The hole is closing

I received a voice message today from the property management company responsible for my building. The lady said that their contractor would be making arrangements with them next week to come into my suite and fix the gaping hole. Cool. Except... I have been living with this hole for quite a while now. It has become quite the fixture (or non-fixture, if you will) in my living room. I view it whilst supping. I gaze upon it while sprawled on my living room floor, listening to music. I happen upon it randomly throughout the day, checking to make sure it is still there... existing.
And they will cover it up. It will be brand new. One might not ever be able to tell that this once great chasm existed in my living room. But it did.
It was vast.
In other, less existential news, I have a raised bump next to my nose piercing. I've actually had it for a while and it's driving me mentally insane. Going to go to the piercing/tattoo shop after work and have them take a little look-see. Fix the bump. Maybe get some flaming dragon emblazoned on my ass. Who knows?

The benefits of having an affair with my upstairs neighbour

As you might have noticed, I have been thinking more and more about the benefits of having an affair with the guy that lives above me. Forget not having to hail a cab to get home after one too many glasses of Spanish Tempranillo (Love. That. Shit.), I wouldn’t even have to put my freakin’ shoes on to go up there. I could contemplate staying over, but why when my comfy bed is available and only 30 seconds away? Did I mention he’s a caterer? Have you suffered through any of my attempts at cooking recently? Last night’s dinner was salad, topped off with tuna from a can! Ah, the canned tuna, how it flits effortlessly through the sea, tasting a little bit like lemon and dill… Other benefits include access to my CD collection if his is grating, not having to fight for parking, and being able to withhold sex in order to get ahead of him for laundry.
I guess the negatives would be that he would always know when I was home. The possibility that he would knock on my door when I didn’t want to talk to him (like when I’m sweaty from a run, in the shower, stoned or applying a face mask). And if we parted on bad terms the nicky nine doors could go on indefinitely. He could stomp his feet a lot, which would drive me apeshit.
Anyways, these are mere ruminations. I may be going over for dinner on Sunday night, but I get the feeling that he might simply be a really nice guy that just wants to cook me dinner because my apartment is falling down around my ears. I get this feeling because when I was talking to him last night he a) thanked me for calling him yesterday to set a date for our dinner (weird) and when he said “have a good week” and I said “thank you” he said “you’re welcome”. Who says “you’re welcome”. It was uber polite.
But I kind of wonder if he is the guy that had the screamer over a couple of years ago. Yeah, one night Michael and I were in bed and we heard what we, at first, thought was someone yelling. Then we noticed it was a really lopsided argument, in that the person ululating was a female. Upon further inspection, she didn’t appear to be that angry at all; no, she seemed to be having a really orgasmic time. For quite a while. Loudly. I remember lying there and wondering what in the hell they were doing that would require that much vocalization. I contemplated applauding out the window when they were done. Maybe it was him. Maybe I'll ask him on Sunday, after a couple of glasses of Tempranillo.

When will the drywallers come/I may get a free meal

Saturday found me curled in the fetal position thanks to overwhelming menstrual cramps. Love it. Had to cancel on Po and N which I hate doing, but it happens occasionally. It was actually a pretty low key weekend. Went out for a third date with H: we saw "Hot Fuzz". I laughed my ass off; it was as good or better than "Shaun of the Dead". I am going to be saying "by the power of Grayskull" for weeks to come.
Went into the SPCA for a little volunteer work today. I feel a bit purer in spirit when I leave there. I'm giving back, I'm volunteering, I'm not an entirely bad person. I'm helping defenseless animals for Chrissakes. And then I bumped into one of my neighbours at Safeway and had a nice chat with her. So I can be social sometimes as well. And? And? I got four boxes of cereal for five bucks. Boo yah. And it's the cereal I love too: those corn squares and the oatmeal squares. Love that shit.
Then I got home and decided to get a little laundry done. Oddly, I had been wondering about my upstairs neighbour's dinner offer. If you will refer to my earlier blog titled 'Nor is water supposed to come from my kitchen light fixture', you will recall that my neighbour had come into my suite the night that water started coming from my kitchen light fixture, and had offered me dinner to help assuage my troubles. It's gonna take a helluva lot more than dinner to assuage this girl's troubles!! Sorry, I try not to let the bitterness out, but it seeps everywhere. At any rate, I get to the laundry room and my neighbour, Joseph, is there doing laundry. We chat a little about the holes that have been punched into the drywall in our respective suites and he indicated that he was able to hide his with a bookcase. I indicated that my newest, most recent addition to the holes in my suite is about two feet by seven and good luck hiding that mother. I was kind of wondering if he would bring up dinner again, or if the original offer had been a result of my yoga pants. Behold the power of the yoga pants. I had a conversation with two gentleman at work about the allure of the yoga pants and all I could really get from them is that yoga pants are good. I asked what exactly it was that was so alluring and they responded by drooling and droning, "yeahhhhh.... yoga..... downward dog, baby". Um, okay. Thanks. Maybe I should wear my yoga pants outside the apartment sometimes.
At any rate, he did bring up the dinner again and I agreed to it. And then, because I'm socially retarded, I made a comment about getting a run in while he had the (sole) washer and dryer tied up and walked away. Brilliant. I am such a dork. So I went for my run, came home and left a message on his machine asking when he would like to have said dinner. You know, the sort of detail that I should have worked out with him when I was uh, talking to him? Yeah, he's probably given up on me already. I bet if I go up and knock on his door wearing my yoga pants I can get a lot more than dinner.
Dirty!

Backs against the wall, stoned out of our minds

I got off a little early from work yesterday. Went to the gym for the first time in a couple of weeks to find that I've managed to gain five pounds. Excellent. Nevertheless, I managed to achieve a personal best for running four kilometres on the treadmill (18:50). Look, it's not super fast, but it's fast for me! I saw the good looking Vincent D'onofrio type guy that dresses all in black. Except yesterday he had donned a white t-shirt. The times, they are a-changing.
Went for coffee with Big D at Think! where the service was so bad as to be abhorrent. I hate when that happens. I want to hang out there. I like the philosophy angle. I like that you can get beer. I like the music, that they're open until 11pm. It was a good cappuccino. The walls in the bathroom are chalkboards. I pondered forever as to what I should scribble (Big D probably thought I was having a colossal bowel movement). I quoted a Jayhawks song "Backs against the wall, stoned out of our minds". I'm not sure why. Oh wait, I've been smoking pot and eating more than normal, that explains the weight gain. I told Big D that I had had a pecan tart when I was out with a girlfriend and how much I loved pecan tarts. So we're walking to Think! and he points at something on my hip and says, "what the hell is that?" I look down, sure that I've managed to spill something on myself and look back at him quizzically. He says, "Oh my god! I think it's a pecan tart!" while motioning to my waistline. Funny. Funny like Doris Day parking.
What else. Had a really good sleep last night. Yummy. I like sleeping and pecan tarts. I am destined to be so fat that my partner will have to leverage me out of bed with a crowbar.
My dad called and wanted to know when I was going to come up and visit him. He said I could come up over a weekend, returning on Monday. I was unsure how this was possible, because if I left for the BC Ferries after work on Friday we wouldn't have enough time to make the last Lasqueti ferry. Apparently my dad has one of the speedboats running. If this is not a potential, terrifying yarn waiting to happen, I'm not sure what is. Likely the story will involve the engine conking out in the dark, a slow leak, he and I contemplating how far it would be to swim, a passing Alaskan cruise ship, lots of yelling, angry Coast Guards and a hefty fine for not having life jackets or something. Ah well, I need a new story to regale my friends with. Everyone has heard the scorpion and nun-accident tales a few times by now.

My tapestry

The gaping hole in my living room is still, well, gaping. That’s cool. I prefer it to the sound of water running freely in the wall, and the sound of water dropping from the light fixture into the garbage can. It’s also nice to be able to use my garbage cans for garbage again. I’ve filled up the bathroom garbage cans with a pair of runners after noticing during my last run that it felt that I was running with nothing but some cardboard strapped to my feet. Drrrr… why does my knee hurt? Anyways, I just wish I knew when the drywallers were going to come and fix the hole. If it’s going to be a while, perhaps I could commission Po to do some cool tapestry to cover the cavernous maw. It could depict me in the throes of my day to day frenetic life: on the cell phone, eating over the kitchen sink while filling up the watering can and trying to pull my running shirt off over my head as I rummage for change for laundry using my toes. The bubble caption over my head would read “What am I going to do tonight?”.
Talked to Big D last night. We keep missing each other. That’s not to say I miss him, it’s just that we’ve both been really busy and play email and phone tag. Okay, I miss him. He called just as I was leaving Kerrisdale to meet H for our second date in front of my favourite restaurant in Kits: the Watermark. I’d torch that place, but it’s made of concrete. An aesthetical choice effectively showcased through modern architecture, or a way to hinder potential political pyromaniacs like yours truly: you decide. I said to Big D, I said, “I have fifteen minutes: Go!”. It was funny. He agreed to adhere to the fifteen minute conversation span because Lost was starting at 7pm. I’m kind of curious to know what happened even though I no longer watch the show. He and I shall catch up on all things important tomorrow night. Plus, I keep getting misinformation from a coworker whose mission in life is to exploit my gullibility. He said that there was a caveman on Lost last night. I said I didn’t believe him. Did anyone watch it last night? Was there a caveman? It doesn’t seem like there would be…
That’s about the extent of it, it would appear. I have my typical ADD spate of dates lined up: Lori tonight, Daryl tomorrow, Po and N on Saturday, a third date with H on Sunday. As usual my apartment is a mess, I’ve run out of (healthy) food and I’m figuring out where I can squeeze in another couple of workouts. Yes. Things are easing back to normal.
Po, let’s discuss the impending tapestry over lunch on Saturday. Maybe we can do a renaissance type thing, full of symbolism and imagery. Yes, this half empty bottle of wine reflects the subject’s love of… well, alcohol. The naked man sprawled in her rumpled bed represents her endless search for mind-blowing conversation. No, that’s not a cigarette she’s smoking. In her other hand? I believe that’s a spicy tuna roll, though it could be salmon. The title of the tapestry? Simple: The Hedonism of Duder.

The holding pattern continues

I feel suspiciously like I am waiting for something to happen. I’m waiting to have increased job satisfaction. I am waiting for the gigantic hole in my wall to magically disappear. I am waiting for something entertaining and fun to happen. It occurs to me that, instead of waiting, I should likely take one of two courses of action: accept that sometimes there exists periods in one’s life where nothing is happening, but that it isn’t necessarily a bad thing; or go out and make the things that I want to happen, happen.
I’m leaning towards accepting that sometimes just being is enjoyable. I have never been able to just be. Also, from my dating experience, I have arrived at the conclusion that the important things cannot be forced, created or made to happen. They will either happen, or they won’t.
So I am back to entertaining myself. My mother told me that I have never been able to entertain myself. I’m not sure why this is. My brother would happily play for hours, stringing all of his Matchbox cars into a lengthy parade that wound through our living room and around the legs of our piano bench. He would make up songs and sing them while he did this. I, on the other hand, have memories stemming back to before Jay being born (I would have been four years old) that involve me trailing after my mother as she moved from one room in the house to the other. Why did I do this? This strange habit didn’t dwindle or fade with time. Sometimes, as a joke, Michael would get up from the couch in the living room and move into the bedroom. After five minutes I would wander in and ask what he was doing.
For a while I thought that this was some kind of flaw in my personality that I needed to change, which opens up a plethora of other questions, such as: if this facet of my personality has always existed, is it really a flaw, or is it just the way I am? Is preferring to be in the company of others over being in the company of oneself wrong? Perhaps I am the equivalent of a hyper-active border collie, which requires much attention and exercise or it goes batty. Other people are more like affable, easy going golden retrievers. Neither is wrong, they just are that way. It is what it is. (Oh, fun thing to do? If you’re ever on a date with someone that has their masters in philosophy, say “it is what it is”. Drives them apeshit.)
I think the conclusion is this: I am the way I am. The majority of the time I would rather being hanging out with a friend/friends, though I do enjoy some solitary pursuits. When things aren’t “happening” for me the way I would like, I have a tendency to try and force them, which I shouldn’t do, because things will “happen” on their own terms. So I will just keep on doing my thing, but I will try to accept that I can’t control every aspect of my life. Like nuns driving into me. Or, say, water jettisoning from my kitchen light fixture. I can’t control the weather, either. I could run faster though, but it’s harder so I choose not to. I could also do a better job controlling my weight, but food is tasty. Get in my belly. And the things that I wish I could do with other people I can do by myself. I can go to the cool coffee shop on 10th and read the paper… alone. I can go to movies on my own. I can hold my own hand, tell me that I’m beautiful, get me a little tipsy and get into my pants. Oh wait, I already do that.
Where’s the ball? Go get the ball! Go get it!!

Gibsons: the good, the bad and the ugly

I went to Gibsons with Po this weekend. I will confess that I was somewhat apprehensive given the forecast: buckets of rain. Plus, I was in a pretty big funk over my botched relationship with M still, and I guess I preferred the idea of sitting at home and obsessing about it, interspersed with bouts of beating myself up mentally, which would likely culminate in my arriving at the conclusion that I am worthless to society overall. At which point I would I would quaff copious amounts of wine and randomly ask people to marry me. Will you marry me? I knew that, for my mental health, I should get out of town for a while.
I picked Po up around 9:20 on Saturday morning: we were going to drive to Michael's place in North Van and then he was going to drop us off at the ferry and pick us up the next day. Why would he do this, you might ask. Yeah. No kidding. All ex-boyfriends do this, don't they? Anyways, Po and I were way early, so we grabbed some breakfast at a Starbucks near Michael's place and took notice at how everyone moves at a slower pace in Lower Lonsdale. I'm not knocking it at all. I had a recent experience at (one of the two) Starbucks in Kerrisdale whereby my coffee was spilled, it was so busy that we moved outside, and some ass hat felt it was his mission to ruin some poor barrista's life. He was upset because his cappuccino had been so hot that he'd had to "spit it on the floor". Wow, the coffee you ordered was hot? That's a real mind fuck. Don't the cups actually have a disclaimer on them? Anyways, that little trip to my local Starbucks practically ruined my morning by putting me in a bad mood. In North Van? Not so much. Everyone is relaxed and low key and kind of normal. There were many places to sit. People seemed to not be in a caffeine induced hurry. It took me a while to adjust to the slower pace of life: for a moment I thought that they were all involuntarily sedated or something.
We picked up Michael, made our way to the ferry and soon we were on our way. I bought a scone, it was actually pretty decent. We caught the bus to Gibsons which was only 20 minutes away, though for some reason I thought it would be an hour. I also thought we would have to fight to get on the bus. I really need to remember that not all places are like Vancouver, land of the harried individuals that are perpetually lining up for something.
Our "cabin" was awesome. It was probably eight or nine hundred square feet: two bedrooms, full bath and kitchen, huge living room, enclosed sundeck. Sweet. We put our feet up upon arriving and enjoyed the twenty minutes of sunshine that was available to us all weekend. Po had a glass of wine and then wanted to nap. No napping! There was the downtown core to explore! We had to go to Molly's Reach and indulge in some nostalgic Canadiana. We did this. It didn't take very long. Then we napped. Then we got up and watched "The Break Up". Those of you that know and love me know that I hate all things Hollywood. This was actually really good movie. For anyone that has ever made a comment to their significant other along the lines of "I want you to want to do the dishes": you should rent this movie. Then we went back to bed.
The next day it was absolutely pissing. Po made a comment that sitting in the enclosed sundeck was like being in a car wash. Yes, it was. It was still enjoyable to sit in this veritable car wash and gaze out at the harbour and not hear: ringing cell phones, car alarms, cars with ridiculous mufflers, or humanity in general. I hate humanity. Kidding. Kind of.
We wandered back into town to have breakfast at Molly's Reach. Popular place: we had to sit at the bar. The owner of the B&B said that he would give us a lift to the ferry later in the afternoon. I was pretty sure he was going to murder us and dump us in the ocean. We went to a coffee shop (where we would see a BC Ferries employee that would later turn up on the... BC Ferry that we were on) and mulled over the Globe and Mail. God, I love the Globe and Mail. Indulge me for a moment, but here are the articles I was happy to read: one about the addiction of email; one about architect Daniel Libeskind; and a column by my hero Rex Murphy about what an environmental midget Jay Leno is. I was soooo happy. And then I started to decide that I didn't want to return to Vancouver. I wanted to stay in Gibsons, live cheaply, take whatever job I can that will pay the bills, become involved in my community and be granted the opportunity to start over again. I started having a freakin' midlife crisis at Truffles in Gibsons at 1pm on a Sunday afternoon. I can't describe it as much more than that. I now have a bee in my bonnet. A big, angry, buzzing bee.
I want to take a break. I want to enjoy a slower pace. I don't want to worry about dating, relationships or my physical appearance. I want to develop relationships with other humans within my community. I don't want to meet people on line. I want to live in a place where people say hi when you pass them on the street. I want to have dinner parties and friends dropping over all the time, because that's what a social life is. I want to shovel my elderly neighbour's driveway. I want to write a book.
It is plausible that I can live this sort of lifestyle in Vancouver (tempered somewhat, obviously), but as great as Vancouver is, I don't think it is conducive to what I'm looking for. What am I looking for? Some kind of break. A natural pause. A sabbatical. I don't know.
I had a very, very illuminating time in Gibsons. Almost detrimentally so. What am I supposed to do now? I will drag my ass to work tomorrow. I will not discuss any of the light bulbs that went off in my head with any of my coworkers. I will stand in line at Tim Horton's. I will stand in line for the bus. I will get home as I always do at 5:45 and then I will run for an hour to maintain my level of fitness, but more importantly to exhaust myself so I don't have to think so much. I will say hi to my neighbours, whose names I don't know. I will continue to read my John Irving novel and love it, while hating and being envious of his skill. I think I'm in a holding pattern. I told my mom that I felt overwhelmingly depressed today. She said "well, you'll feel better tomorrow".
Michael spent the day with me today. He could tell that I was depressed. He didn't say it, but after being with me for six years he knew that I didn't want to be left alone. I didn't ask him to spend inordinate amounts of time with me, but he did. We walked throughout Coal Harbour and downtown Vancouver. I bought a book on Art Nouveau. I love Art Nouveau. I told him how stupid I felt about M and he said I am too hard on myself. He's right. I'm going to let it go now.
Here's what I want. I want to move to Gibsons, into a beater house, with Michael. Between working on my book and his architectural endeavors, we'll renovate and flip the house. We'll be on a first name basis with the staff at Molly's Reach. I can kayak on the weekends. Friends can come and visit us for the weekend and go away, amazed by how happy and relaxed we are. I'll put that on my to do list, which is thus far comprised of: taking my car for regular maintenance; sending post dated cheques to my new landlord; getting my British citizenship; buying a new couch; putting Po's art behind glass; running a half and a full marathon; cutting out carbs; reading more philosophy; writing a book....

Smashy, smashy!

Water no longer leaks from places it shouldn’t. Hurray! The new landlords will soon discover that I don’t have a rental contract in place and will probably evict me. Boo. One day at a time.
Looking forward to going to Gibsons with Po tomorrow. I think I shall drink and eat too much. I will enjoy the fact that our cabin will not have holes smashed in the drywall. I will enjoy not emailing people on POF, and Po and I will: discuss dating strategies; express puzzlement at our single status; decide we don’t need men; see some hot guys at a pub somewhere; totally fail to get up the courage to talk to them. Yay! I’m so glad the agenda has been all laid out. Laid. Huh….
The date last night was interesting. The guy has his masters in Philosophy. No wonder we chatted for three hours. He also didn’t kiss a girl until he was 28. Yep. I thought I had troubles with members of the opposite sex. 28! How is this possible? And for a guy, no less! We’ll see. If he calls, I will go out with him again. I’m ambivalent right now. Except the idea of seducing a highly educated, sexually inexperienced guy is somewhat intriguing.
That’s about the extent of it. That, and the fact that I haven’t been working out, have been eating too much, and I stored all my dirty dishes in the oven before I went to work today, so they won’t clutter the kitchen sink when the plumber is smashing things in that general vicinity. Smashy, smashy.

The locusts have been stayed

Here are the good things that happened today. The bus wasn't full on the way to work and I was able to read my new book, which I am really enjoying ("Until I Find You" by John Irving) without being unduly jostled. I had a capuccino this morning. I made tentative plans to go see JupiterGirl next weekend. I'm going to Sechelt with Po this weekend. I have a date tonight. I went for coffee with two (attractive, male) coworkers and they love me. They don't think we're "not on the same page" or have issues with how effectively I communicate. I'm having another good hair day. The property management company called to say the leak has been stopped, they will be turning the water off tomorrow during the day to do repairs. It's sunny. There was left over cake from yesterday's birthday celebrations in the fridge and I ate a significant amount of it. I talked to my dad (it's his birthday). It's Big D's birthday: Happy Birthday, old man! I had sushi for lunch.
So yeah, kind of blessed still.

Nor is water supposed to come from my kitchen light fixture

Roto Rooter came over last night at 11:30pm when water started coming out of the light fixture in my kitchen. Okay, I get it! I’ve been blessed for too long and karma is out to get me. Fine. How much longer is this going to go on? The Roto Rooter guy said that, to fix the problem, they would have to turn off the water in the building. The tenants need to be notified of that, so there was really nothing further he could do. I also knocked on the fellow’s door above me (I always thought a woman was living up there?) to let him know that Roto was coming. We kind of had a laugh that I had been living in the building for over five years and we’d never formally met. He was kind of cute. And tanned. The Roto guy bounced between our suites, ironically not really doing anything, mostly just looking puzzled a lot. I think I could be a plumber. So far this is what I think it takes: the ability to cut a hole in drywall; and the ability to look concerned. I could do that. Then my neighbor came down to chat with me and the Roto guy. It’s closing in on frickin’ midnight, I’m in a baseball hat and yoga pants, I’m exhausted, my place is a mess and it appears that another day will pass with the problem getting worse and not better. My neighbor said that, to alleviate my hardship, he would cook me dinner. I kind of gave a half laugh and he said, “I’m serious”. Okay. Bring it. I will eat your dinner. Then I will ask for more. And I will take your leftovers. Hmmm, we’ll see what develops there.
I then had a fitful sleep while I rehashed how I effed things up with M and listened to the steady stream of water dropping into a bucket. Yay! When do the locusts come? Spoke to my insurance agent who said they can’t put me up in a hotel unless my place is “unlivable”. What the hell is unlivable? It smells like damp drywall in my place, I can’t use my kitchen, and both of my garbage pails are currently filling with dirty water. Oh, that’s totally copacetic.
Okay, this afternoon? I went into the kitchen to eat my lunch but there were no forks. So what, you say. I have a freakin’ salad. A coworker suggested a knife/spoon endeavor. I told him to go fuck himself and that I was removing him from the payroll system. Just kidding. I laughed and did a soft shoe shuffle for him. Goddamnit.
I’m looking forward to my date tonight. I have huge bags under my eyes, I’m stressed and totally exhausted and he’s some bloody philosophical wunderkind. My contribution to the conversation will be a mix of “so, how are the crab cakes?” and “sorry, could you repeat that? You’re using too many syllables”. Then I will fall asleep at the table. Quite probably I will drool. When the waiter inadvertently dribbles some water while re-filling our glasses I will scream and cry. I’ll furtively whisper, “Do you smell that? It smells like damp drywall”. Awesome.
Thank you sir, may I have another.

I don't think water is supposed to come out of my kitchen cupboard, either

Okay. I think I might have blown it with M. This one's entirely on me. Feeling pretty much like a loser right now. Let's just leave it at that. If you ask me what happened I will tell you that I just couldn't handle his work schedule. That would be a bald-faced lie. Did I learn something out of all this? Yes, that I am retarded.
In other news, water is now coming out of my kitchen cupboard. A plumber came by today (hey, no worries: I only brought the issue up with the landlords on SATURDAY), but he was unable to get into the suite above me to fix the issue. Now I have a gaping hole in the drywall in my kitchen, all my glasses and cups are on the kitchen table, and water is dripping into a bucket. Classy! When I came home from work today there was a woman with her child in the lobby. As I climbed the stairs, distraught from a boring day at work, another failed attempt at romance, and dreading the water damage I might find when I entered my suite, the woman said to her kid, "look at that carpenter ant! Look how big it is!". So maybe we have carpenter ants too. I think my eye twitched a little.
You know what? Today fucking sucked. In addition to the leak in my kitchen, I missed my bus. Then, some woman at Arbutus and 30th refused to get OFF the bus which was so jam-packed with riders that it simply could not fit her on. The bus driver was actually yelling at her. She held us up for at least three or four minutes. Lady! The buses are ten minutes apart! People on the BUS were yelling at her to get off while I placed and received calls from the property management company and the building owner.
I spent my lunch hour getting a copy of my apartment keys made and delivering them to the property management company so that they could get into my suite (yeah, it's a new property management company because, uh, apparently our building was sold on May 1st). I'm not sure why I bothered, because the plumber didn't come until 7:20, when I had given up on him and was starting to do dishes (sans bra and resplendent with a bandana on my head). I really enjoyed the noise the saw made when he cut the big hole into the drywall.
The plus side? I had a really great hair day. Oh yeah, and I don't have cancer or thyroid problems. Seriously. I've been waiting on some test results and they finally came in today. I'm pretty happy about that.
Oh god. I'm not sure whether to laugh or cry. Mostly I've been laughing, so that's pretty good. I've deleted my profile from Lavalife. I have a date with a guy on Thursday night, after which I will be deleting my profile from POF. I spoke to him on the phone today and I think he's too esoteric for me. I should just show up wearing a frickin' baseball hat, confess my undying love for reality tv, Bryan Adams and Danielle Steele. The date will be a brief one. No. Perhaps I will sleep with him. He can be my last fling before utter abstinence. He might think the gaping hole in my kitchen is full of cavernous meaning and representative of the void in my heart. Or something. I'll say, "oh yes, tell me more about Sartre and the cold finality of industrial art" and then he will and I'll say, "right. Just take off your goddamn pants".
I'm not bitter. I'm sardonic and EDGY. I might also be slightly mouldy, but hopefully that shall be rectified tomorrow.
Okay. I'm done my rant. Was it good for you, too?

I don't think water is supposed to come out of my light socket

Otay. I didn't go to work on Friday. No sir. I spent a lot of time in bed, watched a movie and then went to the park to read a book and promptly fell asleep. Yep, Friday was a kick ass day. Friday night I met up with A and JupiterGirl, who is in town for the weekend. We hung out until around 12:30 at which point I had a rendezvous with M. Platonic! Yet I must say that it is very erotic when someone sidles up to you in the morning, buries their face in your neck to "take in your scent". Hot. Oh, and I got to see him sans shirt which was quite nice.
Then I went to my cousin's wedding which was good. During the actual wedding the guy administering it used the word "love" about 6,000 times and I leaned over and vomited into my purse. But it turned out not to be my purse and I feigned ignorance. Then we went to the reception where everyone was a couple and was beautiful and my date was my brother. Sweet. Yeah, even my nana and her husband were boogeying on the dance floor. It was at that point that I bid my farewell and bailed. I congratulated my aunt on her son's marriage and she encouraged me to stay, indicating that she could introduce me to some men but... yeah... I should've stayed.
Came home. Water is coming out of one of my light fixtures. Called the emergency number for the landlord and some guy for whom English is not a first language called back to try and assess the situation over the phone. I explained that no, water was not spraying out of the wall, but the problem had escalated from me hearing a dripping sound within the wall at around 2pm today, to water leaking out of the light switch at 11pm. Um, I don't know a whole lot about plumbing, but I do know that leaks don't "get better". Nevertheless, he said he would have a plumber give me a call tomorrow morning. Sweet.
I did talk to M this evening. He is heading to Whistler tomorrow but said he would call. I hope I get to see him a bit before he goes because he will be away for the long weekend. I'm kind of falling for the guy. I told him that I couldn't have children last night and it didn't scare him off. Or maybe it did and now we will begin the process whereby my phonecalls don't get returned.
I just want water to stop coming out of my light switch. And, well, I guess I'd like to see M without his shirt again.

No more t.v.

Last night, after managing to down four glasses of wine at the Beagle by 8:30pm, I returned home to find that Shaw has finally cut my cable. It's gone. No more t.v. And it only took them five and a half months to come and do it!
I don't really care. I gave up on Lost last week, right in the middle of an episode. I was sitting there watching it and I just went, "no, I cannot do this any longer", stood up and shut it off. A couple of people insinuated that I would be back, but I proved them wrong. And with weather like this? Wow. This girl is going to be spending a lot of evenings in the park reading.
And I will always fondly remember my last t.v. watching experience because it was with M. We held hands as we watched Family Guy and American Dad. Awwww... insert sappy Hallmark card and swelling violin music here.

Organic toothpaste is expensive

Friday night went as planned, with Po and N coming over for a little hen party. Po brought two whole beers with her. And drank one! I almost had to throw her out of the apartment for being so rowdy. It was a great night, except for the technical difficulty I encountered trying to order Chinese food. I never order Chinese food. I was even going to shell out extra to have them deliver, but no one answered! It was like I wasn't supposed to eat Chinese food that night or something. But I did. Twice.
I did sleep pretty late on Saturday which kicked ass. I'm a big fan of the sleep in. I am adept at the sleep in. M called (as promised) on Saturday, and we contemplated what to do for our date. We decided we would go for a walk at Spanish Banks. He picked me up in his cool Yaris and we listened to cool music as we drove down there. I think he came to get me around 3:30. We walked from the beach to the Naam on 4th and had dinner (it was around 6pm at this point). Then we walked back. Then he came back to my place. We chatted. Like until 2am. Yeah. Oh yeah. And he didn't get off easy with a hug, either.
Then I got a little mellow and decided it was a good idea to email Big D. Yeah. I think I saved a copy of that one to my sent folder, so I should definitely have a re-read of that puppy. Saw Big D today and asked if he had read the email. He was like "what email?". This, from the guy that tells me he's in apartment 401 so I buzz 401 and it rings and rings and no one answers. And then my phone rings and he's like "oh no wait, I totally live in apartment 402". Okay. Um, how is it you're not certain where you live? But that's okay. So anyways, he opens his inbox and clicks on my email and man is it lengthy. I'm sure it's chock full of totally incoherent ramblings that I felt were particularly important and/or illuminating at the time.
Nonetheless, we traipsed around Granville to meet up with Michael and discovered that there is a secret conspiracy to close down all the non-Starbucks coffee shops in the South Granville area. What the frick? We ended up at Big News or whatever it's called. The three of us had a nice chat and then Michael accompanied me furniture shopping and we found a really cool consignment shop called Fullhouse at Granville and 8th (?) that had lots of cool Danish modern furniture. I started to hyperventilate and fumble with my credit cards and had picked out a love seat, chairs and a whole new dining set when we decided we needed to calm our selves, so we went for beer and wings at the Cactus Club. Tried to get into good old Caffe Barney but there was a line up and, as usual, Michael was doing his pee dance.
After I dropped Michael off at a random intersection downtown and wished him luck, I did some grocery shopping and got gas. For my car. I filled my car with gas. Having not had to fill up for some time I was bracing myself for the damage: $37. I love my Civic.
Then I went home and returned the call from M... from like 6 hours ago. We chatted a bit. It was kind of stilted. He was like, "what are you doing tonight?" and I said I was going to lay low and rent a movie. I asked him what he was doing. He said he was contemplating changing positions on the couch and was also considering a movie. Then it was stilted some more and we said our goodbyes. So I went and did the dishes and thought, huh, this is really stupid. So I called him back and asked if anything important had occur ed in the last ten minutes. He indicated that he had changed positions on the couch and that the new position was working well. He said he might consider a further position change in the near future. Then I asked him if he would like to come over and watch The Squid and the Whale with me, even though he had seen me scant hours before and had already watched the movie. He said yes. I highly recommend this movie. Though not on a first date or to watch with parents. Er, yeah. A fourth date is fine though. After the movie we talked about sleep apnea, and the keyless entry and ignition system on the Prius. Hot. And I told him that I had bought organic toothpaste, broccoli and recycled toilet paper. Oh my god, it was so sexy.
Organic toothpaste is significantly more money than regular toothpaste. I anticipate that it will be worth it.

I get to have a donut today

I took advantage of the Canucks’ “do or die” game last night by going to the gym, which I knew would be pretty empty. I didn’t have to fight for a bench or share the tilty ab sit-up thing with anyone. That’s its official name, you know. The tilty ab sit-up thing. I impress men with my workout skills and knowledge when I point to certain pieces of equipment and say “are you done with the machine that makes you feel like you’ve been punched in the chest the next day if you overdo it?” or “can I work in with you on this thing that helps prevent your underarms from getting saggy like an old person’s?”. I have a slight fear that one day my feet will somehow become unhooked on the tilty ab sit-up thing (or TAST for short) and I will slide down it and knock myself unconscious. I have a lot of fears. Bears. Sharks. Power windows. I really didn’t want power windows when I bought my car. I wanted the roll down kind. My fear is that I will be trapped in a water-filled ditch somewhere and, because my car won’t start, I won’t be able to get my windows down in order to clamber out. This will mean I will have to kick the windshield out, which will require considerable leg strength. That’s why I do a lot of squats. And sometimes use the leg pushing machine.
Tonight a couple of friends are coming over. We’re going to dish about men. It will be saucy and salacious. I may make notes for my blog. I’ll be like, “wait, wait, what was that term you just used? He’s a what? An ass clown? No? Ass hat. Okay, got it. Please continue”.
Tomorrow morning I am going to sleep. And sleep and sleep. I may get up, return to bed with some tea and watch a movie. I am going to attempt to stay in bed until at least 11. Then I get to see M. We are going to do something that is weather dependent. We discussed a hike, but the forecast is now calling for rain. Perhaps the art gallery? Maybe Granville Island? I am a little excited and apprehensive. We had a really good chat on the phone on Tuesday, but last night’s talk was a little stilted. This was because he was on his dinner break and I didn’t want to launch into something lengthy or philosophical only to have him say, “wow that’s deep. Look, I gotta run”. So there is some pressure regarding tomorrow’s date because our last date was so totally awesome. I mean, it can’t really get much better than a movie, Indian food, dessert and cool music until 3:20am, can it? We’ll see. I can only bring my Cabbage Patch Kid grin and my bubbly personality to the table.
God. Today is going to drag. Looking forward to the donut though.

Yellow means caution

In addition to being hit by a nun while my car alarm was going off, I was also in another bus accident. Yes, that makes two bus accidents in the last six months. I am starting to think that I should just stay home and listen to all the cool new music I’ve downloaded while fretting about how scary the outside world is.
I caught the #22 home yesterday and everything seemed to be going quite well until we reached a pedestrian crosswalk shortly before Broadway and MacDonald. As I am quite the bus aficionado, I have picked up some quirks about drivers: sometimes they wave at each other; sometimes they jockey for position with each other; they almost always stop for pedestrians at crosswalks. As such, it was a bit surprising when the bus driver beeped his horn at a girl who was riding her bike across this particular crosswalk. I mean, come on, she wasn’t walking: she was riding her bike. It takes like what, seven seconds to motor across MacDonald? And the bus stop is right after the crosswalk, so he has to slow down and stop anyways. It was weird. I couldn’t see the whole thing because I was seated behind the line of sight of the driver, so my view was obstructed by that Plexiglas wall that has been installed so you can’t throw milkshakes at Transit employees. An older gentleman sitting near the front of the bus did say, “Why can’t you just stop?” after the driver beeped at the cyclist. I didn’t hear what the driver said. This was definitely foreshadowing of what was to come.
We cross Broadway and are heading up to 12th when the driver beeps yet again. And applies the brakes, I mean really applies the brakes and we’re starting to skid. The guy in front of me is semi-launched out of his seat and flailing for something to grab onto. I am pushing off of the seat in front of me because I don’t want to eat it and then… bang! We hit the car. It was a pretty solid connection. People are a bit dazed and confused and someone asks what happened and another person replies that the light was yellow, the driver tried to run it – anticipating that the BMW in front of us was going to run it too. Yeah, well the BMW came to a full stop. Then the driver said two things that pre-empted the mass exodus of riders from the bus: “this is the second time this week”; and (my favorite) “yellow means hurry up”. Um, wow. Yellow never means hurry up when you have a bus full of people and you are trying to cross 12th Avenue (which is a big intersection to cross) and there is a car in front of you.
Okay. So that was that. I really am a simple person. I like to spend time with friends and family. I like to listen to my music and read my books. I don’t want for much. I’d be happy if there were less silverfish in my apartment. Um, I wish I could eat healthier sometimes. And – oh yeah – I would just really love it if I could stop getting in bus and car accidents. It’s the little things, really…

Shiny objects

It appears that this M fellah is having an adverse impact on this girl's sleep. We exchanged a couple of emails during the day yesterday (I love emails from attractive men that exceed one paragraph) and he asked what the "cut-off" time for calling me was. First off, that's quite considerate and secondly, it shored up his earlier claim that he would indeed call me this week. I said my cut-off was 11 o'clock. For the record? My cut off is 10 o'clock. For him, I was willing to extend it a leetle...
Anyways, after I got home from work yesterday I went to London Drugs to get some decent speakers for my laptop, since I'm back into downloading cool music again (Thievery Corporation rocks, as does the Lost in Translation soundtrack). So there I was, with packaging and CDs (I was multitasking: downloading and ripping) scattered around me, grooving to Spoon and the JayHawks and my phone rings. It's him. I know this, because I have already assigned him a specific ring tone. I know, I know, that may be moving a little fast, but I have high hopes for this guy. Mostly because he is 6'1".
I answer. The conversation is rather stilted for the first five or ten minutes and I'm wondering if he felt an obligation to call and that's why, or if it's just a "hi, I'm just checking in" kind of call. Then we started talking about some real issues. Putting stuff out there. Comparing experiences. A small amount of painful extraction of childhood stuff. All good. Then we start on bottled water. Why do we drink bottled water (let me note that the only time I buy it is when I am dying of thirst and don't want juice or pop)? The water in Vancouver in notoriously clean. The empty water bottles are an environmental concern. There have been studies indicating that in some instances tap water is actually cleaner than bottled water. Caught up in the moment I say, "M, I don't think this is going to work. Clearly we have nothing in common," to which he replies, "You're right. I'm going to hang up now. I hate you."
It was great. We chatted a bit more and I had to beg off: it was 11:30! He told me he thought I was awesome. I said I would tentatively pencil him in for Saturday. He asked me to definitely pen him in for Saturday.
We said our goodnights, I hung up the phone: we had talked for an hour. For some reason I felt compelled to share this with someone so I called my parents. At 11:30. They were sleeping. I woke my dad up, and then my mom called back to make sure everything was okay. Yep. 11:30 is definitely past the cutoff.