Yeah. I mean, the impromptu convo with a fellow transit rider, joking with the bus driver, a pleasant conversation with a guy that works for the IRS (still reeling from that one), topped off by a totally illuminating and deep conversation over Indian food with Big D.
It was weird because a series of events transpired to keep us apart. I was so bagged when I got home that I considered calling our dinner off. Instead I went for a run (I am HARDCORE, baby). Then he was having car problems so we met a bit later. Then traffic came to an utter and dead stop on the Granville bridge while the cyclists that do their thang... well, did their thang. At least they were clothed this time. Something about naked men on bikes makes me shudder.
But eventually we arrived at the restaurant and just started laying all of our proverbial cards on the table. It appears that we are both hitting some touchstones at the same point in our lives and, though we knew we had a lot in common, it turns out that we really have a lot in common. Like I would start to explain something and he would just get this knowing look and I wouldn't need to finish it. So that was really cool. It's always great when people get you. I think he and I have a come a long way, have dealt with a lot of shit, and though we both realize that we have some work to do we also understand that we're pretty great people. And we're ready to share our greatness with the world. Not, like, naked riding a bike greatness, more like, I would like to bring someone breakfast in bed or text them at 2:17pm on a Tuesday to say, "I think you have the sexiest smile" greatness. And other such utter nonsense. Big D and I, we're romantics. We discussed how people sometimes view us as being corny but we steadfastly maintain that more corniness would make the world a better place.
Anyways. A super illuminating conversation that boosted my ego tremendously. Again, I am left to wonder why I seek validation from people that don't treat me well, while all around me I have this loving, supportive network of friends constantly jumping up and down on the sidelines for me and telling me I'm great, but I never listen to them. Yeah. I am great. Big D's great. And we're only going to get... like, greater.
I am so full of Indian food.
I am so glad I didn't have to see a naked bicyclist.
Friday, August 31, 2007
Welcome to the Vancouver real estate market
Just called on two one bedroom apartments and both have already been sold. Update your MLS listings people! This is going to sting. Is it wrong to pray for interest rate hikes and foreclosures?
And I just got off the phone with a guy from the IRS (regarding our New York office). Yeah, one of the nicest people I've spoken to in some time. Seriously. The Internal Revenue Agency. Who knew? He even said if I had trouble filling out the form to call him and he'd help me. Wow. Maybe they're working on managing their customers' experiences. Should get the sales team to pitch them our software...
And I just got off the phone with a guy from the IRS (regarding our New York office). Yeah, one of the nicest people I've spoken to in some time. Seriously. The Internal Revenue Agency. Who knew? He even said if I had trouble filling out the form to call him and he'd help me. Wow. Maybe they're working on managing their customers' experiences. Should get the sales team to pitch them our software...
Wrong way
I woke up at 4:30 this morning. I often wake up at 4:30 because I think that’s when my upstairs neighbour gets up and though he is quiet, it often doesn’t take much to rouse me. Normally I fall back to sleep but for some reason I decided to start thinking at 4:30am. Yeah, that’s when all the synapses are firing. Definitely some coherent thought processes at that time of morning.
Eventually I fell back to sleep, but needless to say I’m a bit bagged today. When I got to the bus stop I saw a woman that I see periodically who is always quite nice. Because my defenses were down and I didn’t have the strength to re-erect my reserved wall of apathy and disdain, I complimented her on her hair. We ended up having a twenty minute conversation. So my theory stands! People are nice. It’s good to talk to people you see often. I learned that she has a boyfriend that she met while on vacation in the Dominican Republic. He lives in Switzerland and is, ironically, a bus driver.
Anyways, because my mind was still a little muddled and I was only half paying attention when I boarded the bus I was holding my bus ticket the wrong way. You know when, after doing something repeatedly for a great length of time, you anticipate a certain response? Because this was what I was anticipating: step onto the bus, smile at the driver and wish him good morning as I insert the ticket into the ticket reader while he smiles back at me and wishes me a good morning. Followed by trying to quickly make it to the back of the bus before the driver pulls away abruptly, increasing my odds of being bounced of poles like a ping pong ball.
Instead, this is what happened. I start to extend my arm to put the ticket into the reader and the driver says, “wrong way”. In my mind it took about three minutes for this whole sequence of events to unfold, though in reality it was probably about two seconds. The first thing that registered was that those were not the right words. He was supposed to say “good morning”. That took one minute to process. Then I had to mull over the phrase “wrong way”. What was the wrong way? Were we going the wrong way? Had I put my shirt on inside out? I pondered this for what seemed to be another minute. Then it dawned on me, as I stuck my ticket into the reader: I was inserting the ticket the wrong way. Yes. My mind was quite evidently wading through treacle to reach this pinnacle of realizations. Hi. I’m Duder and I graduated with distinction in December. I look back at the bus driver in what feels like slow motion and then he says some more words which I have to recycle over and over like a rosary in my mind as I try to attach meaning to them, he smiles and says, “you should know better!”. I smile back and laugh because that’s about all I’m capable of. Halfway down the bus I think of about three great comebacks, but it’ll have to wait. Until I go the wrong way on some other Friday morning. Yawn.
Good morning, all!
Eventually I fell back to sleep, but needless to say I’m a bit bagged today. When I got to the bus stop I saw a woman that I see periodically who is always quite nice. Because my defenses were down and I didn’t have the strength to re-erect my reserved wall of apathy and disdain, I complimented her on her hair. We ended up having a twenty minute conversation. So my theory stands! People are nice. It’s good to talk to people you see often. I learned that she has a boyfriend that she met while on vacation in the Dominican Republic. He lives in Switzerland and is, ironically, a bus driver.
Anyways, because my mind was still a little muddled and I was only half paying attention when I boarded the bus I was holding my bus ticket the wrong way. You know when, after doing something repeatedly for a great length of time, you anticipate a certain response? Because this was what I was anticipating: step onto the bus, smile at the driver and wish him good morning as I insert the ticket into the ticket reader while he smiles back at me and wishes me a good morning. Followed by trying to quickly make it to the back of the bus before the driver pulls away abruptly, increasing my odds of being bounced of poles like a ping pong ball.
Instead, this is what happened. I start to extend my arm to put the ticket into the reader and the driver says, “wrong way”. In my mind it took about three minutes for this whole sequence of events to unfold, though in reality it was probably about two seconds. The first thing that registered was that those were not the right words. He was supposed to say “good morning”. That took one minute to process. Then I had to mull over the phrase “wrong way”. What was the wrong way? Were we going the wrong way? Had I put my shirt on inside out? I pondered this for what seemed to be another minute. Then it dawned on me, as I stuck my ticket into the reader: I was inserting the ticket the wrong way. Yes. My mind was quite evidently wading through treacle to reach this pinnacle of realizations. Hi. I’m Duder and I graduated with distinction in December. I look back at the bus driver in what feels like slow motion and then he says some more words which I have to recycle over and over like a rosary in my mind as I try to attach meaning to them, he smiles and says, “you should know better!”. I smile back and laugh because that’s about all I’m capable of. Halfway down the bus I think of about three great comebacks, but it’ll have to wait. Until I go the wrong way on some other Friday morning. Yawn.
Good morning, all!
Thursday, August 30, 2007
There's another runner
I have conquered the hills. Today was the last day that I had to haul my sorry ass up from 37th (and a half) to 32nd and Camosun. I had to do it ten times. I left my apartment at 5:45 and got home at 7:40. I didn't bring a watch so I wasn't sure how long I was out there for, but it sure felt long. And I got hungry, which I don't often do. After doing the math I calculated that my 10 hills (up and down) added up to 11 kilometres. Plus I ran three kilometres to get to the hill. And then three back. Well, I didn't run all the way. I walked a bit. And crawled a little. I think I passed out and napped briefly on someone's lawn until they turned the sprinklers on me. Bastards.
I passed a couple out for a walk with their daughter and dog a few times. The little girl said once, "there's a runner" as I ran past. Then about five minutes later as I breezed past again she said, "there's another runner!". Aw, little Suzie isn't going to be a member of MENSA now, is she. I'm kidding! Kids are cute. Why would she think that a runner would run up and down the same hill ten times? It's akin to when people ask me, "So why are you doing this?". I never have a clearly discernible answer. I'd say "for fun", but unless you're a masochist it's really not all that fun. I guess I do it because I can, because it's there, because I want to achieve it. Like the mythical tenth hill.
The last hill was very symbolic because it was my last hill of the day and because it was my last hill that I'll have to run during this training. I stood at the bottom for a long time, savoring the orangey sweetness of my Powerade and picking noseeums off my tank top. I looked up, up the hill and appreciated its undulating greatness. It daunted and challenged me. I was tired and my muscles were started to twitch - always a nice precursor to a mind blowing cramp. I listened to the tick-tick-tick of a nearby sprinkler, and the sound of tug moving along, somewhere down the Fraser River. I conjured up all sorts of fun memories of being told that I wasn't dedicated enough, I wasn't trying hard enough, I wasn't committed enough, I couldn't do it, of being dismissed. When I was sufficiently burning with vitriol I launched up the hill. I envisioned my heels digging into the concrete, I imagined myself digging into the hill and pulling myself up with my hands. I attacked it. I conquered it. When I arrived at the top I wanted to jump around and dance a bit, but there were a couple of guys nearby that were already concerned that I was a prime candidate for a heart attack. Instead, I did something that I haven't done for a long time while running: I smiled as I sauntered all the way back down the hill.
I passed a couple out for a walk with their daughter and dog a few times. The little girl said once, "there's a runner" as I ran past. Then about five minutes later as I breezed past again she said, "there's another runner!". Aw, little Suzie isn't going to be a member of MENSA now, is she. I'm kidding! Kids are cute. Why would she think that a runner would run up and down the same hill ten times? It's akin to when people ask me, "So why are you doing this?". I never have a clearly discernible answer. I'd say "for fun", but unless you're a masochist it's really not all that fun. I guess I do it because I can, because it's there, because I want to achieve it. Like the mythical tenth hill.
The last hill was very symbolic because it was my last hill of the day and because it was my last hill that I'll have to run during this training. I stood at the bottom for a long time, savoring the orangey sweetness of my Powerade and picking noseeums off my tank top. I looked up, up the hill and appreciated its undulating greatness. It daunted and challenged me. I was tired and my muscles were started to twitch - always a nice precursor to a mind blowing cramp. I listened to the tick-tick-tick of a nearby sprinkler, and the sound of tug moving along, somewhere down the Fraser River. I conjured up all sorts of fun memories of being told that I wasn't dedicated enough, I wasn't trying hard enough, I wasn't committed enough, I couldn't do it, of being dismissed. When I was sufficiently burning with vitriol I launched up the hill. I envisioned my heels digging into the concrete, I imagined myself digging into the hill and pulling myself up with my hands. I attacked it. I conquered it. When I arrived at the top I wanted to jump around and dance a bit, but there were a couple of guys nearby that were already concerned that I was a prime candidate for a heart attack. Instead, I did something that I haven't done for a long time while running: I smiled as I sauntered all the way back down the hill.
Is it Friday yet?
Cause I get to have curry with Big D on Friday night. This has been Duder's week of eating great meals with attractive men. Which will be subsequently followed by me spending an inordinate amount of time trying to get cat hair off my clothes this weekend.
I really have nothing exciting to report today. I have to run the hills that I was supposed to run last night tonight. Ten of them. And I'm tired. I bet a donut would help matters. Donuts are the answer to everything.
Oh, I do have one weird thing to report. The CEO of the company comes into my office today and starts with, "So, you're a woman,". I swivel around in my chair and look at him with an arched eyebrow. He looks a bit scared. Then he proceeds to ask me what kind of clothing items do I discuss when I'm out with my girlfriends. He's like, "Do you talk about jeans, or jewellery or?". Totally puzzled, I say, "Um, why?" to which he replies that the "why" isn't important. I ponder this and then say, "We don't really talk about clothes," and glance pointedly at my Rockport sandals, my capri pants and black blouse, all set off with the $4 necklace I got at Le Chateau. He replies, "Right. You're a BC girl". What does that mean? I think it's complimentary. I said, "I'm sure the Yaletown women talk about shoes and jeans-" at which point he cuts me off and throws out the name of some brand of jeans I've never heard of. I think the blank look on my face drove the point home: I'm not much of a fashionista. I mentioned sunglasses and purses. He went "Ah! Yes! Sunglasses. It will all be made clear to you soon" and then walked back into his office.
Weirdest conversation ever. Oh, except for the time he bumped into me by the elevators and asked me how the "man hunting" was going. That was frickin' awesome.
I really have nothing exciting to report today. I have to run the hills that I was supposed to run last night tonight. Ten of them. And I'm tired. I bet a donut would help matters. Donuts are the answer to everything.
Oh, I do have one weird thing to report. The CEO of the company comes into my office today and starts with, "So, you're a woman,". I swivel around in my chair and look at him with an arched eyebrow. He looks a bit scared. Then he proceeds to ask me what kind of clothing items do I discuss when I'm out with my girlfriends. He's like, "Do you talk about jeans, or jewellery or?". Totally puzzled, I say, "Um, why?" to which he replies that the "why" isn't important. I ponder this and then say, "We don't really talk about clothes," and glance pointedly at my Rockport sandals, my capri pants and black blouse, all set off with the $4 necklace I got at Le Chateau. He replies, "Right. You're a BC girl". What does that mean? I think it's complimentary. I said, "I'm sure the Yaletown women talk about shoes and jeans-" at which point he cuts me off and throws out the name of some brand of jeans I've never heard of. I think the blank look on my face drove the point home: I'm not much of a fashionista. I mentioned sunglasses and purses. He went "Ah! Yes! Sunglasses. It will all be made clear to you soon" and then walked back into his office.
Weirdest conversation ever. Oh, except for the time he bumped into me by the elevators and asked me how the "man hunting" was going. That was frickin' awesome.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Name that cut of meat
I'm not entirely sure what a pork loin is, but it's good. Especially when someone makes it for you. And then does the dishes. And then tells you that they enjoyed cooking for you. It's also good when they get what you were going for when you bought the black, hornrimmed glasses with rhinestones on them. I know I look hot, I just need other people to know it too.
Right.
Ahem.
Right.
Ahem.
Another couple of bus stories
I’ve been taking the bus to work for nine months now. Do anything for nine months and certain aspects of it will become familiar to you, like the young girl with the instrument case that waits for the bus at the stop just before 33rd: she always looks a bit lost and innocent. Or the woman my age (or maybe, sigh, a little younger) that rarely sits and, even when there is a seat available, always offers it to the person standing next to her. I wrote in my last blog about the woman that always covers her hair when it’s raining or windy outside. I think too that I’ve mentioned how strange it is to see the same people every day and the potential for interaction and camaraderie and kindliness is so great, and yet two minutes after the bus lurches into action we’ve all popped our headphones on and have slipped on our oversized sunglasses so that we don’t have to be coerced or cajoled into conversation with anyone, and we have that extra layer of insulation covering the proverbial gateways to our souls. I’m guilty of it as well. Being more friendly and engaging with fellow transit riders is on my to-do list: I’ve already won my bus driver over.
Dancing on the outskirts of intimacy and being part of these people’s early morning routines have allowed me a privileged glance into their lives. I see these people after they have left their apartments, their husbands and wives, their lovers and children and before they are enveloped in a tower with their coworkers, bosses and underlings. I see what they read, I get whiffs of the music they listen to, I notice the stain on their pants, their expensive perfume, their red-rimmed eyes. So today I shall share with you two stories, one happy and one sad. They all have unfolded on the fortuitous trip down Arbutus between 8 and 8:30am, Monday to Friday. Who needs cable?
Couple #1
I normally try to catch the bus as far south on Arbutus as I can in order to get a seat. Sometimes when I’m running late I catch it at one of the closer (and more popular) spots. This is where I came across the Asian couple. I would say they are in their early forties. They are both very pleasant and friendly looking people and of late have taken to smiling and nodding when I join them. She is very petite and cute. Sometimes she wears a beret and she has a smiling face. Her husband is tall and always well (though not expensively) dressed. He looks quite serene and together they struck me as a very intimate and contented couple. They would always try to sit next to one another on the bus, and they get off at the same stop downtown. I took to bypassing the double seats on the bus in the hopes that they would be able to sit together on the ride in. It was more than a little endearing to see this forty something couple shuffle seats to be close to one another when other passengers got off the bus.
But in the past month something has happened. They wait for the bus together, but there it ends. They no longer sit together. She listens to her MP3 player and when a seat comes free next to either of them, they do not gravitate towards one another. I can’t remember if he ever wore a wedding ring, but he isn’t wearing one now. It’s sad. I don’t know anything about them, but there is something heartbreaking in the way he sits, with perfect posture, on the bus, sans book, sans iPod, hands folded neatly in his lap with an expression that is meant to exude calmness, but only succeeds at a shoddy façade of inner contentedness. And still, they get off at the same stop, but whoever gets off first does not wait for the other. Once, a couple of weeks ago I did see them walking side by side. Perhaps this was before things became utterly irreconcilable, and though she never saw it, I could sense him wanting to place his hand on the gentle of her back as they walked down Seymour together. It was palpable and it made me sad.
Couple #2
This is probably a weekly occurrence, but because I never know whether I’m coming or going I can’t tell you which day it is. Nonetheless, on a regular basis there is a mentally challenged guy that rides the bus. He’s always happy, thanks the driver when he gets off and seems to have more social skills than most people (myself included). Less regularly a mentally handicapped woman gets on. The first few times she gave no indication that she knew the man. She too is very polite, engages in conversation with those around her, wishes them a good day (and uses their name) when she gets off the bus. I can tell, though, that she is a bit nervous about taking transit. She seems to get a little bit antsy when her stop comes up, as though she fears she might miss it. Last week she called something out to the mentally handicapped man, but I failed to catch the interaction. This week I caught it. Though he was sitting at the back of the bus, and though I don’t think that either had acknowledged the other’s presence, as we pulled near her stop she said, “Okay A-, can you-?” and he didn’t even need her to finish. He said, “Yes! There you go. Have a good day,” and pulled the chord for her. It was such a tender and considerate act, and it caught me quite off guard.
The point of all this? No point really. It’s just the veritable human drama that unfolds on a daily basis in front of me. It’s the subtle nuances that, if prodded, expose cracks and chasms between us. It’s the oft unseen and unnoticed niceties that make this world the most beautiful place to be.
Dancing on the outskirts of intimacy and being part of these people’s early morning routines have allowed me a privileged glance into their lives. I see these people after they have left their apartments, their husbands and wives, their lovers and children and before they are enveloped in a tower with their coworkers, bosses and underlings. I see what they read, I get whiffs of the music they listen to, I notice the stain on their pants, their expensive perfume, their red-rimmed eyes. So today I shall share with you two stories, one happy and one sad. They all have unfolded on the fortuitous trip down Arbutus between 8 and 8:30am, Monday to Friday. Who needs cable?
Couple #1
I normally try to catch the bus as far south on Arbutus as I can in order to get a seat. Sometimes when I’m running late I catch it at one of the closer (and more popular) spots. This is where I came across the Asian couple. I would say they are in their early forties. They are both very pleasant and friendly looking people and of late have taken to smiling and nodding when I join them. She is very petite and cute. Sometimes she wears a beret and she has a smiling face. Her husband is tall and always well (though not expensively) dressed. He looks quite serene and together they struck me as a very intimate and contented couple. They would always try to sit next to one another on the bus, and they get off at the same stop downtown. I took to bypassing the double seats on the bus in the hopes that they would be able to sit together on the ride in. It was more than a little endearing to see this forty something couple shuffle seats to be close to one another when other passengers got off the bus.
But in the past month something has happened. They wait for the bus together, but there it ends. They no longer sit together. She listens to her MP3 player and when a seat comes free next to either of them, they do not gravitate towards one another. I can’t remember if he ever wore a wedding ring, but he isn’t wearing one now. It’s sad. I don’t know anything about them, but there is something heartbreaking in the way he sits, with perfect posture, on the bus, sans book, sans iPod, hands folded neatly in his lap with an expression that is meant to exude calmness, but only succeeds at a shoddy façade of inner contentedness. And still, they get off at the same stop, but whoever gets off first does not wait for the other. Once, a couple of weeks ago I did see them walking side by side. Perhaps this was before things became utterly irreconcilable, and though she never saw it, I could sense him wanting to place his hand on the gentle of her back as they walked down Seymour together. It was palpable and it made me sad.
Couple #2
This is probably a weekly occurrence, but because I never know whether I’m coming or going I can’t tell you which day it is. Nonetheless, on a regular basis there is a mentally challenged guy that rides the bus. He’s always happy, thanks the driver when he gets off and seems to have more social skills than most people (myself included). Less regularly a mentally handicapped woman gets on. The first few times she gave no indication that she knew the man. She too is very polite, engages in conversation with those around her, wishes them a good day (and uses their name) when she gets off the bus. I can tell, though, that she is a bit nervous about taking transit. She seems to get a little bit antsy when her stop comes up, as though she fears she might miss it. Last week she called something out to the mentally handicapped man, but I failed to catch the interaction. This week I caught it. Though he was sitting at the back of the bus, and though I don’t think that either had acknowledged the other’s presence, as we pulled near her stop she said, “Okay A-, can you-?” and he didn’t even need her to finish. He said, “Yes! There you go. Have a good day,” and pulled the chord for her. It was such a tender and considerate act, and it caught me quite off guard.
The point of all this? No point really. It’s just the veritable human drama that unfolds on a daily basis in front of me. It’s the subtle nuances that, if prodded, expose cracks and chasms between us. It’s the oft unseen and unnoticed niceties that make this world the most beautiful place to be.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Not drinking and eating ox knuckles
C came over after work today. Like, right after work. Like, I had just put away the drug and sex paraphernalia and shoved the endangered animals that I like to pit against one another in a gory fight to the death under my bed, and my buzzer rang. Whew! That was close. I had been a little puzzled because it was 5 o'clock and was I supposed to make dinner or what, cause I like food. Well, he likely remembered the last time I cooked for him and so today he brought food! It was like Christmas at Duder's apartment. A hot man knocks on my door and has food for me. I thanked him kindly, took the food, gave him a fiver and closed the door. Oh.... he wanted to come in. Fine. Granted, a couple of the dishes were suspect. I think one was ox knuckles and another looked like it needed to be surgically implanted back into the small animal from whence it came, but I wasn't going to complain. Nor did I. My contribution was a cut up apple and some fig newtons. I. Am. Martha Friggin' Stewart.
I wasn't drinking because I was determined to get my 6k tempo run in after he left. He wasn't drinking because what little liver had survived his whirlwind UFC/Vegas trip he managed to finish off at the Cambie last night. His voice was a little gravelly and I don't think he shaved today. That's okay, neither did I.
We had a good chat about his upcoming trip to Alaska with his girlfriend (I recommend a stop in New Hazelton, and if you're in Kitimat stop in at MK Bay Marina and say hey to the manager (Richard) there, he and Michael's sister put us up for a few days back in the day). We talked about marriage and real estate. You know, small ticket items.
He mentioned he would be going to Cypress to do some assessment of the airport there. Me, being the worldly being that I am looked at him, puzzled. There's an airport on the mountain? Er, no. He meant Cypress, Greece. Right. I'm pretty sure he's going to need an assistant. That assistant should really be me. I can, you know, pitch in with my invaluable bookkeeping skills. Hanging on to receipts and compiling expense reports and such. What?? I've got Kelowna on the docket! And maybe Lasqueti again. Frick.
Ran my 6k in 29 minutes. Hooray! Now I am enjoying the wine that I could not enjoy with C and am checking out MLS because... I got pre-approved for my mortgage! Yep. Some big changes coming down the pipe. But, as I came home to my swanky pad with all my groovy lounge furniture and I reconciled my chequebook and saw the outstanding postdated rent cheques for a paltry $736 I realized I reallllly like it here, so I'm not in a huge hurry.
Cool. That's about it. In a really mellow mood. Listening to a little Blues Traveller. Will likely sprawl upon aforementioned lounge furniture in short order.
Good to be me. I just need another hot guy to knock on my door with dessert. Then my life would officially be perfect.
I wasn't drinking because I was determined to get my 6k tempo run in after he left. He wasn't drinking because what little liver had survived his whirlwind UFC/Vegas trip he managed to finish off at the Cambie last night. His voice was a little gravelly and I don't think he shaved today. That's okay, neither did I.
We had a good chat about his upcoming trip to Alaska with his girlfriend (I recommend a stop in New Hazelton, and if you're in Kitimat stop in at MK Bay Marina and say hey to the manager (Richard) there, he and Michael's sister put us up for a few days back in the day). We talked about marriage and real estate. You know, small ticket items.
He mentioned he would be going to Cypress to do some assessment of the airport there. Me, being the worldly being that I am looked at him, puzzled. There's an airport on the mountain? Er, no. He meant Cypress, Greece. Right. I'm pretty sure he's going to need an assistant. That assistant should really be me. I can, you know, pitch in with my invaluable bookkeeping skills. Hanging on to receipts and compiling expense reports and such. What?? I've got Kelowna on the docket! And maybe Lasqueti again. Frick.
Ran my 6k in 29 minutes. Hooray! Now I am enjoying the wine that I could not enjoy with C and am checking out MLS because... I got pre-approved for my mortgage! Yep. Some big changes coming down the pipe. But, as I came home to my swanky pad with all my groovy lounge furniture and I reconciled my chequebook and saw the outstanding postdated rent cheques for a paltry $736 I realized I reallllly like it here, so I'm not in a huge hurry.
Cool. That's about it. In a really mellow mood. Listening to a little Blues Traveller. Will likely sprawl upon aforementioned lounge furniture in short order.
Good to be me. I just need another hot guy to knock on my door with dessert. Then my life would officially be perfect.
Worst. Sushi. Ever.
I forgot my lunch today, and I just had the worst sushi that I have ever had the misfortune of experiencing from Sushi Express in Sinclair Centre. I knew I should’ve gone with A&W! I would bet my eyeteeth that the salmon in the salmon rolls came from a CAN. Canned salmon! We are like two blocks from the ocean, and I’m getting canned salmon! Okay, I’m done now. The silver lining to the cloud would be that I don’t have to make dinner: I can just eat the lunch I left at home this morning. I made it with love and tenderness, so I know it’s going to be good. I even put a little note in my lunch bag. It says, “Dear T-. You brighten my day immeasurably, and you look really cute in those cargo pants. Sometimes I prop myself up on one elbow just to watch you sleep. And I try on your underwear when you’re out with your friends. And I’ve cut some of your hair and fastened it to a voodoo doll that I pierce with flaming hot needles when you spend too much time with your friends and leave me to my own devices”. Jesus. I need to lighten up a little.
I get to look after Po’s cat this weekend. It appears that all my friends are leaving for the labour day weekend. N and Skyhammer are going to the Okanagan. Po and Steve are embarking on another road trip. Big D is spending some quality time with his family in Salmon Arm. I get to spend time with Kitty. I always knew it would come to this: me, alone, with a cat. I just always thought that it would be my cat. That’s okay. Who wants to go wine touring in the Okanagan anyways? Pshaw. What with the turning leaves, and the crisp chill to the air in the morning and the light fog, hovering, gauze-like around the perimeter of the lakes. Holding hands while walking along the lakeshore, turning to peer up into your lover’s face with smiling eyes and a nose and cheeks slightly reddened by the evening breeze. Dude. I get to play with a cat.
Um. If anyone makes it to Blasted Church, I’ll gladly reimburse you for a bottle of Hatfield’s Fuse. And I recommend dinner at the Hooded Merganser (for its wondrous trifecta of good food, excellent wine and beautiful architecture).
Meow.
I get to look after Po’s cat this weekend. It appears that all my friends are leaving for the labour day weekend. N and Skyhammer are going to the Okanagan. Po and Steve are embarking on another road trip. Big D is spending some quality time with his family in Salmon Arm. I get to spend time with Kitty. I always knew it would come to this: me, alone, with a cat. I just always thought that it would be my cat. That’s okay. Who wants to go wine touring in the Okanagan anyways? Pshaw. What with the turning leaves, and the crisp chill to the air in the morning and the light fog, hovering, gauze-like around the perimeter of the lakes. Holding hands while walking along the lakeshore, turning to peer up into your lover’s face with smiling eyes and a nose and cheeks slightly reddened by the evening breeze. Dude. I get to play with a cat.
Um. If anyone makes it to Blasted Church, I’ll gladly reimburse you for a bottle of Hatfield’s Fuse. And I recommend dinner at the Hooded Merganser (for its wondrous trifecta of good food, excellent wine and beautiful architecture).
Meow.
Monday, August 27, 2007
Lastly
I really don't like the Tom Petty song "Dancing at the Zombie Zoo". Also? I ate too much tofu tonight. It's more substantial than it looks.
That about does 'er. I think I shall retire for the eve.
That about does 'er. I think I shall retire for the eve.
Who wants to run around in circles with me tonight?
The same over-coffeeing situation occurs at Tim Horton's: it's not just a Starbucks thing. So I order my medium coffee and lone Timbit and I am now in possession of more coffee than I think it is possible to drink. But I will try hard. Yes. Hence the question: who wants to run around in circles with me tonight? It will be fast paced and dizzying. My enunciation will suffer and my gesticulations will be so wild that it will appear to those not in the know that I am attempting lift off.
Also, I picked up one of the two pairs of eyeglasses I ordered on Friday. I donned them en route to Tim's and noticed that men, from afar, were glancing/staring at me. I surreptitiously checked that I hadn't inadvertently tucked my skirt into my underwear before leaving the office building, thereby eliciting unwanted attention but no, my derriere was safely covered. I should wear glasses more often. It was quite a treat to be able to place an order at Tim's not because I had memorized their menu, but because for once I could see it. I wonder too, if I am to smile at one of these men, would they perhaps offer me a bit? Maybe if I do tuck my skirt into my underwear I can score a whole donut.
Things to contemplate, no doubt.
Also, I picked up one of the two pairs of eyeglasses I ordered on Friday. I donned them en route to Tim's and noticed that men, from afar, were glancing/staring at me. I surreptitiously checked that I hadn't inadvertently tucked my skirt into my underwear before leaving the office building, thereby eliciting unwanted attention but no, my derriere was safely covered. I should wear glasses more often. It was quite a treat to be able to place an order at Tim's not because I had memorized their menu, but because for once I could see it. I wonder too, if I am to smile at one of these men, would they perhaps offer me a bit? Maybe if I do tuck my skirt into my underwear I can score a whole donut.
Things to contemplate, no doubt.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
I think I'm going to throw up
Yeah. So I totally got up at 7am today and I was really tired (having gone to bed at 12:30 the night before) and it was cold and raining when I looked outside and I said to myself, Mabel, I said... no wait, that's a joke from the Simpsons. I said to myself, "I am going back to bed. I am not going to run today and that's okay". And then my inner voice (I am going to beat my inner voice to death) starts with "Well when are you going to get the 32.5 kilometres in? You can't do it on your own. You have a fat ass and no discipline. Green isn't your color. And you're a bad cook". What?? So I put myself in the shower and tried to alleviate the searing pain that is my back and neck and then dressed myself and went down to the Running Clinic, only to find that about half the people bailed this morning. Well I guess that makes me extra special. Or extra stupid. Not sure which.
Ran the allotted 32.5 kilometres which is now my longest run to date. Three cheers for Duder. Oh, forget it. I'm too tired to raise my arms above chest level. The run went really well. Don't ask me where we ran. Where didn't we run? I don't think we hit Seattle. Jesus. I feel good except for the stabbing pain and utter exhaustion.
Got home. Ate. Fell asleep on the couch (my new favourite past time, at which I have become most adept). Visited Michael for dinner. Sat on his deck in the sun and started to fall asleep again. Turns out that he accidentally ran close to 30 kilometres today, too. It's funny to think that one might "accidentally" do that, and yet it happens. To very naive people, apparently. Ate far too much at dinner. Then had a lot of dessert and I'm really, really full. If someone were to pick me up and shake me, all sorts of badness would occur.
Right. So I shall go to bed now. I would try and be more witty and engaging but, um, bite me. And if you don't like that answer, suck it.
Yeah. Harder. And a little to the left.
Ran the allotted 32.5 kilometres which is now my longest run to date. Three cheers for Duder. Oh, forget it. I'm too tired to raise my arms above chest level. The run went really well. Don't ask me where we ran. Where didn't we run? I don't think we hit Seattle. Jesus. I feel good except for the stabbing pain and utter exhaustion.
Got home. Ate. Fell asleep on the couch (my new favourite past time, at which I have become most adept). Visited Michael for dinner. Sat on his deck in the sun and started to fall asleep again. Turns out that he accidentally ran close to 30 kilometres today, too. It's funny to think that one might "accidentally" do that, and yet it happens. To very naive people, apparently. Ate far too much at dinner. Then had a lot of dessert and I'm really, really full. If someone were to pick me up and shake me, all sorts of badness would occur.
Right. So I shall go to bed now. I would try and be more witty and engaging but, um, bite me. And if you don't like that answer, suck it.
Yeah. Harder. And a little to the left.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
My dinner with robots
I tried to nap today, but Kerrisdale is experiencing "Kerrisdale Days" again, which means that a band started playing loudly (and rather badly) on the corner up from my pad, and a horse drawn carriage will periodically clip clop by and people peer in at me and get upset when they see me with my finger stuck up my nose. I did eat the other two pancakes, though.
Met up with N and Skyhammer to go to the Blue Rodeo concert. There was a brief snafu regarding pizza consumption. Skyhammer said it was nice to see me not drunk or in a noisy bar. I said, "who says I'm not drunk?". He indicated it would be interesting to see what I'm like under normal conditions. Well, under normal conditions I talk about donuts quite a bit so... there was that.
We got to Malkin Bowl and it was not raining! Also, there were no "in and out privileges" which I interpreted to mean that I wasn't allowed to have sex tonight. Hey look - it rang true! Also, they were really keen to confiscate everyone's umbrellas. The website said Blue Rodeo would play rain or shine. It rained earlier today so I brought my umbrella. I was told I could bring it in, but if I opened it (even if it was raining) they would confiscate it. I was like, "Right. But what about my in and out privileges? It's of some concern". Then I used a port-o-potty and, because it was placed on a slope, I really felt like it might tip over. Nobody seemed concerned when I articulated this to them.
An odd note: the couple behind us were fighting. The woman engaged in periodic crying jags while her partner tried to console her. Um, thanks for bringing that out to the concert. I often have found, when in the middle of an emotional and upsetting fight, that I'd really like to air it out in public to make the people around me uncomfortable. Plus? If you can't suck it up and get along while listening to Blue Rodeo (which has some of the more romantic lyrics of the many bands I listen to) then your relationship is doomed. You heard me: don't question it.
On the opposite end of the emotional spectrum was a young man that had dressed suspiciously like Johnny Depp in Pirates of the Carribean. He was probably in his early twenties, underfed, looked like he was either coming from or going to Lasqueti, and gave the coiffed and manicured Shaugnessy soccer mom a high five when she helpfully pointed out where he ought to be sitting. See, good music brings all types of people together. I bet soccer mom and Johnny Depp hooked up later. Now she's going to stick it her husband Biff and leave her two petulant, demanding children (Muffy and Dakota, of course) and she's trading in her hybrid Lexus for a shaggin' wagon.
Blue Rodeo was awesome. Like the Hip they just came out, said hey and started playing. We were in the 13th row so our seats were fantastic. Blue Rodeo sounded so good. They were at times really mellow and sometimes heavy and it was a most enjoyable and memorable concert. I felt myself tripping out a few times when one of the band members would go on a particularly long solo. And, like last night, everyone was in a really frickin' great mood. You know, it occurs to me that maybe my perception of the world around me has changed and it's really me that has created this alternate universe in which I think everything is glorious. Sweet!
As I'm sitting next to N, chilling to the music and the sky has cleared up and I'm feeling a little tired from my late Friday night, but a kind of mellow, easy-going tired I started thinking how great it was that I was able to be sitting with N and Skyhammer on this particular night, in this particular city, listening to this particular band. And I thought too that, though I was the proverbial fifth wheel that evening, I didn't feel like one. I enjoyed getting to know Skyhammer better and I felt it was a nice dynamic between the three of us and I was happy that N invited me. As I'm mulling this over, N says (apropos of nothing), "I'm really glad we're friends". It was kind of surreal. I said something obligatorily dismissive and sarcastic, but then confessed that I didn't really like her all that much. Ha! Kidding. I said that I was glad that we were friends too. And I am!
Now I am going to tell you about my favorite parts of the concert. Okay, the first was when they were singing "Lost Together" and they really took it down a few notches; minimal instruments, just kind of tripping along the solo part of the song before the lyrics "in the silence of this whispered night, I listen only to your breath, and in that moment of a shooting star, somehow it all makes sense" and, while the crowd had been rocking out a bit before everyone was totally still. At first I didn't notice it, but everyone was so captivated - sort of waiting with baited breath for the momentum to build again - that it was totally silent and people were not moving. And then when the lyrics were uttered it was sort of cataclysmic (and no, I wasn't drunk or stoned) and amazing.
I stood up and sang the lyrics to "Hasn't Hit Me Yet" because, well, the band didn't sing them at first. Everyone stood up and sang and normally I sit, arms crossed, and don't give in to the moment or let my facade of utter invincibility down, but I was totally in there. Sing it with me! "Hey, hey I guess it hasn't hit me yet, I fell this crack and I kind of lost my head, I stand transfixed before this streetlight, watching the snow fall on this cold, December night".
At the end, the band brought out the opening act and they sang "Four Strong Winds" (written by Ian Tyson and made famous by a lot of people like Neil Young and Johnny Cash). That was awesome. I stood up and sang that too. There was another song that was catchy, but it was about being touched inappropriately by God when you are trying to go about your daily business, and I just thought it was a bit odd.
Then it was over and we walked out of the park and it was decided that I should have a dinner party with robots. And that I need my own personal Jedi. N was facing a gruesome death vis a vis an exploding bladder. And that Skyhammer should send me the interesting picture he took tonight so I can post it on my blog (which he has, so I have now posted it. Wow, going back and editing earlier blogs is like time-travelling!). And that donuts are good for you. And then! More hugging! Hugs from N and Skyhammer. Even N commented that she could tell I was happy today. That's good because I am happy today! That's two days in a row! I suspect some of this exuberance shall fade at 8:30 tomorrow morning when I embark on my 32 kilometre run.
So that was my day. Pretty rad, eh?
Met up with N and Skyhammer to go to the Blue Rodeo concert. There was a brief snafu regarding pizza consumption. Skyhammer said it was nice to see me not drunk or in a noisy bar. I said, "who says I'm not drunk?". He indicated it would be interesting to see what I'm like under normal conditions. Well, under normal conditions I talk about donuts quite a bit so... there was that.
We got to Malkin Bowl and it was not raining! Also, there were no "in and out privileges" which I interpreted to mean that I wasn't allowed to have sex tonight. Hey look - it rang true! Also, they were really keen to confiscate everyone's umbrellas. The website said Blue Rodeo would play rain or shine. It rained earlier today so I brought my umbrella. I was told I could bring it in, but if I opened it (even if it was raining) they would confiscate it. I was like, "Right. But what about my in and out privileges? It's of some concern". Then I used a port-o-potty and, because it was placed on a slope, I really felt like it might tip over. Nobody seemed concerned when I articulated this to them.
An odd note: the couple behind us were fighting. The woman engaged in periodic crying jags while her partner tried to console her. Um, thanks for bringing that out to the concert. I often have found, when in the middle of an emotional and upsetting fight, that I'd really like to air it out in public to make the people around me uncomfortable. Plus? If you can't suck it up and get along while listening to Blue Rodeo (which has some of the more romantic lyrics of the many bands I listen to) then your relationship is doomed. You heard me: don't question it.
On the opposite end of the emotional spectrum was a young man that had dressed suspiciously like Johnny Depp in Pirates of the Carribean. He was probably in his early twenties, underfed, looked like he was either coming from or going to Lasqueti, and gave the coiffed and manicured Shaugnessy soccer mom a high five when she helpfully pointed out where he ought to be sitting. See, good music brings all types of people together. I bet soccer mom and Johnny Depp hooked up later. Now she's going to stick it her husband Biff and leave her two petulant, demanding children (Muffy and Dakota, of course) and she's trading in her hybrid Lexus for a shaggin' wagon.
Blue Rodeo was awesome. Like the Hip they just came out, said hey and started playing. We were in the 13th row so our seats were fantastic. Blue Rodeo sounded so good. They were at times really mellow and sometimes heavy and it was a most enjoyable and memorable concert. I felt myself tripping out a few times when one of the band members would go on a particularly long solo. And, like last night, everyone was in a really frickin' great mood. You know, it occurs to me that maybe my perception of the world around me has changed and it's really me that has created this alternate universe in which I think everything is glorious. Sweet!
As I'm sitting next to N, chilling to the music and the sky has cleared up and I'm feeling a little tired from my late Friday night, but a kind of mellow, easy-going tired I started thinking how great it was that I was able to be sitting with N and Skyhammer on this particular night, in this particular city, listening to this particular band. And I thought too that, though I was the proverbial fifth wheel that evening, I didn't feel like one. I enjoyed getting to know Skyhammer better and I felt it was a nice dynamic between the three of us and I was happy that N invited me. As I'm mulling this over, N says (apropos of nothing), "I'm really glad we're friends". It was kind of surreal. I said something obligatorily dismissive and sarcastic, but then confessed that I didn't really like her all that much. Ha! Kidding. I said that I was glad that we were friends too. And I am!
Now I am going to tell you about my favorite parts of the concert. Okay, the first was when they were singing "Lost Together" and they really took it down a few notches; minimal instruments, just kind of tripping along the solo part of the song before the lyrics "in the silence of this whispered night, I listen only to your breath, and in that moment of a shooting star, somehow it all makes sense" and, while the crowd had been rocking out a bit before everyone was totally still. At first I didn't notice it, but everyone was so captivated - sort of waiting with baited breath for the momentum to build again - that it was totally silent and people were not moving. And then when the lyrics were uttered it was sort of cataclysmic (and no, I wasn't drunk or stoned) and amazing.
I stood up and sang the lyrics to "Hasn't Hit Me Yet" because, well, the band didn't sing them at first. Everyone stood up and sang and normally I sit, arms crossed, and don't give in to the moment or let my facade of utter invincibility down, but I was totally in there. Sing it with me! "Hey, hey I guess it hasn't hit me yet, I fell this crack and I kind of lost my head, I stand transfixed before this streetlight, watching the snow fall on this cold, December night".
At the end, the band brought out the opening act and they sang "Four Strong Winds" (written by Ian Tyson and made famous by a lot of people like Neil Young and Johnny Cash). That was awesome. I stood up and sang that too. There was another song that was catchy, but it was about being touched inappropriately by God when you are trying to go about your daily business, and I just thought it was a bit odd.
Then it was over and we walked out of the park and it was decided that I should have a dinner party with robots. And that I need my own personal Jedi. N was facing a gruesome death vis a vis an exploding bladder. And that Skyhammer should send me the interesting picture he took tonight so I can post it on my blog (which he has, so I have now posted it. Wow, going back and editing earlier blogs is like time-travelling!). And that donuts are good for you. And then! More hugging! Hugs from N and Skyhammer. Even N commented that she could tell I was happy today. That's good because I am happy today! That's two days in a row! I suspect some of this exuberance shall fade at 8:30 tomorrow morning when I embark on my 32 kilometre run.
So that was my day. Pretty rad, eh?
Good, clean fun
When I was out with N and Po the other night N mentioned that she and Skyhammer were going to see a burlesque show on Friday and did I want to come. At the time I had plans, but they fell through on Friday. I let Typewriter know I was free if he wanted to do something and he said sure. Shortly thereafter he had a proposition for me: there was a burlesque show that some of his coworkers were going to, and would I be up for it. I guess I was really, really meant to go to the burlesque show.
So we went. Met some of Typewriter's coworkers, all of whom were very nice and one of their girlfriends was actually going to be performing. N and Skyhammer showed up and all had a great time. Okay, maybe no one else did: but I had a really good time! The show was fantastic, I am now a big fan of burlesque. It was sexy, empowering, liberating, erotic, fun, ribald, inventive and positive. The crowd was hugely supportive of the women and their many different routines and outfits. It was roughly what I had anticipated, though more fun, creative and engaging. I would totally go again.
My Friday night was sort of like the perfect storm. Everything just went really well, things seemed to go in the right direction, connections were made, I seem to remember laughing a lot and just really enjoying myself and the people that I was with. There didn't seem to be any missteps or negativity - everyone seemed to be in a good mood and it was contagious. I'm still suffering from it!
I slept well too. I'm tired though, so going to have a nap before the Blue Rodeo concert. When I wake up it's going to be sunny: right? Right? Random interjection: Jan Des Bouvrie's "Gare Du Nord Pablo's Blues" is playing right now and wow, it's really mellow and groovy and I think I am having a moment of utter bliss and contentment.
Plus I just had an egg and pancakes and I love pancakes. There are two left over. When I wake up, it's going to be sunny, I'm going to eat the other two pancakes and will likely continue to smile and be happy a lot.
So we went. Met some of Typewriter's coworkers, all of whom were very nice and one of their girlfriends was actually going to be performing. N and Skyhammer showed up and all had a great time. Okay, maybe no one else did: but I had a really good time! The show was fantastic, I am now a big fan of burlesque. It was sexy, empowering, liberating, erotic, fun, ribald, inventive and positive. The crowd was hugely supportive of the women and their many different routines and outfits. It was roughly what I had anticipated, though more fun, creative and engaging. I would totally go again.
My Friday night was sort of like the perfect storm. Everything just went really well, things seemed to go in the right direction, connections were made, I seem to remember laughing a lot and just really enjoying myself and the people that I was with. There didn't seem to be any missteps or negativity - everyone seemed to be in a good mood and it was contagious. I'm still suffering from it!
I slept well too. I'm tired though, so going to have a nap before the Blue Rodeo concert. When I wake up it's going to be sunny: right? Right? Random interjection: Jan Des Bouvrie's "Gare Du Nord Pablo's Blues" is playing right now and wow, it's really mellow and groovy and I think I am having a moment of utter bliss and contentment.
Plus I just had an egg and pancakes and I love pancakes. There are two left over. When I wake up, it's going to be sunny, I'm going to eat the other two pancakes and will likely continue to smile and be happy a lot.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
The Roxy. Yes, you read correctly.
Today went by rather quickly. Put in my time at work, had an appointment in East Van in the afternoon and made it down to Sip to meet up with Po and N at about six o'clock to have dinner before heading over to the Roxy. Yes, the Roxy. I will interject here that I have not been to the Roxy in at least five years, probably closer to ten, and I was going because it was a fundraiser for a girl that I work with who is raising money for Canuck Place. Terminally sick kids, people.
I hadn't seen Po and N in what seemed to be ages. They both looked great and within minutes I remembered why it is that I hook up with them so often: because we have so much in common, we're good listeners and we have a lot of shared experiences between us. We all had a little (okay, in my case it was a lot) of unburdening to do. We came to many conclusions: they lied about the desert prices at Sip; I could have walked away with a nice pair of Jones New York sunglasses, but did the honest thing and turned them in; and men and women are different and this difference is exacerbated by internet dating.
I will not speak for Po and N, but for me I can say that I have had some trust and intimacy issues lately: why now, at 30 am I reluctant to hold men's hands? Why do I shy away from affection and intimacy? I am normally an affection person and I enjoy intimacy, so WTF? And then Po hit the nail on the head with breathtaking precision: it's internet dating. My last (six year, healthy) relationship started when we met at work. The foundation was laid as we communicated in the workplace and built a relationship based on friendship and workplace camaraderie. I saw him interact with my coworkers and I got a feel for his personality and work ethic on a day to basis. I was able to start to trust and like him because I saw him on a daily basis and this allowed for a sense of closeness and intimacy to flourish. With internet dating you meet someone based on your likes/dislikes that have been entered into a database, and within two weeks you're expected to have this connection or closeness. But what is it based on? Normally it's based on trust, but how can you trust someone that heretofore was a complete stranger to you but two or three weeks ago? And therein lies the conundrum - for me, at least. It makes perfect sense. It takes me a while to get to know anyone. Even N said to me tonight that she was never sure if I was having fun because of the way I carry myself. I asked Po about it later on and she said that because of our history together she was able to read me fairly well. So, like all good things, it comes with time. I'm not weird. I just want to know your middle name and your favorite food and how many pets you had growing up before we hold hands and you kiss the back of my neck and affect some level of familiarity and intimacy with me. I am, by nature, an affectionate person capable of intimacy; I just want to make sure you're not a snake-oil salesman first, because I've met my fair share.
So we had dessert and then headed over to the Roxy. Oh. My. God. I don't even know where to begin. Let's start with the ape like fellow that a) ID'd us and then b) ran over our hot bods with a metal detector. And checked our purses. Okay. Whatever. Then, it was Hawaiian night inside. This meant that all the waitresses were half naked and were covered in fake tattoos. The fake tattoos matched their fake tits. What!? I felt old. And there were Corona signs everywhere and we were force fed Corona and I hate Corona. There was a cute boy in an Atari shirt. I'm a sucker for an Atari shirt. Dude, I had an Atari. So while we were contemplating whether to kill ourselves or do shooters, my coworker came over and commiserated with us. Then the band came on and yeah, it was a cover band, but they played music that I listen to (somewhat) and they were actually pretty decent. And our waitress. Wow. Quite a persistent lady. When Po and N declined drinks she came around three minutes later to ask if they were "sure". Oh, and within like six minutes of our arriving they asked if wanted shooters. Oh, to be 22 again. Did I mention I felt old?
Then - yes, it gets worse - they gave us Corona oriented marketing products and leis and I was like "for the sweet love of Jesus Christ, cannot you not just leave me alone to listen to this cover band while I drink beer that tastes like rat piss?". Did I mention the whole place smelled kind of musty? And a couple of guys tried to put the moves on Po and N when we first got there. And then other guys started taking their shirts off to get into the whole "beach" vibe. I didn't mind that so much...
Yeah. That was pretty much it. It was a long day. It was a good day. I love spending time with Po and N. I'm sure it will be another ten years before I get back to the Roxy, but it was an experience nonetheless, and one that I was happy to share with my friends.
I know I mention it a LOT, but my friends are the bomb. And I know that I can be hard to read and I really should have hugged both Po and N, but I'm still kind of new to the hugging thing, and I think my friends get that I love them to death and am so delighted that they would spend their Thursday night with me. At the musty Roxy. With leis.
Hey - who wants to get boob jobs this weekend?
I hadn't seen Po and N in what seemed to be ages. They both looked great and within minutes I remembered why it is that I hook up with them so often: because we have so much in common, we're good listeners and we have a lot of shared experiences between us. We all had a little (okay, in my case it was a lot) of unburdening to do. We came to many conclusions: they lied about the desert prices at Sip; I could have walked away with a nice pair of Jones New York sunglasses, but did the honest thing and turned them in; and men and women are different and this difference is exacerbated by internet dating.
I will not speak for Po and N, but for me I can say that I have had some trust and intimacy issues lately: why now, at 30 am I reluctant to hold men's hands? Why do I shy away from affection and intimacy? I am normally an affection person and I enjoy intimacy, so WTF? And then Po hit the nail on the head with breathtaking precision: it's internet dating. My last (six year, healthy) relationship started when we met at work. The foundation was laid as we communicated in the workplace and built a relationship based on friendship and workplace camaraderie. I saw him interact with my coworkers and I got a feel for his personality and work ethic on a day to basis. I was able to start to trust and like him because I saw him on a daily basis and this allowed for a sense of closeness and intimacy to flourish. With internet dating you meet someone based on your likes/dislikes that have been entered into a database, and within two weeks you're expected to have this connection or closeness. But what is it based on? Normally it's based on trust, but how can you trust someone that heretofore was a complete stranger to you but two or three weeks ago? And therein lies the conundrum - for me, at least. It makes perfect sense. It takes me a while to get to know anyone. Even N said to me tonight that she was never sure if I was having fun because of the way I carry myself. I asked Po about it later on and she said that because of our history together she was able to read me fairly well. So, like all good things, it comes with time. I'm not weird. I just want to know your middle name and your favorite food and how many pets you had growing up before we hold hands and you kiss the back of my neck and affect some level of familiarity and intimacy with me. I am, by nature, an affectionate person capable of intimacy; I just want to make sure you're not a snake-oil salesman first, because I've met my fair share.
So we had dessert and then headed over to the Roxy. Oh. My. God. I don't even know where to begin. Let's start with the ape like fellow that a) ID'd us and then b) ran over our hot bods with a metal detector. And checked our purses. Okay. Whatever. Then, it was Hawaiian night inside. This meant that all the waitresses were half naked and were covered in fake tattoos. The fake tattoos matched their fake tits. What!? I felt old. And there were Corona signs everywhere and we were force fed Corona and I hate Corona. There was a cute boy in an Atari shirt. I'm a sucker for an Atari shirt. Dude, I had an Atari. So while we were contemplating whether to kill ourselves or do shooters, my coworker came over and commiserated with us. Then the band came on and yeah, it was a cover band, but they played music that I listen to (somewhat) and they were actually pretty decent. And our waitress. Wow. Quite a persistent lady. When Po and N declined drinks she came around three minutes later to ask if they were "sure". Oh, and within like six minutes of our arriving they asked if wanted shooters. Oh, to be 22 again. Did I mention I felt old?
Then - yes, it gets worse - they gave us Corona oriented marketing products and leis and I was like "for the sweet love of Jesus Christ, cannot you not just leave me alone to listen to this cover band while I drink beer that tastes like rat piss?". Did I mention the whole place smelled kind of musty? And a couple of guys tried to put the moves on Po and N when we first got there. And then other guys started taking their shirts off to get into the whole "beach" vibe. I didn't mind that so much...
Yeah. That was pretty much it. It was a long day. It was a good day. I love spending time with Po and N. I'm sure it will be another ten years before I get back to the Roxy, but it was an experience nonetheless, and one that I was happy to share with my friends.
I know I mention it a LOT, but my friends are the bomb. And I know that I can be hard to read and I really should have hugged both Po and N, but I'm still kind of new to the hugging thing, and I think my friends get that I love them to death and am so delighted that they would spend their Thursday night with me. At the musty Roxy. With leis.
Hey - who wants to get boob jobs this weekend?
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Huh
Okay. I guess I'm ready now. No, no, that's incorrect. As my old bar buddy (it's like a war buddy, replete with dead soldiers vis a vis empty Kokanee bottles) Harry said when I would always announce that I was going to miss my next billiards shot "You need to think positive". Let me re-phrase myself: I am ready now.
I think it all started to come about with the hugging.
Frickin' touching. It's for hippies. Goddamn hippies.
I think it all started to come about with the hugging.
Frickin' touching. It's for hippies. Goddamn hippies.
This thing that is really good
I had a hankering for ice cream this afternoon. I mean, I hanker for a lot of things these days, but ice cream is something that I can safely indulge in on a Wednesday afternoon with my coworkers. As usual, I balked at the fat content and searched the nutritional values of various offerings at Starbucks and Tim Hortons. The "Orange Crème Frappuccino Light" at Starbucks called to me. For a tall it is only 140 calories with no fat (dig it!) and it provides you with 30% of your recommended daily calcium intake. Okay. I was sold. I started to head out and one of my coworkers chastised me for not having my travel mug (especially given that I'm on the Environmental Comittee). The old, angry Duder would have retrieved said mug and smacked him upside the head with it while screaming "recycle that, ya hippie!". But no, he caught me dead to rights so I went back and got the mug. Well, it was quite fortuitous that I did because I ended up with more of a grande than a tall cause they'll fill those suckers to the top. Basically, if you are ordering beet juice, don't bring the travel mug. If you are ordering something sweet and delicious (or, you know, a drink of some sort... ha ha) you should bring your large travel mug.
Okay. This Orange Frappuccino? So damn good. Yes, given the fact that I have typed out this blog in about 87 seconds it appears there is a fair amount of sugar involved, but still. Damn good. And bring your travel mug.
Luscious.
Okay. This Orange Frappuccino? So damn good. Yes, given the fact that I have typed out this blog in about 87 seconds it appears there is a fair amount of sugar involved, but still. Damn good. And bring your travel mug.
Luscious.
Biggest dilemma EVER
I accidentally broke a pair of my eyeglasses the other day. And yeah, they were pretty cool. And they cost me about $400. I snapped the arm off. Whatever. I still have a couple of other pairs, but one of them I just use to watch t.v. because they were the first pair of glasses I ever got and I became considerably blinder (more blind?) as time progressed (thank you, post secondary education).
So, because I am now a full time employee (yes, I totally consider my 35 hour work week full time) and am entitled to benefits, I think I shall buy some glasses. There is a place quite close to work and they have scads of glasses. Lots of plastic frames. I know a lot of people are all about the wire frames, or even the glasses without frames entirely, but I'm going the opposite direction. I want plastic frames. I think I might like a thick arm to my eyeglass. And I think I might like red. Or possibly black frames, but then the inside of the frames are red, or possibly lime green. Yeah, don't question it. Enjoy it. I ran this idea by my robot-liberating co-worker who, from time to time, shows up with a brilliant something (ie. rad frames, cool shoes, etc) and I used the terms "substantial" and "Lisa Loeb" in my attempts to describe what I was going for. He nodded agreeably and seemed to get a little excited when I threw "red" out there. Huh. I'm gonna do it. My mom is going to hate the new glasses, which means that I am going to love them. Love it. Don't ask questions: do it.
So I guess there really wasn't a dilemma. I've got it all under control. I'm pretty excited. And guess what else? When my hair gets a little longer? Yeah, I'm putting it in a rather severe pony tail and I will wear a crisp white blouse under a dark grey sweater vest - with jeans. Sweet. Okay, I'm boring myself with talk of clothing. Here is something substantial: W. Somerset Maugham's "Cakes and Ale" is so far quite fantastic. Interesting reading about the classism that existed in our not so distant past, though I am not sure whether he is serious when the protaganist (flashing back to memories of his youth) recollects (with horror) how a tradesperson addressed him by his Christian name whilst passing on the street, or if we are supposed to give a bemused smile at this youthful folly.
Alright. This day is sailing along smoothly. Cannot wait to meet up with JupiterGirl and co. tonight. Why do I have a feeling that I may be abandoning my car in the South Granville area and cabbing it home...
So, because I am now a full time employee (yes, I totally consider my 35 hour work week full time) and am entitled to benefits, I think I shall buy some glasses. There is a place quite close to work and they have scads of glasses. Lots of plastic frames. I know a lot of people are all about the wire frames, or even the glasses without frames entirely, but I'm going the opposite direction. I want plastic frames. I think I might like a thick arm to my eyeglass. And I think I might like red. Or possibly black frames, but then the inside of the frames are red, or possibly lime green. Yeah, don't question it. Enjoy it. I ran this idea by my robot-liberating co-worker who, from time to time, shows up with a brilliant something (ie. rad frames, cool shoes, etc) and I used the terms "substantial" and "Lisa Loeb" in my attempts to describe what I was going for. He nodded agreeably and seemed to get a little excited when I threw "red" out there. Huh. I'm gonna do it. My mom is going to hate the new glasses, which means that I am going to love them. Love it. Don't ask questions: do it.
So I guess there really wasn't a dilemma. I've got it all under control. I'm pretty excited. And guess what else? When my hair gets a little longer? Yeah, I'm putting it in a rather severe pony tail and I will wear a crisp white blouse under a dark grey sweater vest - with jeans. Sweet. Okay, I'm boring myself with talk of clothing. Here is something substantial: W. Somerset Maugham's "Cakes and Ale" is so far quite fantastic. Interesting reading about the classism that existed in our not so distant past, though I am not sure whether he is serious when the protaganist (flashing back to memories of his youth) recollects (with horror) how a tradesperson addressed him by his Christian name whilst passing on the street, or if we are supposed to give a bemused smile at this youthful folly.
Alright. This day is sailing along smoothly. Cannot wait to meet up with JupiterGirl and co. tonight. Why do I have a feeling that I may be abandoning my car in the South Granville area and cabbing it home...
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Come home and go to bed already
Last night I decided to go to bed early, at 10pm. I was kind of tired and my internet connection was slow so downloading porn was out of the question. Is she kidding, or isn't she? As I started drifting off to sleep I remembered that around 11 or 11:15 each night one of my neighbours comes home and, with heavy footfalls, trudges up the stairs to the floor above me. I tried to put this out of my mind, but it lingered. I looked at the clock and it was around 10:30. And so it began, my fight with myself to sleep, while not really wanting to sleep because I thought I would just be woken up in short order by my shuffling, elephant-like neighbour.
Which of my neighbours is this? It can't be the little old lady, because the footfalls are too heavy. I don't think it is my neighbour that was supposed to cook me dinner, because he mentioned he went to bed and rose very early. I think the painter that accidentally saw me naked once could be the culprit, and yet why would someone who paints houses be coming home so late? I'm not sure who else is up there, but I wish they would a) go to bed earlier or b) tip toe up the stairs. I think I should put a sign in the lobby. "Please tip toe up the stairs so as not to disturb others' beauty sleep". That would fly.
Today. Today is not going to be pleasant. I have to do hills on my own, since I will miss tomorrow's clinic. 9 hills. 9 insurmountable, painful and tiring hills. Bleh. But it's all worth it so that I can spend time with JupiterGirl tomorrow on her whirlwind trip to the big city.
Which of my neighbours is this? It can't be the little old lady, because the footfalls are too heavy. I don't think it is my neighbour that was supposed to cook me dinner, because he mentioned he went to bed and rose very early. I think the painter that accidentally saw me naked once could be the culprit, and yet why would someone who paints houses be coming home so late? I'm not sure who else is up there, but I wish they would a) go to bed earlier or b) tip toe up the stairs. I think I should put a sign in the lobby. "Please tip toe up the stairs so as not to disturb others' beauty sleep". That would fly.
Today. Today is not going to be pleasant. I have to do hills on my own, since I will miss tomorrow's clinic. 9 hills. 9 insurmountable, painful and tiring hills. Bleh. But it's all worth it so that I can spend time with JupiterGirl tomorrow on her whirlwind trip to the big city.
Monday, August 20, 2007
The song that is stuck in my head
I have the Tears for Fears song "Mad, Mad World" stuck in my head. I am further frustrated by the fact that I only know about three lines of the song, so it cycles over pretty quickly. This has happened before. I do not like it.
The thing that I ate yesterday (you know, it occurs to me that that is probably not a good way to start any sentence, but that's really neither here nor there) is called tapenade. Thank you, Typewriter. I believe it is Persian and I don't think it's bad for you, and if it is, well I guess I'll just start running 60+ kilometres a week so I can afford to ingest a little from time to time. It has olives and feta cheese in it and is damn tasty. Also tasty is Mt. Boucherie Semillon.
Let's see. The new chief of police issued a rather stupid statement regarding one of the eyewitnesses to last Monday's shooting at Granville and 16th. He indicated that he was frustrated that witnesses were speaking to the media before speaking with the police. The witness in question had apparently been on a bus and had seen the man being shot to death by police and likened the killing to an execution. Apparently the witness did call the police, but they had not returned his phone call. Regardless: why does one have to speak with the law before they give information publicly? This case is raising all sorts of ethical questions. It appears as though we have a case of extreme police brutality and there will be an investigation, but by whom? "Who cops all the cops?" to quote my beloved and handsome Gord Downie. And now we have a police chief expressing frustration that eyewitness accounts are in the media without first being run through the police, so they can no doubt but a certain "spin" on it. Ahhhh... this is why I don't have cable, but this case is just too much to walk away from.
Okay. Happy thoughts. I think I'll have a Timbit today. They make me pretty happy. Tonight I'm going to flake out on my new furniture, have a glass of wine and read the Georgia Straight. That'll make me pretty happy too.
The thing that I ate yesterday (you know, it occurs to me that that is probably not a good way to start any sentence, but that's really neither here nor there) is called tapenade. Thank you, Typewriter. I believe it is Persian and I don't think it's bad for you, and if it is, well I guess I'll just start running 60+ kilometres a week so I can afford to ingest a little from time to time. It has olives and feta cheese in it and is damn tasty. Also tasty is Mt. Boucherie Semillon.
Let's see. The new chief of police issued a rather stupid statement regarding one of the eyewitnesses to last Monday's shooting at Granville and 16th. He indicated that he was frustrated that witnesses were speaking to the media before speaking with the police. The witness in question had apparently been on a bus and had seen the man being shot to death by police and likened the killing to an execution. Apparently the witness did call the police, but they had not returned his phone call. Regardless: why does one have to speak with the law before they give information publicly? This case is raising all sorts of ethical questions. It appears as though we have a case of extreme police brutality and there will be an investigation, but by whom? "Who cops all the cops?" to quote my beloved and handsome Gord Downie. And now we have a police chief expressing frustration that eyewitness accounts are in the media without first being run through the police, so they can no doubt but a certain "spin" on it. Ahhhh... this is why I don't have cable, but this case is just too much to walk away from.
Okay. Happy thoughts. I think I'll have a Timbit today. They make me pretty happy. Tonight I'm going to flake out on my new furniture, have a glass of wine and read the Georgia Straight. That'll make me pretty happy too.
Sunday, August 19, 2007
What's 0.3 miles between friends?
It would've been so easy to go back to bed at 7:30 this morning. I actually slept until my alarm went off, looked outside and it was grey and a bit wet. Decided to grin and bear it and grinded through what was supposed to be 18 miles today. We ended up doing 17.7 miles, but you know what? Whatever. I more than made it up last weekend when we ran an extra three kilometres. Yeah, yeah, yeah, it was only an extra three kilometres: but tell me how much you want to run another fifteen minutes after you've run 29 kilometres. You really don't want to. No, you really want to go home and find some cabana boy named Miguel to rub those hammies for you.
Got home around noonish. Here's a good tip: don't grocery shop after running 29k. I bought every carbohydrate product that IGA had to offer. Drank a lot of water. Had some tea. Finished "The Accidental Tourist" which I highly recommend. A coworker said he had seen the movie and it was boring. I can see how that would be so. It's mostly a case study about a marriage gone bad after the death of a couple's son, and I don't think that would translate well in Hollywood, but the book was very, very good. A nice change of pace from "A Clockwork Orange".
Went over to see Typewriter. He had the exact same hummus that I had bought from IGA earlier in the day. Great minds think alike. He also had this other thing that was really good and unpronounceable (can you email me the name of that thing, it was SO good). We watched Donnie Darko which was awesome. I can't believe I hadn't seen it: it was one of the best movies I have seen in ages. And I didn't have to move for 90 minutes which made the whole experience extra lovely.
Yes. So now I am going to go to bed. Or possibly partake of a little herbage coupled with some Groove Salad while I reflect on how frickin' awesome my life is. Yeah. I'm blessed. I admit it. And now I shall leave you with a memorable quote from Donnie Darko:
[Donnie tries to kiss Gretchen and she pulls away]
Donnie: Well I-I, sorry I...
Gretchen: Donnie wait...
Donnie: I like you a lot...
Gretchen: I just want it to be... at a time when... it...
Donnie: When what?
Gretchen: When it reminds me just...
Donnie: When it reminds you of how beautiful the world can be?
Gretchen: Yeah... [turns her head]
Gretchen:... and right now there's some fat guy over there staring at us.
Got home around noonish. Here's a good tip: don't grocery shop after running 29k. I bought every carbohydrate product that IGA had to offer. Drank a lot of water. Had some tea. Finished "The Accidental Tourist" which I highly recommend. A coworker said he had seen the movie and it was boring. I can see how that would be so. It's mostly a case study about a marriage gone bad after the death of a couple's son, and I don't think that would translate well in Hollywood, but the book was very, very good. A nice change of pace from "A Clockwork Orange".
Went over to see Typewriter. He had the exact same hummus that I had bought from IGA earlier in the day. Great minds think alike. He also had this other thing that was really good and unpronounceable (can you email me the name of that thing, it was SO good). We watched Donnie Darko which was awesome. I can't believe I hadn't seen it: it was one of the best movies I have seen in ages. And I didn't have to move for 90 minutes which made the whole experience extra lovely.
Yes. So now I am going to go to bed. Or possibly partake of a little herbage coupled with some Groove Salad while I reflect on how frickin' awesome my life is. Yeah. I'm blessed. I admit it. And now I shall leave you with a memorable quote from Donnie Darko:
[Donnie tries to kiss Gretchen and she pulls away]
Donnie: Well I-I, sorry I...
Gretchen: Donnie wait...
Donnie: I like you a lot...
Gretchen: I just want it to be... at a time when... it...
Donnie: When what?
Gretchen: When it reminds me just...
Donnie: When it reminds you of how beautiful the world can be?
Gretchen: Yeah... [turns her head]
Gretchen:... and right now there's some fat guy over there staring at us.
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Sleeping is nice
I went to bed at 11pm last night and got up at 10am today. Ees nice. Got in a quick 6k and then Big D dropped over for some tea. We had all sorts of meaningful discussions. And we had fig newtons. I got two hugs. Yep, I think my friends like the new, huggy Duder. Then Michael dropped by and we all lounged around on my new, swank furniture while listening to my new, swank music. I think I may start wandering around my apartment in a burgundy velour smoking jacket, replete with pipe.
Michael and I went for Thai food and it was entertaining, as always, to see his face slowly redden as his taste buds discover that we have ordered the dishes with one red pepper symbol too many.
After a nice, low key, mellow day it was a bit of a shock to go downtown to drop him off at the seabus. Gangs of young men strutted about, people trolled in their cars, girls tottered down the street, precariously balanced on stiletto heels. It wasn't a good vibe. It was a fake, aggressive, urgent vibe. I can't knock it: I've done it. And in ten years when I have to venture downtown on a Saturday night I will see the same people, doing the same things. It's just weird. I guess it's a sign of the times: namely that I'm getting older. My Saturday night will be coming to an end soon. The hardest beverage I've had today was coffee and I have to go to bed shortly to get up at 7:30 so I can run 29k. Again. Apparently I learned nothing after the last run.
I think I'd like to start having dinner parties. That's something that people in their thirties do. Want to come to a dinner party? I'll start planning it. Right after my nap tomorrow.
Michael and I went for Thai food and it was entertaining, as always, to see his face slowly redden as his taste buds discover that we have ordered the dishes with one red pepper symbol too many.
After a nice, low key, mellow day it was a bit of a shock to go downtown to drop him off at the seabus. Gangs of young men strutted about, people trolled in their cars, girls tottered down the street, precariously balanced on stiletto heels. It wasn't a good vibe. It was a fake, aggressive, urgent vibe. I can't knock it: I've done it. And in ten years when I have to venture downtown on a Saturday night I will see the same people, doing the same things. It's just weird. I guess it's a sign of the times: namely that I'm getting older. My Saturday night will be coming to an end soon. The hardest beverage I've had today was coffee and I have to go to bed shortly to get up at 7:30 so I can run 29k. Again. Apparently I learned nothing after the last run.
I think I'd like to start having dinner parties. That's something that people in their thirties do. Want to come to a dinner party? I'll start planning it. Right after my nap tomorrow.
Friday, August 17, 2007
Random thoughts
I'm so happy it's Friday. Got a pretty balanced weekend filled with sleep, friends and running. Followed by more sleep. And possibly some napping.
Had an enjoyable lunch: a little whole wheat bow tie pasta with some red pepper, avocado and curry powder. Occasionally I make something edible! Who knew. I'm the next Martha Stewart. In that I've spent time in jail. Kidding.
Spoke to a grown man called "Bobby" on the phone today. I would think that, at some point, saying during high school when the hallways are rife with people wanting to stuff you in lockers and give you wedgies (well that was my experience anyways) you would drop the "y" and become Bob. Maybe Robert. My brother, dissatisfied with the lengthy "Jason" pared down to the nominal "Jay". But no, this man is called "Bobby" so I had to say, "Hi Bobby, thanks for returning my call". It was just all sorts of wrong.
I have some pretty wicked bad breath, so I'm going to go get some gum now. So don't try and kiss me until I get it. I know you want to, but you'll just have to wait.
Had an enjoyable lunch: a little whole wheat bow tie pasta with some red pepper, avocado and curry powder. Occasionally I make something edible! Who knew. I'm the next Martha Stewart. In that I've spent time in jail. Kidding.
Spoke to a grown man called "Bobby" on the phone today. I would think that, at some point, saying during high school when the hallways are rife with people wanting to stuff you in lockers and give you wedgies (well that was my experience anyways) you would drop the "y" and become Bob. Maybe Robert. My brother, dissatisfied with the lengthy "Jason" pared down to the nominal "Jay". But no, this man is called "Bobby" so I had to say, "Hi Bobby, thanks for returning my call". It was just all sorts of wrong.
I have some pretty wicked bad breath, so I'm going to go get some gum now. So don't try and kiss me until I get it. I know you want to, but you'll just have to wait.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Nesting
My furniture came today. Let the nesting begin. I had totally anticipated accomplishing the 10k that is scheduled for today, but I have been unpacking, setting up and piecing together stuff for almost two hours. I am a big fan of instant gratification.
Remind me, the next time I see you, to tell you how I was able to flip my old kitchen table (you know, the one that weighs about 100 pounds) on its side and remove its legs. It's all about cantilevering and leverage, baby.
So yep, it's all set up. I'm pretty happy. It's nice having kitchen chairs again. I'm glad the hole in my living room has been filled.
Okay. I'm starving and tired so here are some pics of the new kitchen table and chairs, the leather sectional piece I got, and the rocks I brought back from Lasqueti. What? I handpicked them myself. They rock. Get it?
Thanks. I'm here all week.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Oooh! Ooooh!
And Hootie and the Blowfish: Cracked Rearview Mirror. Yeah, I don't care who knows it. Me likee.
If you call, I will answer
Yep. So about the time when I was dozing on my bed and trying to will myself to get up at about 6:05 my running group was heading out because they meet at 6pm on Tuesdays, not 6:30. Yeah. I have this funny tendency to lose my mind when I'm tired. So I arrive at the Running Room at 6:30 and don't see any of my running mates. I ask, perplexed, "where is C's running group?" to which I am rewarded with a look of surprise and pity. I am informed that they left half an hour ago. There is a shortcut to get to the hill which I must summit eight times, so I book it. I fly down 4th avenue with my stupid water belt cinched around my waist as I curse my own stupidity and harken back to the time that I showed up at Kwantlen for my 7pm Auditing class. Which was at 4pm. Kick ass.
I reach the hill and see J and K who are just coming back down the hill. Panicked, I gasp "what hill are you on?" and they reply they're heading up for their second. Cool. Only one hill behind. So what do I do? Tired, exasperated from the quick run there? I decide to do all that I can do to try and catch up. To the fast group. At one point I was running with the clinic instructor and I think he was trying to see how fast I could go (I believe this was hill five). I don't think I've ever come closer to puking, and I now I understand what fish must feel like when they lay gasping their last breaths as they flip flop on the sun bleached dock after being mercilessly wrenched from the sea by a couple of kids with some fishing string and a hook on a stick. I apologize now to all the sea bass I caught and used as crab bait when I was ten.
Chatted with one of the Running Room guys (I saw him at Granville and Broadway on Sunday when I was out with Big D and I said hi, but he looked at me, blinking) and he said that I "looked amazing". Right, now I remember why I do this. Accolades from hot young men. I said, "I said hi to you, on Sunday night? Broadway and Granville?". He looked at me for a moment and then said, "yeah... people look different in their normal clothes". Yes. We don't always look beet-faced and disheveled. Sometimes we even look half-way decent.
Finished my eight hills in what had to be record time. Met another nice person on the jog back. Returned Big D's call on my way home. He made mention that I had been an inspiration to make some changes in his own life. I am infinitely flattered. I am so happy that we are able to speak so freely and that he looks at me with anything more than a bemused smirk.
Spoke to Michael, who is returning from his vacation tomorrow morning. I said I would pick him up from the airport. It's good to be helpful. I'm glad that I have this network of friends that I can help out occasionally, and who feel they can lean on me from time to time, cause I know I've leaned on them.
And then: the perfect end to the evening! Totally fried, I collapsed on my couch with a nice glass of wine, half an apple and some nice cheese. Reading "The Accidental Tourist". Listening to some good tunes. Who can be anything but mellow listening to Crowded House, the Barenaked Ladies, Dido and Lisa Loeb?
I love my life.
I reach the hill and see J and K who are just coming back down the hill. Panicked, I gasp "what hill are you on?" and they reply they're heading up for their second. Cool. Only one hill behind. So what do I do? Tired, exasperated from the quick run there? I decide to do all that I can do to try and catch up. To the fast group. At one point I was running with the clinic instructor and I think he was trying to see how fast I could go (I believe this was hill five). I don't think I've ever come closer to puking, and I now I understand what fish must feel like when they lay gasping their last breaths as they flip flop on the sun bleached dock after being mercilessly wrenched from the sea by a couple of kids with some fishing string and a hook on a stick. I apologize now to all the sea bass I caught and used as crab bait when I was ten.
Chatted with one of the Running Room guys (I saw him at Granville and Broadway on Sunday when I was out with Big D and I said hi, but he looked at me, blinking) and he said that I "looked amazing". Right, now I remember why I do this. Accolades from hot young men. I said, "I said hi to you, on Sunday night? Broadway and Granville?". He looked at me for a moment and then said, "yeah... people look different in their normal clothes". Yes. We don't always look beet-faced and disheveled. Sometimes we even look half-way decent.
Finished my eight hills in what had to be record time. Met another nice person on the jog back. Returned Big D's call on my way home. He made mention that I had been an inspiration to make some changes in his own life. I am infinitely flattered. I am so happy that we are able to speak so freely and that he looks at me with anything more than a bemused smirk.
Spoke to Michael, who is returning from his vacation tomorrow morning. I said I would pick him up from the airport. It's good to be helpful. I'm glad that I have this network of friends that I can help out occasionally, and who feel they can lean on me from time to time, cause I know I've leaned on them.
And then: the perfect end to the evening! Totally fried, I collapsed on my couch with a nice glass of wine, half an apple and some nice cheese. Reading "The Accidental Tourist". Listening to some good tunes. Who can be anything but mellow listening to Crowded House, the Barenaked Ladies, Dido and Lisa Loeb?
I love my life.
Awwwwww......
On a scale of 1 to 10, 10 represents how much I don't want to go the clinic now. I just fell asleep on my bed. Arghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
I'm going to bed at 8:30.
I'm going to bed at 8:30.
The silver lining
Okay, I remembered something chock full of heady goodness (props to anyone that got that reference) to share with you: me and another guy are putting together an Environmental Committee at work. We are going to do as much as we can to make our office eco-friendly.
That makes me smile.
I'm now enjoying my first cup of coffee and listening to Groove Salad on SomaFM and that makes me smile too.
Are you smiling? Come on, let's see it!
That makes me smile.
I'm now enjoying my first cup of coffee and listening to Groove Salad on SomaFM and that makes me smile too.
Are you smiling? Come on, let's see it!
Ultra violence
As many of you are aware I’m really working on this self-betterment thing. I don’t watch the news, I look for the silver lining, I listen to opposing opinions before soundly declaring them to be kife. I subscribe to the fact that people are inherently good and rational and that the media sensationalizes all things negative in order to keep us scared and confused. And then someone goes and gets shot on Granville and 16th.
This threw me for a loop for a couple of reasons: a) it’s not too far from where I live and b) I had been in the same location about 24 hours before.
I’ve seen some pretty shitty things in my life. I’ve seen children with limbs that had been broken and not re-set correctly selling roses and Chiclets in Mexico. I’ve seen a man so intoxicated in a bar that he leaned over, threw up on the floor, and then continued drinking. I’ve witnessed people clear out their children’s post secondary education fund to go on a cocaine induced binge. Our neighbors used to make their dog sleep outside in the snow, giving him only a board leaning against the fence as shelter. I’ve seen a bouncer take a semi-conscious man out of a nightclub, ram his head into a brass pole and then drop him on the ground in front of a line-up of people. But I’ve never seen a man killed, and in reading a couple of people's eyewitness accounts of what happened, I’m not sure I can say how I would react if I did see this most ultimate violence.
I wasn’t there. I didn’t see what happened and I understand that eyewitness accounts are often wildly varied because of the speed and emotion and shock of what’s happening. One description, though, relates to the police shooting this man on Granville Street in the back – twice – when he was already on the ground.
Given my liberal upbringing and my tendency to imbibe in things that perhaps Stephen Harper (the man whose idea of a great photo op is to shake hands with his elementary school aged son as a gesture of warmth and paternal affection) would prefer I didn’t, I have oft had issues with authority. I understand cops have a job to do. I sometimes wonder how quickly mankind would revert to its most basic and animalistic instincts (think the Dark Ages) should lawlessness abound. I have never personally been hassled by a police officer, and when I’ve had to deal with them they’ve always been friendly to me. I do know too that the call of duty beckons to a certain type of individual. Perhaps to someone who can’t wait to fire a handgun, for whom wielding power over others is some kind of turn on. It happens in the military. It happens when men rape women. I know this duality has influenced my perception of what might have happened on Monday night when a man was killed, so I actually won’t speak to that.
What I will speak to are some of the comments on the Globe and Mail site that went up after news of this was first published. Several people seemed quick to defend the police. Discussions were bandied about as to the appropriate level of force to be levied against a perpetrator. Others referred to the man (who had apparently been swinging a chain and had hit two police officers in the head with it, knocking one unconscious) as scum and inferred it was good riddance that he had been removed from our society. People wondered was a chain a “lethal weapon” or not? Parts of the dialogue were totally inane.
One person made a comment to the effect that this man was someone’s child, and that we did not know the series of events in his life that led to him trying to attack some police officers on a Monday night on Granville street.
Isn’t that odd? Isn’t that scary? One person comes up with this thought! I wasn’t on some right wing, Texan/Calgarian, gun-toting site: it was the Globe and Mail! It syncs up nicely given that I’ve just finished “A Clockwork Orange”, a book about ultra violence and how to “cure” it. I don’t know. There are several different tangents I could go off on right now, but I won’t. I don’t know the full story. I don’t know that we will ever be given unfettered access to the entire story. The whole thing, from this man’s death to the surmising, chest thumping comments left on the website yesterday are tragic.
At 8am I got on the bus and said good morning to my bus driver, who said good morning back to me. It’s a beautiful, sunny day. I’m looking forward to the clinic tonight, even if we have to do eight hills. If someone proposes beer and burgers after, I will go and endeavor to contribute more than sixteen words to the conversation.
Yessir. Trying to find a witty quip to end this post on a more positive note, but am coming up empty handed.
This threw me for a loop for a couple of reasons: a) it’s not too far from where I live and b) I had been in the same location about 24 hours before.
I’ve seen some pretty shitty things in my life. I’ve seen children with limbs that had been broken and not re-set correctly selling roses and Chiclets in Mexico. I’ve seen a man so intoxicated in a bar that he leaned over, threw up on the floor, and then continued drinking. I’ve witnessed people clear out their children’s post secondary education fund to go on a cocaine induced binge. Our neighbors used to make their dog sleep outside in the snow, giving him only a board leaning against the fence as shelter. I’ve seen a bouncer take a semi-conscious man out of a nightclub, ram his head into a brass pole and then drop him on the ground in front of a line-up of people. But I’ve never seen a man killed, and in reading a couple of people's eyewitness accounts of what happened, I’m not sure I can say how I would react if I did see this most ultimate violence.
I wasn’t there. I didn’t see what happened and I understand that eyewitness accounts are often wildly varied because of the speed and emotion and shock of what’s happening. One description, though, relates to the police shooting this man on Granville Street in the back – twice – when he was already on the ground.
Given my liberal upbringing and my tendency to imbibe in things that perhaps Stephen Harper (the man whose idea of a great photo op is to shake hands with his elementary school aged son as a gesture of warmth and paternal affection) would prefer I didn’t, I have oft had issues with authority. I understand cops have a job to do. I sometimes wonder how quickly mankind would revert to its most basic and animalistic instincts (think the Dark Ages) should lawlessness abound. I have never personally been hassled by a police officer, and when I’ve had to deal with them they’ve always been friendly to me. I do know too that the call of duty beckons to a certain type of individual. Perhaps to someone who can’t wait to fire a handgun, for whom wielding power over others is some kind of turn on. It happens in the military. It happens when men rape women. I know this duality has influenced my perception of what might have happened on Monday night when a man was killed, so I actually won’t speak to that.
What I will speak to are some of the comments on the Globe and Mail site that went up after news of this was first published. Several people seemed quick to defend the police. Discussions were bandied about as to the appropriate level of force to be levied against a perpetrator. Others referred to the man (who had apparently been swinging a chain and had hit two police officers in the head with it, knocking one unconscious) as scum and inferred it was good riddance that he had been removed from our society. People wondered was a chain a “lethal weapon” or not? Parts of the dialogue were totally inane.
One person made a comment to the effect that this man was someone’s child, and that we did not know the series of events in his life that led to him trying to attack some police officers on a Monday night on Granville street.
Isn’t that odd? Isn’t that scary? One person comes up with this thought! I wasn’t on some right wing, Texan/Calgarian, gun-toting site: it was the Globe and Mail! It syncs up nicely given that I’ve just finished “A Clockwork Orange”, a book about ultra violence and how to “cure” it. I don’t know. There are several different tangents I could go off on right now, but I won’t. I don’t know the full story. I don’t know that we will ever be given unfettered access to the entire story. The whole thing, from this man’s death to the surmising, chest thumping comments left on the website yesterday are tragic.
At 8am I got on the bus and said good morning to my bus driver, who said good morning back to me. It’s a beautiful, sunny day. I’m looking forward to the clinic tonight, even if we have to do eight hills. If someone proposes beer and burgers after, I will go and endeavor to contribute more than sixteen words to the conversation.
Yessir. Trying to find a witty quip to end this post on a more positive note, but am coming up empty handed.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
My furniture's coming, my furniture's coming!
Just got a voice mail from EQ3 to arrange a time for my furniture to be delivered! Hooray! Unfortunately now I will have two kitchen tables until my brother comes to pick the old one up. Maybe I can entice them to fight or something. Ultimate Table Fighting. And I still don’t have any kitchen chairs. You know, maybe I’m not so happy about the furniture coming, because clearly I’m not ready for it. I should really go chair shopping after work today. That is what I will do. Let it be so. I have much sitting to do tonight!
I just hope my brother comes soon, because I’ve got a new couch coming in 2 – 3 weeks as well. So that would mean two couches and two dining room tables for an indeterminate period of time. Oh my god what have I done…
I need to get a new bed too. I’ve found some nice beds actually, but they are the ones that have built in storage (you can lift the bed up and put stuff underneath). But then what do I do with my box spring? The lift-up beds have built in box springs and you simply put the mattress on top.
This is just overwhelming. It’s so much easier to have ratty crap. When people come over now, I’m going to say I have two of everything to cater to my split personality.
I just hope my brother comes soon, because I’ve got a new couch coming in 2 – 3 weeks as well. So that would mean two couches and two dining room tables for an indeterminate period of time. Oh my god what have I done…
I need to get a new bed too. I’ve found some nice beds actually, but they are the ones that have built in storage (you can lift the bed up and put stuff underneath). But then what do I do with my box spring? The lift-up beds have built in box springs and you simply put the mattress on top.
This is just overwhelming. It’s so much easier to have ratty crap. When people come over now, I’m going to say I have two of everything to cater to my split personality.
Monday, August 13, 2007
Oh! Sex is the answer to everything!
Ironically I did leave at 2pm. I was feeling pretty out of it for most of the day and I'm assuming this is attributable to some delayed reaction to yesterday's run. I must not have looked well when I asked the CFO if I could head home early because he wanted to call me a cab. Swell. Was in bed by 3:10 and slept til 5pm. Lay on the couch a lot and then ate a substantial amount of food. My best guess is that I didn't hydrate enough on Friday and Saturday. The beer and two glasses of wine after the run on Sunday probably didn't help matters. Lesson learned for next time. I'm feeling better now though. Please don't tell my mom, she'll make me drop out of the clinic...
Watched "Dinner with Friends". I was kind of hoping for some edgy, introspective and illuminating insight into the lives of people in the throes of long term marriages. Do you stick it out for the kids? What do you do when the passion wanes? Do you forgive someone if they cheat on you? What is cheating? Instead it was pretty trite. The Greg Kinnear character has an affair while still married to Toni Collette. Oh, but they have angry sex. You know what? I've been angry, I've yelled and screamed and clenched my fists in frustration and it never ended in angry sex. Angry sex is something that Hollywood created. I've had angry sleeping on the couch, and angry door slamming as someone leaves to go for a walk. And then the other couple (Dennis Quaid and Andy MacDowell) get all freaked out that their friends are divorcing and at the end, as they are sitting in their summer house in Martha's Vineyard (having driven up with their two boys in their Volvo), and he's in his late forties and undressing for bed looking like some kind of amazing athlete and she's looking like, um, a model because she is one and they're trying to figure out how to keep themselves from "getting lost" or whatever the vernacular was, and the sound of waves lapping against the beach is mingling with the chirping of crickets and wafting through the window they start to make love. That's how you don't "get lost". So sex is clearly the answer to everything. It really gives a whole new meaning to the term "fuck it".
In other funny news, I had conversation with a coworker about horses today. He indicated that they were very large animals. I concurred. He felt that riding them was akin to cruel and unusual punishment and didn't think it fair to our equine counterparts. I can't say I necessarily disagree. He said, "I mean, I wouldn't want to be ridden". And we just looked at each other for a moment. I should recommend this movie to him. I mean, fuck it, right?
Watched "Dinner with Friends". I was kind of hoping for some edgy, introspective and illuminating insight into the lives of people in the throes of long term marriages. Do you stick it out for the kids? What do you do when the passion wanes? Do you forgive someone if they cheat on you? What is cheating? Instead it was pretty trite. The Greg Kinnear character has an affair while still married to Toni Collette. Oh, but they have angry sex. You know what? I've been angry, I've yelled and screamed and clenched my fists in frustration and it never ended in angry sex. Angry sex is something that Hollywood created. I've had angry sleeping on the couch, and angry door slamming as someone leaves to go for a walk. And then the other couple (Dennis Quaid and Andy MacDowell) get all freaked out that their friends are divorcing and at the end, as they are sitting in their summer house in Martha's Vineyard (having driven up with their two boys in their Volvo), and he's in his late forties and undressing for bed looking like some kind of amazing athlete and she's looking like, um, a model because she is one and they're trying to figure out how to keep themselves from "getting lost" or whatever the vernacular was, and the sound of waves lapping against the beach is mingling with the chirping of crickets and wafting through the window they start to make love. That's how you don't "get lost". So sex is clearly the answer to everything. It really gives a whole new meaning to the term "fuck it".
In other funny news, I had conversation with a coworker about horses today. He indicated that they were very large animals. I concurred. He felt that riding them was akin to cruel and unusual punishment and didn't think it fair to our equine counterparts. I can't say I necessarily disagree. He said, "I mean, I wouldn't want to be ridden". And we just looked at each other for a moment. I should recommend this movie to him. I mean, fuck it, right?
When's the next stat holiday again?
Not a lot going on today. I think I shall cut out a bit early since a bank deposit needs to be made. I shall leave at 2pm: don’t question it! Yes. Bank deposits can definitely take 2 hours. Kidding. I’ll leave at 3:30. I could feasibly be lounging in the park, reading and/or dozing by 5pm.
Had a surprisingly good lunch of spinach, egg, avocado and Cajun Mix. I like crunchy things. Except Vector cereal can be too crunchy. That level of crunchiness is actually somewhat bothersome.
Um. Having a really good hair day. Decided to start parting it in the middle, which is a major lifestyle change for me. I think several of the local news feeds are picking up on this. I think it’s going to revolutionize the way I…. okay, whatever. I got nothin’.
Logged on to the Running Room website. I was under the impression that next Sunday we were dropping down to a 20k run. Apparently this is not the case: it’s 29k next Sunday and 32k the Sunday thereafter. Shit. That’s just really, really far.
Worst blog ever.
Had a surprisingly good lunch of spinach, egg, avocado and Cajun Mix. I like crunchy things. Except Vector cereal can be too crunchy. That level of crunchiness is actually somewhat bothersome.
Um. Having a really good hair day. Decided to start parting it in the middle, which is a major lifestyle change for me. I think several of the local news feeds are picking up on this. I think it’s going to revolutionize the way I…. okay, whatever. I got nothin’.
Logged on to the Running Room website. I was under the impression that next Sunday we were dropping down to a 20k run. Apparently this is not the case: it’s 29k next Sunday and 32k the Sunday thereafter. Shit. That’s just really, really far.
Worst blog ever.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
We didn't run 29 kilometres...
...there was some confusion regarding the route and we ended up running 32 kilometres instead. Bitchin'. Our pace leader announced that we had run 18 miles (what we were supposed to run) when we were at MacDonald and King Edward. I was like "Yay!" and then started to feverishly hope that someone would suggest hopping on the #22. No one did. We ran an extra two miles to get to the store.
Our route was pretty good. We started at the store at 4th and Alma, ran to the Burrard street bridge and then went under it, getting to the seawall. Ran along it to Science World. Ran back up to 16th Avenue and over to Arbutus and then down to Fraser River park which is, ironically, on the Fraser River. Which means like 75th Avenue. And then back to 4th. Easy breezy. I have never had such a delicious Powerbar as the one I wolfed down today. It was like manna from heaven. When we were running through the Kerrisdale area we were like two blocks from my apartment. I kept on thinking of my comfy bed, my cookies, my orange juice, but we pushed forward. Our total run time was 3:22. Yep, over three hours of gritty, grinding bliss. I still can't believe my body did it. Way to go body! Oh, it just flipped me the bird again.
Um, I'm having problems thinking straight. I'm a little tired. I should have a nap. Going out for dinner with Big D tonight. It's my turn to buy sushi which is good, because I think I will eat 64 pieces of it. They can just toss piece after piece in my general direction and I'll try and have it land in my gullet. Maybe I can bark like a seal and clap my hands to indicate my desire for another. Afterwards I am meeting Typewriter for a drink at ye old Caffe Barney, whereupon we will likely continue Friday night's introspective conversation and try to rally one another into believing that we will not die alone with cats eating our faces. It won't happen to me. I don't have cats.
Oh, speaking of eating - my upstairs neighbour has returned. Remember the guy that asked me for dinner three times? And then never sealed the deal and disappeared for a month? I was heading out for a run the other day and he was pulling in and he waved at me. So I waved back, slightly perplexed. Look, if some hot guy (and I'm not saying I'm necessarily hot, maybe luke warm, but definitely warmer than tepid or say, cool) below me had agreed to come over to my place for dinner, I would definitely get on that. Anyways, after my neighbour waves at me I think, "should I wait for him to park and go and say hi?" and then I thought no, he's got my number. He knows where I live. It's just weird. I can't wait to bump into him in the laundry room. I think I will pull up my shirt, rub my tummy and say, "I thought you were going to feed me?".
I have to go pull my laundry out of the dryer in half an hour. It's really painful to go down the stairs. Maybe I'll just slide on my bum or something. Or possibly I will "forget" it until tomorrow, when the lactic acid in my calves has subsided. I'm such a baby.
And such will conclude another brilliant weekend for yours truly.
Our route was pretty good. We started at the store at 4th and Alma, ran to the Burrard street bridge and then went under it, getting to the seawall. Ran along it to Science World. Ran back up to 16th Avenue and over to Arbutus and then down to Fraser River park which is, ironically, on the Fraser River. Which means like 75th Avenue. And then back to 4th. Easy breezy. I have never had such a delicious Powerbar as the one I wolfed down today. It was like manna from heaven. When we were running through the Kerrisdale area we were like two blocks from my apartment. I kept on thinking of my comfy bed, my cookies, my orange juice, but we pushed forward. Our total run time was 3:22. Yep, over three hours of gritty, grinding bliss. I still can't believe my body did it. Way to go body! Oh, it just flipped me the bird again.
Um, I'm having problems thinking straight. I'm a little tired. I should have a nap. Going out for dinner with Big D tonight. It's my turn to buy sushi which is good, because I think I will eat 64 pieces of it. They can just toss piece after piece in my general direction and I'll try and have it land in my gullet. Maybe I can bark like a seal and clap my hands to indicate my desire for another. Afterwards I am meeting Typewriter for a drink at ye old Caffe Barney, whereupon we will likely continue Friday night's introspective conversation and try to rally one another into believing that we will not die alone with cats eating our faces. It won't happen to me. I don't have cats.
Oh, speaking of eating - my upstairs neighbour has returned. Remember the guy that asked me for dinner three times? And then never sealed the deal and disappeared for a month? I was heading out for a run the other day and he was pulling in and he waved at me. So I waved back, slightly perplexed. Look, if some hot guy (and I'm not saying I'm necessarily hot, maybe luke warm, but definitely warmer than tepid or say, cool) below me had agreed to come over to my place for dinner, I would definitely get on that. Anyways, after my neighbour waves at me I think, "should I wait for him to park and go and say hi?" and then I thought no, he's got my number. He knows where I live. It's just weird. I can't wait to bump into him in the laundry room. I think I will pull up my shirt, rub my tummy and say, "I thought you were going to feed me?".
I have to go pull my laundry out of the dryer in half an hour. It's really painful to go down the stairs. Maybe I'll just slide on my bum or something. Or possibly I will "forget" it until tomorrow, when the lactic acid in my calves has subsided. I'm such a baby.
And such will conclude another brilliant weekend for yours truly.
I'd really rather not
Hey! Wake up! It's 7:35 on a Sunday morning. It's cold in my apartment. What the hell is that about? I had an alright sleep (consumption of the giant chocolate bar before bed was maybe not the smartest thing that I've done). I didn't run yesterday so in theory my body should be somewhat rested. Oh, it just flipped me the bird and is trying to go back to sleep. Stupid body.
I reckon this debacle should take three hours. Frick. It's a good thing we start around 8:30, because that means I won't be home til around noon. And if I attempt to be social and go for breakfast afterwards, it'll be closer to 1pm or 2pm. I don't think I will attempt to be social. I don't often feel particularly social when my face is grimy with all the salt that I've sweated out and my hair is plastered to my neck and I have managed to convince myself that members of the numerous bug swarms we ran through are undoubtedly adhered to my person. I should go though. It's the polite thing to do. I think last time I swatted away the invite with an "Arrr... I'm a hermit and don't like to talk much" and then scuttled away to my car and drove home.
Okay. I guess I should go now. Get dressed. Brush my teeth. Put liquid and food in my running belt (beer and cheesies, natch). Make sure my MSP and extended health plans are paid up. Mentally assess why I ever thought this would be a good idea.
Sweet.
I reckon this debacle should take three hours. Frick. It's a good thing we start around 8:30, because that means I won't be home til around noon. And if I attempt to be social and go for breakfast afterwards, it'll be closer to 1pm or 2pm. I don't think I will attempt to be social. I don't often feel particularly social when my face is grimy with all the salt that I've sweated out and my hair is plastered to my neck and I have managed to convince myself that members of the numerous bug swarms we ran through are undoubtedly adhered to my person. I should go though. It's the polite thing to do. I think last time I swatted away the invite with an "Arrr... I'm a hermit and don't like to talk much" and then scuttled away to my car and drove home.
Okay. I guess I should go now. Get dressed. Brush my teeth. Put liquid and food in my running belt (beer and cheesies, natch). Make sure my MSP and extended health plans are paid up. Mentally assess why I ever thought this would be a good idea.
Sweet.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
My saturday night out
Pretty mellow day. I've been reading "A Clockwork Orange". It's really odd. I think I'd like to see the movie, but it's super violent so I don't think I would be able to handle it. Yeah, it would be pretty much the antithesis of "Reality Bites".
I bought a very large chocolate bar today. I haven't eaten it yet. I really want to eat it, but I should probably do something to make myself deserved of such a glorious consumption of sugar and fat. Hey I know! I'll run 29 kilometres tomorrow. That'll do it.
Met up with M (the fellow that I had met on Lavalife earlier in the year) for dinner on Main Street. It was great, we went to East is East. We listened to the Indian version of "Stairway to Heaven" and discussed hot button topics like: when is spandex appropriate; Aqua Teen Hunger Force; and ass blisters. The food was fantastic. The company... tepid. Kidding! It was great to see him again. Nice, interesting and intelligent people are hard to come by. He gave me a hug. I love hugs. I am going to hug people more often. But not you. Specifically never you.
All in all a nice, low key day. It's good to have low key days sometimes. And it shall be an early evening for this kid, what with the early get up tomorrow morning. I'm not even thinking about it. I'm just not accepting the reality of this arduous self-imposed torture until everyone sets their digital watches and we run off into the grey morn.
"This Flight Tonight" by Joni Mitchell is great. Random interjection right there, I suppose. She has such a goddamn amazing voice.
I command you all to send sympathetic and encouraging thoughts in my general direction at 8:30 tomorrow morning.
I bought a very large chocolate bar today. I haven't eaten it yet. I really want to eat it, but I should probably do something to make myself deserved of such a glorious consumption of sugar and fat. Hey I know! I'll run 29 kilometres tomorrow. That'll do it.
Met up with M (the fellow that I had met on Lavalife earlier in the year) for dinner on Main Street. It was great, we went to East is East. We listened to the Indian version of "Stairway to Heaven" and discussed hot button topics like: when is spandex appropriate; Aqua Teen Hunger Force; and ass blisters. The food was fantastic. The company... tepid. Kidding! It was great to see him again. Nice, interesting and intelligent people are hard to come by. He gave me a hug. I love hugs. I am going to hug people more often. But not you. Specifically never you.
All in all a nice, low key day. It's good to have low key days sometimes. And it shall be an early evening for this kid, what with the early get up tomorrow morning. I'm not even thinking about it. I'm just not accepting the reality of this arduous self-imposed torture until everyone sets their digital watches and we run off into the grey morn.
"This Flight Tonight" by Joni Mitchell is great. Random interjection right there, I suppose. She has such a goddamn amazing voice.
I command you all to send sympathetic and encouraging thoughts in my general direction at 8:30 tomorrow morning.
My friday night alone
If you know me well, you know that I have a pretty hectic social schedule. Between running, family and friends I usually have something going on every night. Last night I couldn't find anyone to play with. I was left alone. I tore up the pillows on the couch and urinated on the carpet. I got into the garbage under the sink. I went and picked out some movies at Rogers and watched "Reality Bites" and drank too much wine. It was really good (the movie and the wine). Downloaded a bunch of kick ass music on iTunes.
Had a rather illuminating conversation with Typewriter. It was the most frank, honest and intimate conversation that we'd ever had. It was really good. We have a lot in common. I think we "get" each other. It's always nice to learn that you're not alone with your various pathologies.
I'm in a really good mood today. I'm going to clean my apartment. I'm not sure what I'm doing tonight, but that's okay, I'll have fun regardless. Happy happy joy joy. I might have a nap. I have to go to London Drugs to get Gatorade for tomorrow's 29k run. I'm trying to blot that out of my mind.
Had a rather illuminating conversation with Typewriter. It was the most frank, honest and intimate conversation that we'd ever had. It was really good. We have a lot in common. I think we "get" each other. It's always nice to learn that you're not alone with your various pathologies.
I'm in a really good mood today. I'm going to clean my apartment. I'm not sure what I'm doing tonight, but that's okay, I'll have fun regardless. Happy happy joy joy. I might have a nap. I have to go to London Drugs to get Gatorade for tomorrow's 29k run. I'm trying to blot that out of my mind.
Friday, August 10, 2007
Separate bills, please... please??
Today was the last day on the job for a couple of my coworkers. To toast them and bask in the warmth of their camaraderie one final time a gaggle of us went to lunch at Steamworks. Since there was 18 of us, the gentleman organizing the lunch suggested that we pre-order by fax. Do you see it brewing? Can you sense the debacle that was going to become our lunch hour (or lunch hour and a half)? Everyone diligently sends him their lunch order. He prints it out and faxes it to Steamworks (apparently they prefer fax, not email). Like the fucknut that keeps trying to fax my cell phone: stop it, ya fucknut! We all arrive down there at noon. I guess the first inkling of things going awry should’ve been that menus had been placed at all the seats. If we had pre-ordered, why did we need menus? But we all assumed it was an oversight. After our waiter filled up our water glasses, made a limp attempt to upsell some beer and essentially wrung his hands a lot, he wandered away. It eventually became clear that he was unaware that we had pre-ordered our lunch. He went to go and check, and said nothing had come through the fax. We all crack our menus and get ready to place our orders. Again. Then they find the fax! Hooray! But what was the point of pre-ordering, if the food prep hadn’t even begun. Do you get the irony here?
Anyways, enjoyed some good conversation with my coworkers. The food came and I ate everything on my plate (funny how running 38k over three days can make you hungry… and make your ass sore). Then comes the matter of the bill. Another coworker makes mention of having the bill split. This sends our waiter into a tizzy. My coworker presses him a little more firmly. The waiter says dubiously, “well, if that’s really what you want…” and sort of waits for us to pshaw him and say we’ll pay the lump sum. When we don’t do this he looks mildly panicked and then goes to see what he can do about it. Comes back and declares it cannot be done. We have asked too much! Clearly the POS system is far to advanced for him and given that the gratuity has already been factored in he no longer feels the need to be any sort of assistance to us. Bravo! The other thing that kept on happening throughout this ordeal was that our waiter constantly looked like we had insulted him or something. He would get this pained look on his face like his feelings were hurt, or like he had bad gas, and look quite flummoxed. It was really weird.
I think we’ve all been there when four or six or even eight people get together for dinner and somehow not enough money lands in the communal pot so people that shouldn’t have to end up paying more than their fair share. Now we were going to have to do this with 18 people, with gratuity already factored in at 15%? Super. People start pulling out cash and credit cards and amassing the funds to wipe out the tab. The waiter comes back and his mind is absolutely blown when he learns that people wish to pay separately. It was surreal. This guy wasn’t 19 and green. He was in his mid-twenties, working the lunch hour rush at Steamworks: a popular work and tourist destination downtown. As one of us put it, “is he from another planet?”. As the gentleman who has requested separate bills in the first place put it, “What, I’m going to put a $300 fucking tab on my credit card?”. Amen, brothers.
Our waiter collects the various credit cards and people shout random numbers at him and he goes to run them through. I think, after he took them and left, I saw him crying behind some kegs of beer in the back room. Meanwhile, we all placed bets at how badly he would bungle the credit card charges. Miraculously, he managed to run them all through successfully, though his hands were shaking and his breath smelled of alcohol upon his return.
That was my lunch hour that was ninety minutes. It was fun. And now I’m sleepy because I ate too much. I should go get a coffee. And a donut.
Anyways, enjoyed some good conversation with my coworkers. The food came and I ate everything on my plate (funny how running 38k over three days can make you hungry… and make your ass sore). Then comes the matter of the bill. Another coworker makes mention of having the bill split. This sends our waiter into a tizzy. My coworker presses him a little more firmly. The waiter says dubiously, “well, if that’s really what you want…” and sort of waits for us to pshaw him and say we’ll pay the lump sum. When we don’t do this he looks mildly panicked and then goes to see what he can do about it. Comes back and declares it cannot be done. We have asked too much! Clearly the POS system is far to advanced for him and given that the gratuity has already been factored in he no longer feels the need to be any sort of assistance to us. Bravo! The other thing that kept on happening throughout this ordeal was that our waiter constantly looked like we had insulted him or something. He would get this pained look on his face like his feelings were hurt, or like he had bad gas, and look quite flummoxed. It was really weird.
I think we’ve all been there when four or six or even eight people get together for dinner and somehow not enough money lands in the communal pot so people that shouldn’t have to end up paying more than their fair share. Now we were going to have to do this with 18 people, with gratuity already factored in at 15%? Super. People start pulling out cash and credit cards and amassing the funds to wipe out the tab. The waiter comes back and his mind is absolutely blown when he learns that people wish to pay separately. It was surreal. This guy wasn’t 19 and green. He was in his mid-twenties, working the lunch hour rush at Steamworks: a popular work and tourist destination downtown. As one of us put it, “is he from another planet?”. As the gentleman who has requested separate bills in the first place put it, “What, I’m going to put a $300 fucking tab on my credit card?”. Amen, brothers.
Our waiter collects the various credit cards and people shout random numbers at him and he goes to run them through. I think, after he took them and left, I saw him crying behind some kegs of beer in the back room. Meanwhile, we all placed bets at how badly he would bungle the credit card charges. Miraculously, he managed to run them all through successfully, though his hands were shaking and his breath smelled of alcohol upon his return.
That was my lunch hour that was ninety minutes. It was fun. And now I’m sleepy because I ate too much. I should go get a coffee. And a donut.
Thursday, August 9, 2007
Cadence
You know it's a bad sign when, as you're driving to your running clinic, you're thinking of noble excuses as to why you missed the last three meets. Somehow I don't think the truth would've cut it: I felt anti-social; I was hungover; and for the last one I missed (hills) I was suffering from exhaustion and thought it would be better to pass out alone, than to embarrass myself in front of my fellow runners. So I had my excuse all lined up: I was going to blame it on work. But then I thought, what would've kept me away from the Sunday run? A bookkeeping emergency? I started to get anxious, seeing their beady little eyes assessing me silently, judging my lack of commitment, critiquing my social reservedness. When I showed up they were like, "hey, how are you?". That was pretty much it. Sweet.
A guest speaker talked to us about the bio mechanics of running. He was hot. I paid rapt attention. I was like, "Tell me again about plantar fasciitis? Ah, I see. Can you show us the plank position again? Nice. I think I could understand it better if you took your shirt off". In all seriousness, we learned some really valuable stuff which was great. Apparently I need to improve my "cadence". Whatever the hell that means. My instructor was like "you're too slow" and then when he left us to go run with someone else he said, "increase your cadence, T-!". I felt like I was six years old. Dude, I was in the fast group today. What do you want? Frickin' miracles?
Speaking of miracles, the two people I ran with were working on their PHDs in I have no idea what, but it sounded infinitely complicated and very important. It was in the health care field. They were like, "Yeah, my thesis was on affordable drug care in underdeveloped countries and to put myself through school I've given away all my worldly possessions and I give blood every week and I have sixteen thousand kittens because I just can't leave them at the SPCA and I spend every Saturday night rubbing the bunions on my 96 year old grandmother's feet". I was like, "I'm a bookkeeper. The world cannot function without bookkeepers. I volunteered at the SPCA once. To meet guys. Do you want to go out drinking after this?". Cadence, Duder, cadence!
All jesting aside, I totally love my running group. Everyone is so encouraging of one another. We wave and say nice things as we pass (okay, maybe I say vulgar and insulting things, but I'm new to the whole running group thing) and we're all there for the same reason: to get that damn bio mechanical doctor's phone number. Oh... I jest.
What else. Going out for drinks with L tomorrow night, sans husband. She's just returned from Newfoundland so we are gonna get all tore up. Seriously, my running instructor recommended it. He said, "do your partying on Friday night because we're running..." and I stopped listening after "do your partying on Friday night". Something big is happening on Sunday morning. I just can't remember what. It might have to do with cadence...
A guest speaker talked to us about the bio mechanics of running. He was hot. I paid rapt attention. I was like, "Tell me again about plantar fasciitis? Ah, I see. Can you show us the plank position again? Nice. I think I could understand it better if you took your shirt off". In all seriousness, we learned some really valuable stuff which was great. Apparently I need to improve my "cadence". Whatever the hell that means. My instructor was like "you're too slow" and then when he left us to go run with someone else he said, "increase your cadence, T-!". I felt like I was six years old. Dude, I was in the fast group today. What do you want? Frickin' miracles?
Speaking of miracles, the two people I ran with were working on their PHDs in I have no idea what, but it sounded infinitely complicated and very important. It was in the health care field. They were like, "Yeah, my thesis was on affordable drug care in underdeveloped countries and to put myself through school I've given away all my worldly possessions and I give blood every week and I have sixteen thousand kittens because I just can't leave them at the SPCA and I spend every Saturday night rubbing the bunions on my 96 year old grandmother's feet". I was like, "I'm a bookkeeper. The world cannot function without bookkeepers. I volunteered at the SPCA once. To meet guys. Do you want to go out drinking after this?". Cadence, Duder, cadence!
All jesting aside, I totally love my running group. Everyone is so encouraging of one another. We wave and say nice things as we pass (okay, maybe I say vulgar and insulting things, but I'm new to the whole running group thing) and we're all there for the same reason: to get that damn bio mechanical doctor's phone number. Oh... I jest.
What else. Going out for drinks with L tomorrow night, sans husband. She's just returned from Newfoundland so we are gonna get all tore up. Seriously, my running instructor recommended it. He said, "do your partying on Friday night because we're running..." and I stopped listening after "do your partying on Friday night". Something big is happening on Sunday morning. I just can't remember what. It might have to do with cadence...
Good Humour
Went down for ice cream. It wasn't really ice cream, but rather ice cream bars, revels and fudgicles. Don't get me wrong: it was 250 calories and 9 grams of fatty goodness and I've now effectively ruined my healthy lunch. I had an ice cream bar. It said "Good Humour" on it. I said, "okay". Get. In. My. Belly.
I scream
I’m starting to consider wearing safety gear on the #16. I’ve been in two bus accidents to date, and have witnessed a couple of near altercations. I might feel safer with a helmet. The water wings? They’re just for fun and to ensure no one sits next to me.
Today I boarded the bus with two gentlemen, one of whom is roughly my age and sat near me. He grabbed one of the daily papers (which I abhor and don’t understand why they haven’t been banned for environmental reasons… furthermore I get more insight staring at particle board than I do reading that drivel) before getting on the bus. Then he popped some gum in his mouth and cranked his music. And the gum smacking begins. Okay, I’m the first to admit that I often get excitable when I’ve a mouthful of food and I won’t allow the food to be fully masticated before I disgorge whatever pearls of wisdom I need to express. But this wasn’t him eating, this was him chewing gum. Loudly. It sounded like the noise old men sometimes make when they have no teeth and feel compelled to suck their gums or whatever it is they do. Maybe they just do it around me, I can’t say. I’m really into my book, it’s reaching a critical mass and I keep getting pulled out of it by this slurping, sucking wet sound. Perhaps he would not ordinarily do this and was unaware of his impact on his fellow riders because he had his music turned too loud. So loud, in fact, that I could hear the lyrics of the song he was listening to: Avril Lavigne’s “Skater Boy”. I mean, COME ON. I actually looked around to make sure that the sound so sought after by fourteen year old girls was being emitted from his earbuds. Yep.
And then we were rocketing over the Granville Street bridge and there was a loud crash and the bus slowed really quickly, resulting in people being propelled out of their seats in a mixture of baggage and elbows. Someone screamed, which freaked me out because I thought maybe we had hit someone (again) or that something quite untoward had happened. But no, the loud bang had simply been the result of the bus being disconnected from the overhead wires and the connector slamming onto the back of the bus. The rapid deceleration was maybe for fun. I’m not sure. Get to know your fellow transit riders by ending up in their laps. Hence the possible need for a helmet.
In other news, they are serving ice cream in the lobby of our building today. No one seems as excited about this as me. It’s ice cream! Bunch of lactose intolerant, dieting jerks.
Today I boarded the bus with two gentlemen, one of whom is roughly my age and sat near me. He grabbed one of the daily papers (which I abhor and don’t understand why they haven’t been banned for environmental reasons… furthermore I get more insight staring at particle board than I do reading that drivel) before getting on the bus. Then he popped some gum in his mouth and cranked his music. And the gum smacking begins. Okay, I’m the first to admit that I often get excitable when I’ve a mouthful of food and I won’t allow the food to be fully masticated before I disgorge whatever pearls of wisdom I need to express. But this wasn’t him eating, this was him chewing gum. Loudly. It sounded like the noise old men sometimes make when they have no teeth and feel compelled to suck their gums or whatever it is they do. Maybe they just do it around me, I can’t say. I’m really into my book, it’s reaching a critical mass and I keep getting pulled out of it by this slurping, sucking wet sound. Perhaps he would not ordinarily do this and was unaware of his impact on his fellow riders because he had his music turned too loud. So loud, in fact, that I could hear the lyrics of the song he was listening to: Avril Lavigne’s “Skater Boy”. I mean, COME ON. I actually looked around to make sure that the sound so sought after by fourteen year old girls was being emitted from his earbuds. Yep.
And then we were rocketing over the Granville Street bridge and there was a loud crash and the bus slowed really quickly, resulting in people being propelled out of their seats in a mixture of baggage and elbows. Someone screamed, which freaked me out because I thought maybe we had hit someone (again) or that something quite untoward had happened. But no, the loud bang had simply been the result of the bus being disconnected from the overhead wires and the connector slamming onto the back of the bus. The rapid deceleration was maybe for fun. I’m not sure. Get to know your fellow transit riders by ending up in their laps. Hence the possible need for a helmet.
In other news, they are serving ice cream in the lobby of our building today. No one seems as excited about this as me. It’s ice cream! Bunch of lactose intolerant, dieting jerks.
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
A three blog day!
Okay, I have no life and someone really ought to take away my internet connection, but I had to blog this, before hitting the sack.
I went to go shut off my phone about half an hour ago and, as it's in my greasy little hand, it rings. And it's Typewriter. I'm like "Hello?" and totally perplexed and unable to articulate. He's just calling in to see how I'm doing. I'm thinking, huh, I've had some major epiphanies today and it's really rad that he's calling to make sure I'm doing well. I think I ended the conversation with something brilliant like, "Have a really great Thursday". Stellar. Stunted, much?
Like one minute later I get an email from N: she wants to do brunch this weekend. I think she is surprised that the old blog is dead and is concerned for my mental well-being. Or maybe she just wants to regale me with the brilliant time that she had with Skyhammer this weekend. Dirty girl!
And ten seconds after that I get an email from Big D who is expressing much consternation over the last blog posted on the old address and re-affirming that he thinks I am not only a good person, but that I could be a super model, too! Oh, no wait. That didn't happen. He just wanted to encourage my blogging and tell me that he values our friendship. It was such great timing. Three great, positive, supportive things in like a five minute span. Hence the three-blog day. It could be a record for old Duder. I may need to get more kayaks.
I went to go shut off my phone about half an hour ago and, as it's in my greasy little hand, it rings. And it's Typewriter. I'm like "Hello?" and totally perplexed and unable to articulate. He's just calling in to see how I'm doing. I'm thinking, huh, I've had some major epiphanies today and it's really rad that he's calling to make sure I'm doing well. I think I ended the conversation with something brilliant like, "Have a really great Thursday". Stellar. Stunted, much?
Like one minute later I get an email from N: she wants to do brunch this weekend. I think she is surprised that the old blog is dead and is concerned for my mental well-being. Or maybe she just wants to regale me with the brilliant time that she had with Skyhammer this weekend. Dirty girl!
And ten seconds after that I get an email from Big D who is expressing much consternation over the last blog posted on the old address and re-affirming that he thinks I am not only a good person, but that I could be a super model, too! Oh, no wait. That didn't happen. He just wanted to encourage my blogging and tell me that he values our friendship. It was such great timing. Three great, positive, supportive things in like a five minute span. Hence the three-blog day. It could be a record for old Duder. I may need to get more kayaks.
Hills
Yes, ladies and germs, it was that time of the week again: time for hills. I'm up to seven hills in a row now and if for some reason that sounds easy to you, please, I beseech you, come visit me after work one day and I will slap at your ass with willow switches as you gun it repeatedly from 38th to 32nd and Camosun. And when you are hunched over, heaving, wondering what it was that prompted you to attempt that feat of physical retardation I will lean over and gently whisper in your ear, "Utter insanity, my dear friend. Welcome to my world". In other words, I don't like hills.
A funny thing happened while I was running up and down Camosun (besides the numerous low-lying dogs that I almost tripped over and the wasp that tried to attack me and the woman with the uber-visible g-string under her running togs): it appeared that a group of cyclists had deigned to use the same route as yours truly. I mean, it's kind of hard to tell them apart because if you've seen one waif-like man in ridiculously tight, colorful clothing, you've seen them all. But some were yellow and some were blue. Or maybe white. I don't know. What ultimately happened was that after I had reached the pinnacle (being 32nd and Camosun, of course) and had managed to bring my heart rate down to a level that didn't feel like a rabid animal was trying to burst through my chest and the heaving nausea subsided, I would turn around and would saunter back down the hill. It seemed that as I was on the downswing, these cyclists were grinding up the hill. So basically all they ever saw was me, red faced and gasping for air... going downhill. I felt like yelling "I totally booked it up that hill five times already!" to anyone that would listen. And then it got to the point where I was wondering, I am supposed to say "Hey! Lookin' strong!" like we do in the clinic? Do cyclists and runners mix? Would they scoff at me because I wasn't wearing a unitard? So much to contemplate. My life is infinitely complex.
In other news, if you use iTunes and haven't discovered it yet you should check out all the SomaFM radio stations. They are BITCHIN'. Unless you are my good friend C of course, who said to me while he was over the other day: "What is this? It's not country so I don't recognize it".
But I'm a country bumpkin too and am going to go see Blue Rodeo this month with another good friend, N. See? I have two good friends. I used to think that me and all my good friends could fit in a two person kayak, but now I realize I would require two kayaks.
Okay. So that about brings everyone up to date. Free beer tomorrow. Get it? One would perpetually be anticipating free beer, but the sign remains the same. Brilliant. Small things, my friends, small, small things.
A funny thing happened while I was running up and down Camosun (besides the numerous low-lying dogs that I almost tripped over and the wasp that tried to attack me and the woman with the uber-visible g-string under her running togs): it appeared that a group of cyclists had deigned to use the same route as yours truly. I mean, it's kind of hard to tell them apart because if you've seen one waif-like man in ridiculously tight, colorful clothing, you've seen them all. But some were yellow and some were blue. Or maybe white. I don't know. What ultimately happened was that after I had reached the pinnacle (being 32nd and Camosun, of course) and had managed to bring my heart rate down to a level that didn't feel like a rabid animal was trying to burst through my chest and the heaving nausea subsided, I would turn around and would saunter back down the hill. It seemed that as I was on the downswing, these cyclists were grinding up the hill. So basically all they ever saw was me, red faced and gasping for air... going downhill. I felt like yelling "I totally booked it up that hill five times already!" to anyone that would listen. And then it got to the point where I was wondering, I am supposed to say "Hey! Lookin' strong!" like we do in the clinic? Do cyclists and runners mix? Would they scoff at me because I wasn't wearing a unitard? So much to contemplate. My life is infinitely complex.
In other news, if you use iTunes and haven't discovered it yet you should check out all the SomaFM radio stations. They are BITCHIN'. Unless you are my good friend C of course, who said to me while he was over the other day: "What is this? It's not country so I don't recognize it".
But I'm a country bumpkin too and am going to go see Blue Rodeo this month with another good friend, N. See? I have two good friends. I used to think that me and all my good friends could fit in a two person kayak, but now I realize I would require two kayaks.
Okay. So that about brings everyone up to date. Free beer tomorrow. Get it? One would perpetually be anticipating free beer, but the sign remains the same. Brilliant. Small things, my friends, small, small things.
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