I am now going to watch Borat with Michael. Because I am still in North Van. All to be revealed in Part II of the Pole Licking series.

I'm mellow again

Yeah. It's a good day. I'm not at work today: took the day off to gear up for what will no doubt be a whirlwind weekend in Nanaimo. I have been informed that there may be upwards of twenty people at S and D's housewarming BBQ tomorrow. I am looking forward to brushing up on my social skills (to be read as: having a couple of glasses of wine and trying to make eye contact with other adults instead of staring at my feet in the corner). I am also looking forward to being away for a while. Sometimes it's nice to get out of dodge.
Last night was a good night. Got home, ran from my apartment to 10th and Imperial. I was going to ask C to join me since, when we're in the cups, we always like to talk about how fit we are and how we should do a run together. Nevertheless he, like the majority of Vancouverites, was tired and perhaps slightly hungover because the Canucks game went into four overtime periods. I, being the rational bandwagon jumper I am, skipped the game and watched a fantastic movie called "Wonderboys" and went to bed at 11pm. I highly recommend this movie. At any rate, after the run I met up with my friend L at the Cheese and drank some wine and ate some bruschetta. Normally I hate the Cheese, but the waitress was nice, the bruschetta was awesome and I found a nice Spanish Grenache that turned my crank. To the tune of three glasses.
I did manage to get to the gym today, so I am pretty proud of myself. I don't know. I'm a bit mellow and scattered today as the wine wasn't the only think I got into last night, but it's all good. I feel very calm and relaxed. My anxiety and my various neuroses are temporarily at bay. I'm looking forward to getting my hair done tonight. Maybe I will get another erotic head rub from the hot boy toy there. Luscious. Then I am going to go home, pack, chill and contemplate writing.
Alrighty. Guess I should head on out. Wonderboys: rent it. Very good.

A spectacle

I got my glasses back. Yep. I also discovered I am masochistic. Who knew?
Today is going to be a good day. Going to go for a run to help alleviate the insane feelings of guilt I have due to devouring what likely amounted to an entire pig over the weekend. Then I am going to meet JupiterGirl for coffee. I am sad because she will be moving soon. And I am helping. So really I am sad because I will have to help her move soon. Just kidding! I’m sure once we have her firmly ensconced in her new apartment we will get into all sorts of trouble that will illicit comments like “we’re from Newfoundland!” from passersby. Additionally, I love Victoria and will jump at the chance to go crash at her place for the odd weekend.
Speaking of the island: I am due for a trip to see S and D’s new house in Nanaimo this weekend. They were kind enough to invite me to their housewarming party which will be fun since I am looking forward to their company again, and it will render me incapable of doing the Sun Run. Soooo sad about the Sun Run. I guess if I was a real keener I could rein it in on Saturday, catch the last ferry home on Saturday night and make the run on Sunday morning, but I am a lot of things… and a keener is not one of them.
I told S that I would be bringing my new camera to take pics of them, their son and their house. I actually have quite a repertoire of images on my camera now: what the hell am I supposed to do with them? Can I just take my camera into London Drugs, point and grunt and leave them to figure it out? Digital cameras are rad: you can delete the photos you don’t like right after you take them. Also, you can delete all the photos that your brother appears in. Kidding again.
I’m also excited to say that I am taking Friday off. I am due to report for my first volunteer shift at the SPCA on Monday and the idea of a simple two day weekend is too much for me. I have things to do! I need to get my hair done! I must sleep in! I need to read and wander aimlessly around my neighborhood! This cannot be accomplished if I have to volunteer on Monday. Maybe I should go back to a three day work week… sigh. Life is rough.

Nothing

I am in a good mood today. I got up a bit late, but decided against panicking about getting up, working out, cleaning my apartment and grocery shopping. I'm decidedly mellow today. That never happens. I'm going to ride it out, and will no doubt be back to my cranky, withdrawn self tomorrow.
As I was lounging in my apartment after brunch with P yesterday I got a call from my nana, inviting me to dinner with my mom and aunts and uncles at her place. I decided that I would go instead of sitting at home, stewing. Also, it was Easter Sunday which, as we all know, is the day the Sacred Bunny ascended to heaven with St. Purdy. Right? So I went over and made pleasant conversation with my relatives, and regaled them with the fun car alarm story for which my nana had - unfortunately - been present. Had an awesome dinner. Took in the equally awesome view.
Got back home and checked the one voice message I had: Michael. Just checking in. He likes for me to tell him how fast and well my laptop is working now. It's like phone sex for him, or something. I have to time how fast it boots up and then tell him and he'll be quiet for a prolonged period of time and then ask, "and the programs are opening up quickly as well? How quickly? Describe it for me".
Then I angled my arm just so to capture a free internet signal and - lo and behold - there was an email from B. Is anyone still following the B story? I'm not. At any rate, he was visiting his brother in California for the long weekend: it was a spur of the moment trip which was why he was incommunicado all weekend. Okay. Thank you.
Another interesting (re)discovery: Margaret Atwood. I am reading a collection of her short stories called "Wilderness Tips" and she is fantastic. I forgot how much I love Margaret Atwood. Highly recommend. I am happy. I have lots of good books to read.
I'm going to go do pilates now, on this, my last unencumbered Monday. I can't remember if I divulged that I will be volunteering for the BCSPCA on Mondays starting in a week. Yes. So you are all getting kittens for Christmas this year. If you're really, really good, I may give you a llama.

I just want my glasses back

My blogs have been pretty sporadic of late due to two things: the chaos that B has introduced into my life; and the fact that I was having major technical issues with my laptop. As of yesterday one of these issues was brilliantly resolved: my laptop is now functioning as good as it did the day I got it – possibly better. This is entirely thanks to the patience and tenacity of Michael, who refused to leave me high and dry. Are we getting the irony here? Anyone? Anyone?
Which brings me to the other unresolved issue: B. Yeah, in regards to that I can only say that I just want my glasses back. Those that have seen me socially in the last week will no doubt have noticed that I have been muttering this under my breath with increasing frequency and agitation. Seriously, they are nice glasses, they cost $400, and they help me to SEE which is pretty important.
The glasses of which I speak are currently languishing in B’s apartment in the West End. I had requested that he bring them to my place when he visited me last Sunday. He forgot them. Long story short he asked me to “bear with” him for the next couple of weeks while he straightens his life out. Because I am a simpleton and a softy (ask my mom about the time I scooped all the honeybees from the pool in order to save them, and then put them in a box in our change room at which point they experienced a sudden resurgence and created a nasty surprise for the first person that opened that door) I agreed. I suppose I should have asked for clarification as to what “bear with me” actually meant. I interpreted it to mean that I would not see much of him since he would be really busy. Apparently its actual definition is: you will be the recipient of cryptic emails; your own emails will go answered (as will your texts); no phone calls will be forthcoming; you will have a lot of time to analyze everything that you did incorrectly in this burgeoning relationship; your self esteem will take a beating; you will have brief moments of clarity when you will feel the need to drive to the West End and kick him in the gonads, and these brief moments will be tempered by the fact that you are carless, and by the time you figure out the bus schedule on the Translink website you have sunken into morbid dejection and decide to opt for another brandy and read another Margaret Atwood short story.
Seriously. I just want my glasses back, rose tinted though they may be.
In other news, found a really cool coffee shop on 10th avenue called Think. Free wireless. A book case resplendent with works by Hume and Kierkegaard. I really should actually read something by Hume and Kierkegaard… do you think it’s more complex than the latest Sweet Valley High books? Later that evening I met up with JupiterGirl and A for A’s birthday. We met at the Foggy Dew in Richmond. I was pretty tired and not very social. JupiterGirl, upon hearing my latest woes said, “Do you mind if I tell you I’m not surprised?”. I do not mind. Even I am somewhat not surprised. I then started doing the eye flirt thing with a guy across the bar that seemed fairly attractive. After a while he and his friend paid their tab and made their over to bypass our table as they exited. I got ogled by the guy I had been ogling. Clearly I really do need those glasses, because they have my most recent prescription. Yeah. What had appeared to be a kind of hot guy in his mid thirties really wasn’t. Fun.
Saturday Michael came with me to my parents for dinner. It was like old times. Have a couple of glasses of wine. Get into fisticuffs with my brother. Try to determine where the mentally insane cat is. Have an awesome meal followed by everyone screaming at the top of their lungs while Michael cowers in the corner in the fetal position as it dawns on him why I am the way I am. The topic of last night’s exercise in vocal ability? Something about how women shop too much, try to impress other women and pretend to be something they’re not. Don’t even get me started. Someone kept on bandying about the concept of $650 shoes. Clearly this idea had been derived from the Carrie character on Sex and the City. I said (yelled), “Who do you know has $650 shoes?”. Why am I arguing with someone that is basing their opinion of women on a fictional character from a kind of outrageous show? At one point, my brother was sitting quietly in the corner and I bellowed “SHUT UP!!”. It was awesome. Then we had some really good cake.
Saw P for brunch today. We lamented about men. She is in agreement that it is not women that are difficult to read. I decided that the next time a man makes a comment to that effect that I will reach over and smack him in the mouth. Unless, of course, he asks me to bear with him and is hanging on to my favorite pair of glasses.

Marriage, midgets and inexact bus fare

It appears that I have regained my sense of humor. Last night I met up with C, whom I had not seen for quite a while. He wanted the lowdown on B and I sort of hemmed and hawed and finally admitted that I am confused about him, I likely hopped into bed with him too quickly, and there seems to be a lot of drama surrounding the relationship. His advice was that I should have a few guys on the go, and that I should “string them along” until I pick the best candidate. I was flattered that he thought I was able to find a few guys to lead down the garden path (and simultaneously at that).
The patrons of the Beagle were really into the Leafs game, which was kind of odd. More odd was that a group of them would scream at seemingly random intervals when nothing of any import was occurring in the game. I think at one point they went ballistic when a Tim Horton’s commercial came on. Frickin’ Leaf fans.
We also discovered something strange: he cannot receive my texts. I figured as much, since he is usually good at texting me back no matter how inane or ridiculous my messages to him are. I sat across from him, sent him a text and he did not receive it. I said, “so you never received the message I sent that read “I’m outside your apartment vandalizing your truck, you union bastard”?” to which he replied no. I said, “What about the one I sent about meeting Elle MacPherson on the set of a bikini shoot and she was really hoping to meet a Swiss ex-pat that was about a foot shorter than her?”. No to that as well. Oh well. Perhaps from now on I will text marriage proposals to him, since he won’t receive them. It’s a win win situation when you’re making bonehead decisions at 1am on a Saturday night.
We then attempted to answer the age old question: would you rather have sex with a midget or an amputee? I had to back away from midget sex and I think C was on board with me on that front. He did seem rather keen to have amputee sex though, so I may have hit on a fetish. We discussed the variables such as: if it was Brad Pitt minus an arm, sure. If it was a rather unattractive person missing a couple of fingers, no. There’s really a lot to factor in when making such a decision it would seem. Oh, and it was C that said he would do a one armed Brad. I don’t think Brad is very hot.
The subject of marriage came up, which proved very interesting. I mentioned that B was divorced and C said that he would have a hard time dating a divorcee. I was perplexed: people often get divorced, what was his problem? He said that he takes marriage very seriously and once you enter into it it should be for life. I countered that, whilst that was a noble ideal to aspire to, the divorce rate does hover at around 50% so evidently it is not the most successful of institutions. It was an interesting conversation and I was rather surprised by his views. I don’t agree that being divorced is necessarily bad – it depends on how one ends up there. Look at Britney Spears with her 48 hour marriage. I suppose C’s argument is that you should only get married when you are good and ready and you have found “the one”. I agree with that. And, as a believer in marriage, I think guys that believe in a lifelong commitment are hot. So are guys with bus passes. And some amputees.
Then we talked about crashing my cousin’s wedding. I believe I mentioned it in an earlier blog – this is the wedding I was sort of impolitely encouraged to attend alone, since I’m a single loser and they’re trying to pare down the guest list. C suggested that he and his friend crash it. This morning, in the light of day, it still seems like a good idea. At least I would have fun. Hang out with a couple of hot guys. I’m sure we could coerce my nana into doing some shooters with us.
All of a sudden four hours had passed. How does that happen so quickly? Oh right, lots of beer. C seemed rather adamant that I take a cab home as he didn’t like the idea of me waiting for the #16 which, at this point, was probably running once every half hour. I said that no, it would cost too much money. C disagreed, since I was only going from Broadway to 41st. We tried to discern how many blocks that would be and were incapable of doing the math (the answer is 32!). We were able to agree that it was a plausible bike ride, though decided against me borrowing his bike. So I called for a cab and, because I had done so, a bus came almost immediately. I love the way that works. I thanked him for waiting with me at the bus stop to which he said that it was the gentlemanly thing to do. I pointed out that, more often than not, he does not wait with me at the bus stop, to which he replied that he likely would not wait with me the next time. Um, okay. Then I realized that I only had $1.75 in my pocket, so I was $0.50 short. I could have alleviated this situation by retrieving my purse from my knapsack, but that seemed very tiring and time consuming and C encouraged me to try and barter with the bus driver. Which I did, and he was kind enough to let me on.
And thus I returned home. Didn’t text anyone. Didn’t sleep with any midgets. Nor did I propose marriage at any point. Yep. I’m getting back on track.

Imploding

It could be that I have been focusing a bit too much on the external things these days. Sure, physical health is important. Yep, gotta make more time to get to the gym. Need to try and eat better. But it would appear that I have been spending too much time in my own head, which apparently is not the place to be. I had a great visit with Big D last night and it helped me to understand this, though I think everyone around me as of late probably was more aware of my veritable mental instability than I was. Let’s see, there was the two inappropriate texts I made on Saturday night, with a follow up drunk phone call (note to self: leave cell phone at home for the next International Wine Fest). The following day involved me staring out the window for prolonged periods of time while I intensely scrutinized my relationship with B and my relationship with Michael. And created various scenarios that didn’t exist. And obsessed about them. I called JupiterGirl (who had been my partner in crime – along with a very well behaved A – at the prior night’s wine fest) to check in. I think she sensed that I was bordering on some kind of schizophrenia, so she felt it prudent to come over and drag me out of the apartment for some coffee. It turned out very well. Talking to people is good. Talking to people who are positive and non judgmental is even better. Coming away with the feeling that people are kind of concerned for your overall well being is the best.
Nonetheless Monday involved me taking my boots back to get them re-soled again (the first one didn’t hold), visiting the doctor, doing laundry and crying. I’m not a huge crier, but I kind of lost it a couple of times. Then I napped. Then Big D came over and we had a good talk. I think I need to relax a little. I think I am going to look back on this blog and go, wow, that is a messed up blog.
I really, really need to stop putting square pegs in round holes.