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.
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.
posted by Duder at 2:30 PM
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