Oedipus Wrecked

I want so, so much.
I want more. And more often.

Well done.

Farrah Fawcett was in my dream last night. She had really bad cellulite and didn't look so hot. I always thought she was odd.
I also dreamed about yachts and mansions and my family, and of pursuing a lover and being pursued by him. And of buying nachos for a kid that was down on his luck out of a vending machine that offered a variety of items, but really only supplied you with nachos.
No need to worry about me. I just need to get a decent night's sleep.

I've done well. Being.

And good friends take half hour phone calls at 11:00 at night, even though they've had a fun night changing tires in the freezing cold and still find enough room in their heart to pity your sorry ass.

More thoughts on well being

After I received the well being sticker, a series of unfortunate things happened. These unfortunate things left me with a pain in my stomach and with some overall stress and unhappiness.
I found out that the Bank of Montreal has been sending my bank and credit card statements to my ex.
I realized I lost my debit card.
I discovered that my initial assessment of people is usually bang on, and that I have a tendency to give them far more credit than they are due, but since I'm afraid of confrontation I don't really do anything about it.
I realized that I had not lost my debit card, but rather had merely misplaced it.
I understand that the well being sticker was a misnomer, and it was prepping me for a rapid series of realizations and things that would make me feel unwell.
I think I've recovered nicely.

Well being

I was pretty sure that well being came after the second glass of Sauvignon Blanc, but apparently it can be found - in sticker form - on an elevator. Yes. Where do I live? I got on the elevator and a gentleman encouraged me to choose one of many random stickers that he told me that he likes to hand out to people throughout the course of the day. Mine said, "well being". That's good. It's not hoping for too much. It wasn't, say, "extreme pleasure" or "unbelievable riches" or even "all consuming love". Well being. It's... what is it? Well being. Being well. Am I well? I think I am. I certainly have naught to complain about. I have things I hope for, but I do alright without them.
I think that if I could give a sticker to one of my nearest and dearest friends it would be "elated". She is, for the first time since meeting her current love, talking about marriage. In fact, there is some scoping of potential marriage locales going on next month. I am unfailingly happy for her, I love her and (from what I know of him) I love him too. They are a perfect and complementary match and they help to restore my faith in what a loving relationship should be.
I wonder if I can find the sticker guy. Can I exchange my sticker? Does he have one that says, "temporary happiness that doesn't linger because he has an early meeting?". Ah yes. This is me. Being well.

What in the hell was that!?

Arrived for the 6:30 clinic and wasn't sure what to expect. The Running Room clinic for the Vancouver Marathon doesn't start until the beginning of January, so I was surprised that this clinic was running hills already. It was a big clinic. There was a naturopathic doctor that spoke about cleanses, but she lost everyone when she told them they had to give up alcohol. Runners like their beer.
And then we did hills. Six of them. And it was a brutal hill. Oh - this was after we did something called a "warm up". The "warm up" came after we ran a mile to get... warmed up? Hills one and two were good. I crested the remainder feeling like I was going to puke, but didn't let up. Okay, maybe I let up a little bit - what? I haven't run in over a month!
Then a mile back to the store and more exercises! I was doing frickin' push ups at 8pm on the sidewalk on Lonsdale Avenue. And lunges. And something called "fast feet" which is funny until the burning sensation creeps in.
I was like, "What in the hell is this?". Warm ups. Cool downs. When do we get the group hug and a chance to talk about our feelings. Someone yelled, "Pick up cigarette butts with your teeth!" as we were doing push ups. I started to cry. I think next week we are running up Grouse Mountain in snow shoes and taking turns carrying the smallest people in the group on our backs. These guys aren't messing around.
On the plus side: I figured out where all my extra time was coming from. And now it's all gone.
And the final kick in the teeth? These guys do their long slow runs at 8am, not 8:30.
For the love of...

Dorky!

Yep. Had to buy pants in which to run. And I felt further they ought to have white stripes given that it's GODDAMN DARK out there (I typically take my workouts "indoors" in the winter, cause only morons run then). Then I thought I should get a white shirt that I can wear so, you know, motorists don't hit me.

I'm cold, tired and hungry. It is pitch black out there.

I guess I'm one of the morons now.

Guess what I'm doing tonight?

Just guess. Nope, not that. Oh! I wish I was doing that. Are you kidding? I would never do that... on a Tuesday.
Hills. Yep. Hills.
Cause guess what North Van has?
Hills. Yep. Hills.

Best. Life. Ever.

I love it. Love it, love it, love it.

Math is hard

I think I need to take a philosophy course or something. I like to talk about things and pick them apart and mull them over and, as with chess and sex, no one ever seems to want to do this with me. Just kidding. Some people I know like to play chess. Ha! Self-deprecating humor is the best.
That's about it. That is all I have at this particular time.

Tits to that!

Today rocks.
Though due to my weak and inferior genetic position I did get to have a most enjoyable elevator ride up to my office with five very attractive men, one of whom looks incredibly like Hugh Laurie. They were quite interested in the what kind of beverages were making such a clanking racket in my shopping bags and I responded, "Not the good kind" whereupon we engaged in all kinds of witty drinking banter.
I had an erotic dream about Hugh Laurie once.
I wonder when "House" is on next...

Is Central Lonsdale my San Francisco?

There's an argument that there is something about San Francisco, a certain vibe, that encourages the amount of creativity and originality of thought from that area. What is it? The beautiful city itself? The water? The wine (I'm always for the wine)? All I know is that I'm retiring in Carmel.
I cooked again tonight. Seriously. I have no idea what's going on. And the coup de grace? I've started writing again and I've even titled it. I NEVER title my stuff. It's called "Subaru Days". That's all I will tell you.
So I wonder, is Central Lonsdale my San Francisco? Why am I cooking and writing? I like it. I hope it's not a temporary thing. I love my frickin' apartment.
In other news, there were too many brownies left behind from last night's soiree. Didn't Bush have a "no brownie left behind policy"? Isn't this how the terrorists win?
There's a guy in the building across from me that was standing on his balcony in his bathrobe this morning. I fancy that he's my male counterpart. From this distance, with my horrible eyes, it appears that he has a bit of a swanky place as well, replete with green paint and what appears to be a very large t.v. Size matters. And as he was having a butt on his balcony in his robe I was splayed on my oversized couch in my pajamas. I fancy that, in our exhausted, late morning splendor we were both regarding each other warily. He was probably not even facing towards me. Need to get some contacts.
I wonder if he is writing a novel about compromises, infidelity, disappointment and one's failure to reconcile one's ideals from their twenties with the consumerism and quest for status of their thirties too.
I'm just curious.
The sand is silky smooth in Carmel.

Dishwashers kick ass

I love them. They are sleek and sexy. One minute you have an insurmountable number of dishes, the next you don't. Saucy.
Tomorrow's forecast calls for wet snow. I think I am going to call for more sunny blue skies. In fact, I think I am going to go out shortly and start wandering the streets calling "more sunny blue skies, please".
I can't be any less irritating than the guy that tried to convert me to the Church of somethingorother a couple of days ago. I started to just shake my head and do the "no, thanks" shuffle and then I thought, no: this guy is actively recruiting me, soliciting me against my will and trying to sell me something that I don't subscribe to. So I stopped, looked him square in the face and said, "No. I'm atheist". He seemed to accept it and from my resolute determination was able to deduce that I could not be swayed, and fell back to heckle someone else.
But now I question my commitment to atheism. Am I really atheist? I think I might believe in something, but I'm not entirely sure what that might be. It has to do with karma, coincidence, luck and trying to be good. It involves worshipping a false, stainless steel Whirlpool appliance.

Thank you. I can't get off the conveyor belt.

Thank you for updating your passports, getting your inoculations, wrestling with public transit and making it out to see me today. And for bringing gifts! Very unanticipated, thoughtful and greatly appreciated.
Today was my mom's first viewing of the condo. She spent an hour and a half on public transit getting here, hung out for three hours and then headed back. So she spent three hours on the bus to spend three hours with me. And she brought me homemade cookies! I took her and Michael out for lunch and before she left she said, "Thanks for lunch". I said, "Thanks for the condo". I think we're square now.
Then Michael hung out with me and we spent a long time trying to figure out how in the hell my washer/dryer combo works. He desperately wanted to leave since he is definitely getting sick of my company, but was not so heartless as to leave me before Big D showed up. We all chatted for a while and were then joined by P, and a little later by M and a couple of my coworkers, one of whom seems to be pushing for a game of Twister at the office. I'd be all for it, as long as I could choose the people with whom I would be entangling my limbs.

I was informed that someone had added their name and buzzer number on the card that Michael had made for me (after I sent everyone the wrong buzzer number, of course). Usurpers! Hangers on! Get your own business card and tape!

N and Skyhammer showed up, my coworkers left, Typewriter arrived and we got into Roborally. Okay. I admit it: I don't know my left from my right at the best of times and perhaps I had to quantify several times which way I was supposed to turn my robot when I got yet another "Turn left" card, but it was really hard to concentrate given that I was being repeatedly decimated by a laser from Big D. Po was on the verge of tears. Skyhammer encouraged me with great, exaggerated winks to "power down" since I was about to, you know, die and Typewriter managed to program his robot off the board entirely. Twice.
It was a great night. I look forward to having everyone that couldn't make it tonight over in the coming weeks. I had fun. Now people have seen the digs, have a better understanding of the space that I currently inhabit, and realize what an utter pain in the ass it is to get here. Ah, but it was worth it, no? The wine? The cheese? Getting shot in the back by your friends? Everyone is always welcome here, though I'm sure they know that. Though given my new proximity in what is practically another time zone, I shall take the opportunity to meet you all after work downtown more often, since that's rather central.
So thank you to everyone that showed up: I enjoyed seeing each and every one of you and I had a great time, even if I spent an inordinate amount of time on the conveyor belt.

What am I supposed to follow with?

I'm going to eat the Chinchilla, and line my gloves with its fur.

On Love.

Excerpted from Kahlil Gibran's "The Prophet."

Then said Almitra, "Speak to us of Love."

And he raised his head and looked upon the people, and there fell a stillness upon them.

And with a great voice he said:

When love beckons to you follow him,

Though his ways are hard and steep.

And when his wings enfold you yield to him,

Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.

And when he speaks to you believe in him,

Though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden.

For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.

Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,

So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.

Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.

He threshes you to make you naked.

He sifts you to free you from your husks.

He grinds you to whiteness.

He kneads you until you are pliant;

And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God's sacred feast.

All these things shall love do unto you that you may know the secrets of your heart, and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life's heart.

But if in your fear you would seek only love's peace and love's pleasure,

Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love's threshing-floor,

Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears.

Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself.

Love possesses not nor would it be possessed;

For love is sufficient unto love.

When you love you should not say, "God is in my heart," but rather, I am in the heart of God."

And think not you can direct the course of love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.

Love has no other desire but to fulfil itself.

But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:

To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.

To know the pain of too much tenderness.

To be wounded by your own understanding of love;

And to bleed willingly and joyfully.

To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;

To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy;

To return home at eventide with gratitude;

And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.

And to keep things light?

I'm going to buy a Chinchilla.

This is me, flailing.

I'm loving.
I want to be loved.
I'm considerate.
I want to be considered.
I am thoughtful.
I want to be thought of.
I'm happy.
I want to share that happiness.
I've been bad, but I think my badness can be overlooked.
And when I'm good, I like to think that I'm quite delectable.

I have been pursuing for quite some time. I shall pursue no further. I want to believe that I am worthy and deserving of being pursued myself. This belief is not mine to subscribe to.

Go into the light

Coming back from coffee with my coworkers we heard a loud bang on the 7th floor. One of them said, "We're all going to die!" to which I replied, "Don't say that!". It was then proposed that I had an elevator related phobia. That was incorrect, my phobia was actually related to my coworkers. Ha! Just kidding. Death is a serious matter. It can really have an impact on your social calendar and can make day to day life quite difficult. I was encouraged to "go towards the light" but responded that, during most of my near death experiences (it doesn't take much with me: a missed bus; a tepid cup of coffee; a lost toenail), it wasn't a brilliant white light that I saw. It was more red and fiery, and there was a guy with a pitchfork.
I'm just kidding. I'm totally going to end up in purgatory. I'm good, but I could be better. I'm bad, but I haven't killed anyone. Or if reincarnation is the game, I'll likely come back as a Chinchilla. They're cute, but rather useless and are their novelty wears off after a while. So, you know, if you end up in purgatory and you see a Chinchilla there: say hi!

My "favourite" holiday of the year

I suppose my "favourite" day of the year is Valentine's Day. Those that know me know my feelings on the day and everything that surrounds it. Fucking stupid day. But a close second would be New Year's Eve. Overwrought, expensive, phony waste of time. Here is an except from last year's blog describing New Year's 2006:

"We counted down the final seconds of 2006, wondrous as it was, and then raised our glasses to herald in the new year. Six seconds later I said, "Well that was anticlimactic".

I'm going somewhere with this, I promise. I just watched a movie called "200 Cigarettes". It was awesome. It takes place on New Year's eve and basically follows a bunch of twentyish single people who are trying to hook up before the night is out. Essentially it taps into every bad/good date you've had, all your neuroses, all the stupid/fantastic opportunities that you took/let slip through your fingers. And brings the concept of sex in public washrooms into play. Me personally? Um, no, that doesn't seem pleasant even if you are Paul Rudd. I'd consider Jim Halpert from "The Office" though, have you seen his GAP ad? Seriously, who am I? A couple of years ago you would've had to force me into the GAP at gunpoint. What? They have good sales occasionally. Shut up. Get your own fantasy.
So this movie contained Ben Affleck, Casey Affleck, Janine Garofalo, Nina Ricca, Paul Rudd, Courtney Love, Kate Hudson, Elvis Costello, Dave Chappelle... it was great. Not great as in Oscar great, but great as in wow, I've been there... and there... and I've been there and I've felt that way, and also that way. Yeah. So pretty funny.
Hey, guess what? New Year's is coming up again. I do so hope that I'll have something a little more illuminating to say to the people around me this year when the clock strikes midnight. I'm sure I will. It will likely be one of the following:
"So that was great. Who wants to share a cab?"
"Please take your hand off my ass."
"Please put your hand on my ass."
"What? Why are you calling? I was sleeping."
Surely, I jest.
Stop calling me Shirley.

I did it again

Smoked turkey sausage with red onions, green peppers, tomatoes, mushrooms and pasta in a tikka masala/tomato paste sauce. Who am I?
Going for my first run in a very long time shortly. Fingers crossed for no pain. I shall now go do some quad warmups.
Party.

It's cold. Also, I don't want to go to bed.

It's cold. I do believe I mentioned that. People were skidding all over the place this morning because it was only TWO DEGREES. At first I thought it was me, that the soles of my boots were inadequate, but Michael said he actually fell on the way to work this morning and then he said, "I'm too old to be falling". I started to laugh and he said, "Nice crinkles around the eyes, there", and so I looked in the mirror and was displeased. Forget crows feet, these were like... elephant's feet. I need to get some sleep.
This brings me to my next issue. I don't want to go to bed. I'm not sure why: I get like this sometimes. I feel that by going to bed I might be missing something. What in the hell I think I might be missing (besides a good night's sleep) is beyond me. Perhaps it goes further and is more of a "rage against the dying of the light" kind of fear of death thing. I'm the first to admit that I have a really hard time sitting still, but this is ridiculous. I shall chalk it up to "new apartment jitters" and allow myself to believe I'll start going to bed at reasonable times next week. Yeah, let's go with that.
Worked out in the crappy gym in my building for an hour today. I'm absolutely going to feel like I've been kicked down a flight of stairs tomorrow morning. Hey, why do ten reps when you can do three sets of ten reps. Yep. I haven't been physically active (depending on what you mean by 'physically active', of course... ahem) for about a month, so trying to get a t-shirt over my head tomorrow should be excruciating. Ah well, glad to be back in the whole fitness routine. In a one month span I managed to go from being in the best shape of my life to the worst shape in the last five years? I can't wait to run my first 10k. I'll probably vomit. Boston, here I come...
Well, that's all I've got. Pretty banal, yes? Yes. Sorry. I'll try to get up to some hijinks tomorrow, but things have been pretty tame since I found my pants.

Sushi restaurants (fiction)

“Define happiness,” he demands, thrusting his chopsticks in my general direction.
“What do you mean?” I query, my mind already spinning off on several different tangents.
“Well, the overall impression that I am getting from you right now is that you’re somewhat unhappy. Not totally unhappy, not sad, but you seem to be affected by, let us say, a tinge of unhappiness,” he proposes. “And I want you to define what happiness is.”
“What happiness is to me?” I ask. “I guess therein lies the answer. Happiness is relative. What makes me happy would likely not make you happy. Or maybe it would and that’s why we’re friends: because we’re similar,” my eyes water as I swallow a spicy tuna roll onto which I have liberally applied some potent wasabi. “I suppose that happiness is also relative in my own realm of experiences. The whole earnings versus savings thing.”
“What whole earnings versus savings thing? Why does it always come down to numbers with you accountant types?” he smirks, raising an eyebrow.
“Please. The dreary bookkeeper persona does not apply to me, we both know this. The parallel that I was trying to draw for you in regards to relative happiness is sort of like our propensity to save or consume. Don’t roll your eyes. If you make $50,000 a year and you save 10% of that – so $5,000 – then theoretically if you receive a $5,000 raise you should be saving an additional $500 per year. But there are arguments that, as we earn more we start to consume more. The more we have the more we want. The more trouble we can get into.”
“And you think this is the same with happiness? The more we have the more we want?”
“Yes. Sort of,” I nod, getting warmed up. “We get accustomed to having more and so we forget about times when we had less. I used to be content with an apartment that had silverfish scurrying about. I wore second hand clothes and paid $15 for my haircuts. I’m not sure now, that I would find that acceptable again. On the other hand, at the time in my life I was happy and content – on a relative scale – in that it took less to please me.”
Leaning back in his chair he surveys and scrutinizes me, “It took less to please you monetarily, or it took less to make you happy? You’re mixing your metaphors, or are you juxtaposing them: are you equating happiness with money?”
“That’s the $64,000 question,” I laugh, rolling around the inextricably linked money/happiness argument in my mind, like an ocean-smoothed stone in my palm. “They’re related, but I think there are diminishing returns.”
“In that more money brings you more happiness, but only up to a certain point? Do you know what that point is, because I need to make an appointment with my financial advisor to make sure I’m getting close to it,” he offers. Wry grin. Is he pandering to me?
I finish off the last of the gomae without engaging in the polite rote whereby I offer him first dibs. He knows my feelings on gomae. “This is getting complicated. I forget the question that you originally posited; was it to do with American Idol?”
“Nice try. If you don’t answer this question we’ll next debate whether Canadians being tried in states that have the death penalty should be put to death or extradited to Canada. I had originally asked for your definition of happiness.”
“This moment. Having sushi in this quaint, bustling sushi joint on a cold, bitter day with you. Also bitter. Wrapping my fingers around my hot mug of tea. Debating issues that likely have no merit to anyone but us at this particular moment.”
“I want to buy that, I really do,” he responds, looking at me with almost fondness. “But you’re copping out just a bit. You’re one step away from batting your proverbial eyelashes and we both know you’re not good at that.
I believe that you are happy now, in this instant, so extrapolate that further. We can’t sit in this sushi shop for the rest of our lives in order to perpetuate your happiness. Eventually I have to get home and do laundry.”
“And that’s just it: I hate laundry. I don’t want to do it. I don’t want to grocery shop, either. Or take my car in for maintenance. I do just want to sit in this sushi shop indefinitely, in that this restaurant represents a moment of happiness and I want my life to be filled with non-stop moments like this. Perpetual happiness.”
He leans forward and looks directly at me. “And what do you think that every person sitting in this restaurant wants?”
“To be happy,” I reply dutifully, having already reached the logical conclusion that continues to abut my illogical desires. “And happiness can only be appreciated when there is its counterpart: unhappiness. And happiness is where you find it, and it is asking too much to be happy all the time when there are people who have but brief respites of happiness, or possibly no happiness at all. And finally: it is the act of wanting that makes us unhappy.”
“Well done,” he commends, pouring more tea for the both of us. “I think it’s your turn to buy, though I’m not sure how this will factor into your economic sliding-scale of happiness.”
“I would be happy to pick up the check,” I reply.

I'm done

Today felt like my first "official day" in Central Lonsdale. Walking down to the seabus in the morning. Wandering aimlessly around Lonsdale Quay after work and then trudging up the hill to get home. Whereupon I met another resident of this building who was eager to talk to me during our brief elevator ride. Why is everyone so friendly here? I feel like some out of place, angry New Yorker. Why are you wishing me a good evening? Stop smiling at me!
Made one of the four edible dinners that I manage to make in the course of a year: red peppers stuffed with ground beef with biryani sauce and risotto. Ate at my little bar, listening to SomaFm and reading Margaret Atwood. How sweet is that? Would've been that much more interesting to be able to share that particular moment with someone, but I'm still too lazy to do anything about it.
Flock to me.

Lucky in love

Read an awesome article on Google today about a guy that, with his coworkers, won the lottery in Florida. He walked away with $600,000 and hid it from his wife. Now he’s MIA and his wife is suing him for her share. I think that’s terrific. Can someone explain the point of marriage to me? I am grotesquely romanticizing the concept of marriage? Should I just give up and lower my expectations from wanting to find a loving person to share my life with, to being satisfied with someone that has a dim understanding of the concept of foreplay and who occasionally remembers to leave the toilet seat down in the night?
Obviously their marriage was not a happy one, so why didn’t they divorce? And, as much of a jerk as this guy is for hiding the money, what’s the deal with the wife? Either this was a complete shock to her, and up until he got his cash infusion she thought everything was on the level – in which case I would be so horribly upset and hurt and embarrassed to think that I had been married to someone that didn’t care about me, or their marriage was loveless for quite some time. I mean, it would have to be in order to treat someone like that, am I wrong? What happened? What happens in the interim between being excited about your upcoming nuptials and the lawsuit. How do we go from utter delight and committed love to spite and hate and lawyers?
It’s been proposed to me (get it? proposed?) that marriage is a pointless, antiquated tradition, and that real love comes in the day to day treatment of each other. I understand that. I am not religious and I tend to eschew most traditions unless there is some direct benefit to me. And I think huge, lavish weddings are kind of grotesque and pointless – not to mention ridiculously expensive. But I do like the idea of commitment and romance and it looks a bit like I might be one of the minority in believing that marriage is not to be taken lightly and that it is meaningful. And that it’s worth more than $600,000.
This is probably one of the reasons that I’m becoming a spinster. Maybe I should go get a lottery ticket. At least I wouldn’t have to hide the winnings from anyone!
Oh. This could be the grounds for another poll. Would you rather receive five million dollars today, knowing that you would never have a happy and successful romantic relationship; or find your soulmate but maintain your current economic status (ie. earnings/savings ratio) forever?

Anticlimactic

So. It is 10pm and I'm 90% done as far as the condo is concerned. Michael and I (yes, he came back for a third day of punishment - after getting up to run 10k at 8am this morning, no less) wrapped up the final "big ticket" items at around 5 today. We assembled my chest of drawers - which didn't fit into my closet as I had hoped - and my new bed. We grabbed some sushi and I think I sat down and ate a meal like a normal person for the first time in 72 hours. Then, because our backs are totally thrashed, we watched "The Big Chill".
I recommend "The Big Chill" for those who haven't seen it. Everyone is in it: Kevin Kline, Glen Close, William Hurt, Tom Berenger, Meg Tilly and Jeff Goldblum. It was, ironically, about a group of friends that come together over a funeral and try and reconcile their liberal pasts to their current situations, as well as trying to reconnect and have some good, clean, drug induced fun. Some good one liners, some good acting and some fantastic music. It was kind of the perfect movie to kick off this new, drug induced phase in my life. Okay, scratch the drug induced bit. The most trouble I can get into in this building is having one too many sherries with the elders over a game of bridge. Although I did find out where the rapscallions hang out to escape the rain and smoke the other day. So they're 15 years younger than me...
It's a bit anticlimactic for me right now. I just got everything more or less the way I want it (it's still a bit messy as you can see from the pictures) and I don't have time to enjoy it: it's back to work tomorrow. I wish tomorrow was Saturday and that all my friends could come over and visit because I miss everyone and I'd love to have you over and I really need to have some fun. Just don't chip the granite and no red wine over the white wool rug.
Okay. I guess I should go to bed now but I feel weird. Up until tonight I feel as though I was merely "crashing" here: my bed was on the floor, everything was in boxes and nothing was situated correctly. Now it's all together and all I really need to do is hang a few pictures. I will sleep in my new bed tonight and pull underwear and - hopefully - matching socks out of a dresser drawer tomorrow morning. I will have breakfast, seated, and may even read a bit.
Thanks for all your phone calls and emails over the weekend, it was really appreciated. I really hope you can all make it out next Saturday day whether for half an hour or for many hours. Maybe we can all huddle on my bed and watch "The Big Chill". Cause yes, my t.v. is still in my bedroom.
Some things don't change, I guess.
So this is me. Feeling like an official Central Lonsdale resident. DuderTown. And I know where my pants are.

Toasty

Okay. Two more things that are kind of cool. One: I've loaded up my dishwasher and I need to get some detergent. But... I have things in my dishwasher! I got rid of my old dish rack because I can put things in my dishwasher!
Second, I just popped my head into my (disastrous) bedroom and it's all toasty warm. Why? Because it has a separate thermostat from the rest of the place. I. Can. Control. The. Temperature. I have not been able to do that in seven years. Super cool! Until I get the electric bill, I realize. But this is me, and what excites me at 1am on a Saturday night.
I said to Michael as we pulled out of Home Depot on our way to Ikea this evening: "I realize now that I am thirty years old", to which he responded, "Why?". Because my Saturday night consisted of a trip to Home Depot and Ikea, that's why. Because I spent the most ridiculous amount of time obsessing over the carpet for my living room. Because I'm all of a sudden innately concerned with color schemes. Because you have to take your shoes off when you come into my place. Because I noticed that the black laquer and the dark brown wood on my new bar stools matched my galaxy granite counter top. Because my mom called me today to go through a bunch of keep/chuck stuff and she was like, "A Guns 'N Roses poster?" chuck it. "A Barney Bentall poster?" chuck it (but only because I didn't have the balls to ask him to sign it when I saw him LIVE at the Funky Planet ten years ago and it was awesome). "Your CGA books-" chuck it. And I'm liking the k.d. lang stuff I've downloaded. And Lisa Loeb. And Muddy Waters. And Neil Young. Yep. And I can't handle shit beer and Michael pointed out that I might need a wine fridge. But we still grossly exceeded the speed limit back to North Van and we were listening to Thievery Corporation, so I still retain some residual of coolness. Right? Right?? You've seen my rhinestone glasses, yes?

Hopen for some caulking

First, a quick ode to Michael. Why in the hell he has spent the last two days with me unpacking, fixing, assembling and building things is beyond me. In return for hours and hours of his skilled labour I have given him two pre-packaged sandwiches, half a parfait, some cookies, and some crappy pasta. So here is a poem to go down in the annals of history:

Thank you for spending grotesque amounts of time with me on Friday and Saturday,
And for bringing me coffee this morning cause you know I didn't have any,
It was fun trying to figure out why I didn't have any hot water in my shower,
And I'm glad you like my picture/art placement so far,
How you were able to pick up that heavy Hopen piece single handedly is beyond me,
I think you were just showing off; I carried the baskets.
Here's Hopen you can come back tomorrow because the weird Ikea literature indicates I am not to assemble my new bed by myself.
Plus you know I'll butcher the chest of drawers.
I can't cook, but maybe I can pick up a cooked chicken for you to eat.
If it weren't for you, I would still be lost in the bowels of my building.

Went to Ikea in Coquitlam. Correction: tried to go to Ikea and got lost and ended up at Home Depot and then went to Ikea. I dropped $900 on a bed, rug, a couple of stools and the aforementioned chest of drawers. By the time we got back it was too late to do any serious assembling, which was really hard to take because I WANT TO GET THIS DONE. My bed is on the floor, my underwear is currently residing in a backpack and I've got random things strewn everywhere. I feel really disorganized and chaotic. It doesn't take much.
Okay, so this blog is going to jump all over the place. I forgot to tell you how the morning started. I thought Michael and I could figure out the lack of hot water in the shower, but we could not. We're both smart people, but after taking the handle off we couldn't figure it out, so I called my realtor, who called the selling realtor who called the... original owner. Who said he would come over to take a look at it! So I was weirded out the they guy that I just gave a substantial amount of money to was going to be coming over to play in my tub. Who was he? What was he thinking? Why was he coming personally? Michael and I debated as to what kind of guy he might be and then he, Chris, showed up. Yeah. The guy as like, twelve. Seriously. Boy wonder was younger than me. I was like, "Er. Been doing this long?" and he said he'd been at it for a couple of years. I suppose that would take him back to his prepubescent years?? Chris and I come into the apartment and I arch an eyebrow in Michael's general direction (he was in the linen closet, installing more shelving). He mouthed, "Do you want me to leave you two alone?". So, so funny. Come on. What would I want with a young, wealthy, virile, handy, tall, unshaven... something. What? Oh. Right. I left and did some grocery shopping. Chris fixed the hot water situation and said that the plate surrounding the shower knob needed caulking and that he would give me a call this week to do that. More sly grins from Michael. Caulking is too easy.
Then Ikea. I want to put my bed together! Now! The Ikea diagrams actually show two people working on it. Teamwork. I try to be self reliant but these past few days have shown me just how much I need people to help me with stuff sometimes. Remember the car alarm incident? I think that day single-handedly espoused the virtuous nature of people around me. Everyone stopped to help me (three times!) that day, and not one of them left until they had managed to turn the alarm off. I did, however, assemble the majority of the stools myself. And I sawed a couple of things, too. Michael was like, "Good job!" as he hand screwed things into metal studs. I could totally do that. And I offered possible explanations for the tepid water situation: "It's Walkerton all over again" and "there are gremlins in the water lines" and "I think god hates me and wants me to take more cold showers".
Okay. Trying to wrap it up with some witticism, but am falling short. I'm tired. I haven't had any down time in days. I want things to look pretty. I'm going to upload a picture of the stools I bought, my nana's clock (cause it's bitchin'), a picture that shows a bit of couch, a bit of my new rug and the really heavy baskets I had to carry (WTF am I supposed to do with my stupid, antiquated t.v.?), and the ever-illuminating Ikea picture which dissuaded me from trying to assemble Hopen on my own.
Here's Hopen Chris will come by for some caulking this week. Ahhh.... there's the banter that ties it all together.

Break out the Valium

I'm going to Ikea! I need a Bjork or a Sven or something.
Also? The water in my shower is tepid at best, so I have now have had two really invigorating showers.

The day that would not end

I woke up a little after six today and convinced myself I wasn't prepared. Got up a little after seven, ran around the apartment in a tizzy, essentially re-checking the things that I had checked the day before. Conducive!
My mom came at ten for a brief visit. She just about had a coronary when the movers arrived. Let's just say they looked a little sketchy. But I give two solid thumbs up to Vancity Movers. They showed up on time, were very efficient and had me moved from Kerrisdale to North Vancouver in about three hours for under $400. Best $400 bucks EVER.
Michael met me at the condo and helped me unpack and then somehow we ended up at home depot at 5pm. He loves projects. He was quite exuberant about putting shelving in my bedroom closet. Oh, the other thing he did? Changed my deadbolt - it didn't work! So the entire time that we were cavorting around Home Depot (okay, perhaps cavorting is too exuberant a word: I was alternating between wanting to scream and wanting to fall asleep on a pallet jack) the door to my apartment wasn't locked. Cause the day hadn't been stressful enough, apparently.
I think I'm about 70%. I still have some boxes to unload and a bookshelf to assemble. Need to pick up some stuff from Ikea tomorrow. Yep, it'll be my once-every-three-years-trip-to-Ikea where I try and sedate myself before going and try to beg off so I can go play in the ball pit. Do they still have the ball pit? God, I hope so.
But here I am. In Central Lonsdale. Holy shit, eh? It's quiet. I can control the temperature. I loaded things into my dishwasher (remind me to get dishwasher detergent for it). I may do some in suite laundry tomorrow. My back is killing me so I might have a glass of wine and relax in my soaker tub.
And yes. As you can plainly see: the couch fit. It took some doing and at one point I thought, "Well, I hope Michael enjoys his new expensive couch", but they did it! All that worrying for nothing. As per usual.
A lot of people have been asking me if I was excited to move. I think they didn't get why I wasn't happier and running around in circles chasing my tail. It's because I'm a delayed gratification kind of girl. Once everything is in place, once all the work is done, once the final twist of the screw is applied, once the last picture is hung, that's when I will sit back and be absolutely and blissfully ecstatic. Right now I am happy and relieved. And still quite intimidated by my microwave. It's a sexy beast. I bought stainless steel and laminate floor cleaner today at Home Depot. I just wasn't quite yuppy enough to partake of the in-store Starbucks while doing so.
Lastly: I would like to have a nice housewarming soiree next weekend and you're all invited. I'm thinking Saturday afternoon/evening? Some appies, some drinks, some board games? It's not that far!

Blogging right down to the wire

I come to you live, from the Cleveland Court compound. A scene strewn with boxes and crumpled newspaper, bulky garbage bags and plants stuffed mercilessly into tight confines. I shall go offline tomorrow and hope to be back up tomorrow, but we shall see.
Made the trip to my condo tonight. Wow. Michael came with me (he actually picked up the keys from the realtor earlier). He brought along a measuring tape and a notebook and started measuring everything since I have commandeered him to help me put in some shelving in a couple of closets. Let me rephrase: he will be installing shelving while I blog, seated at the little bar (resplendent with galaxy granite, of course), on the little stool I will pick up at Ikea and sip my celebratory "holy shit I'm a homeowner" champagne. He's handy. And I took a bunch of great pictures but I left my camera in the apartment so I will have to upload them to this post later on.
The condo was great. It was as I remembered it and it was quiet! I bumped into a lady in the elevator and she was so sweet. I think there are a lot of older people in the building which I don't have a problem with since I sometimes like to go to bed at 9pm. Maybe I'll get cable and start watching Matlock too.
It's crazy. Tomorrow is going to be a gong show, no doubt. I can't wait until the movers have dropped off the last of my stuff so I can start to organize and assess what all needs to be done. I have a lot of wants and needs. Regarding the condo as well, ha ha. I want a wireless internet connection. I need a bed frame. I need curtains. I want a cool, white and woolly rug. I need to figure out how to operate my fridge, stove, microwave and DISHWASHER. I haven't had a dishwasher in eight or nine years. I need a place to put my shitty t.v. I want a flat screen t.v.
Yeah. I am not entirely sure what to say right now. I'm on the precipice of what, I think, will be a major change in my life. I think it will be a quieter and more demure life and I believe I'm ready for that. One can only go for so many long Sunday runs with a hangover. I think I'd like to try cooking more. And hiking. And kayaking. Maybe I can make some time for my writing. Perhaps I finally have something to say. I look forward to exploring all that North Van has to offer, and when I feel nostalgic for my halcyon Kerrisdale days I can go to West Van and almost get hit by Lexus' and Mercedes galore and be looked at with the same amount of scorn that was levied my way when I showed up at my financial advisor's office today to pick up my bank draft for the condo. The bank draft was for a lot of money. And so I showed up in jeans, boots, a hoodie and my jaunty cap. The woman at client services ID'd me. It was awesome. I am my father's daughter.
So. What does Central Lonsdale hold for me? I am not sure. I anticipate it will be a bit more of a solitary existence (who voted "hell, no" by the way?), but with the occasional hijinks at... wherever the happening place is. The Hurricane Grill has been recommended. It will also be an existence fraught with danger: I may get eaten by a bear while hiking; I may drown on the seabus; I may join a bridge club with a bunch of octegenarians... but I don't know how to play bridge! Plus, my apartment is on the 10th floor so you just know that I'm going to have one too many glasses of wine and want to do my tightrope walker impression on the balcony balustrade.
Wow. This has been a long blog. So yes. Thank you Kerrisdale, for seven-ish great years. I've enjoyed adjusting the door closing mechanism under the cover of darkness because the front door (located under my bedroom) slams sometimes. I've enjoyed going out on errands and being recognized by the people at my fruit and veg store, at Rogers and bumping into my good friend L who lives and works here. And yes, I've even enjoyed the goddamn Cheshire Cheese; it just took me seven years to figure out which two items on their menu were edible. The Shaugnessy 8k. Running hills. Not being able to regulate the heat in my apartment. Spending too much time wondering why my upstairs neighbour never did come through on his dinner offer. He was a chef, for Chrissakes!! And I can't cook: it was perfect! The bastard.
Ah. What great witticisms do I have for this (possible) final blog from this location? I believe I have none. Okay, maybe I have one: I regret nothing. Everything that I have accomplished, everything that exploded in my face, everything that made me laugh and cry was for a purpose and I learned from it all. I wouldn't be who I am or where I am if I hadn't been here when I was here.

TVs are heavy

And they should be moved by people larger than me.
I just ate more yogurt than I think might be healthy. I'm starting on the cookies next.
My realtor just called. I get possession tonight. Oh! I'm going over there to wander around and become perplexed and cowed by its overall shininess. The microwave is really big and looks complicated.

(Wet) homeowner

It is done. I have never signed so much paperwork in such a short amount of time before. And the mortgage came through so thankfully I didn't have to hit my mom up for the balance. As I was signing the documents the notary would give me a brief run down of what each one was. It went something like this: "This confirms there are no mortgages or liens against the property. This one gives your bank the right to vote at strata meetings. This one is a commitment for you to remain celibate for a year. And this one gives a camera crew the right to follow you around for three months for a reality t.v. show called 'Is This Girl for Real?'".
Now I have a headache and am hooped up on coffee and a fat-laden, sugar filled muffin from Starbucks. Mmmm, good! Look, I can only eat so much canned salmon and tomato soup, alright?
It was somewhat of a bittersweet ride home on the bus. Everything in Vancouver was endearing to me. I started to miss all the long runs throughout Vancouver. I miss Granville Island, Spanish Banks, Stanley Park, Caffe Barney, the Jazz Cellar, the Reagle Beagle, Kits Beach, walking all over the city, 5th Avenue Cinemas, UBC, the endowment lands, my sushi place, the people at Rogers, my bus driver, the skunk that always walks between my building and the next one and sprays at midnight for some bizarre reason, brunch at the Sunset Grill, Kits. Kidding: I will never miss Kits or its inhabitants. And though I love Kerrisdale, there have been some weird happenings. A couple of shootings in the area (drug lords like to live in nice places too, I suppose). The erection of 5955 Balsam (http://www.kerrisdaleliving.com) and the upcoming Kerry (www.kerry.ca). I mean, that's just taking this whole creme de la creme thing a bit too far.
So yeah. There we have it. Sad to leave, but looking forward to starting a new phase in my life. Picking up my running again. Meeting new people. Maybe cultivating a healthy relationship with a cute boy. What? It could happen.
I think I got my karma back.

What do my couch, chaise lounge, bed and table have in common?

They're all legless.
It's like an apartment for midgets or something.

Fun things to do in the bedroom

Screwing. Or unscrewing, as it were.
Good news: I successfully disassembled the bed.
Bad news: there's no way I can figure out how to put it back together again.
Good news: it's actually Michael's bed and he'd kind of like it back.
Bad news: I guess I need a new bed.

66% of you are missing your pants

And I thought I was the only one. It is a rare day that I will come home and pour a glass of wine before even taking my boots off. Today is that day. Today I had to accept my mother's offer to cash in her GICs to fund the amount of my mortgage because my mortgage broker is a colossal fuck up. Yes. I'm using the f-word today. I used it at work a couple of times. Also a rarity. Yes, between dropping the f-bomb and spending inordinate amounts of time in the spare office at work gesticulating wildly and endlessly repeating "I don't know what to do. What am I supposed to do?" I really accomplished a lot. Yeah. Good thing I have a really understanding boss.
I think this blog is more for me, because I need to unload. So please, enjoy my drivelling rant as I try to pull together the scattered fragments of my disturbed mind. I don't know whether I'm coming or going. I was supposed to go visit Michael tonight (yes: to drop off more boxes!), but I think I am too flummoxed. And of course I feel awful because he was expecting me and I shall not show. I need to allow the movers to move the remaining boxes. I need to have faith that they can do it. My faith in peoples' ability to do things has been soundly shaken. I need to pack more. I need to take apart my bed. I have to wash the windows. I need the searing pain in my stomach to stop. I need to repay my mom as soon as possible, and add in a little "pain and suffering" bonus. I need to write a letter full of scathing hatred and burning vitriol to my broker once this debacle is behind me. And cc her boss.
I understand. I was greedy. I wanted too much. I wanted to believe the mortgage broker last night when she said that my notary would have the docs first thing this morning.
I'm trying to articulate something, but I don't know what. My nerves are frayed and I'm as taut as a wire. And I'm mad and embarrassed and tired and dejected and alone again. I should be happy. Everything will be fine tomorrow. I'll sign the last papers, all the money will be coming in from various places. I'll be ensconced in my new pad on Friday. There's a lesson in all of this. Whenever shit happens, you are being taught a lesson. Today's lesson: there's no such thing as a free ride, and be sure to always know where your pants are.

Uh

Razors. In my tummy. Behind my eyes. I have bad karma today. Can it be turned around? Please: pull out an eyelash on my behalf; toss salt over your shoulder; find a shooting star; blow out a candle and send happy thoughts my way.

Sweet

My deal is about to slide into default. I love TD Bank and my mortgage broker. Nice to know they're working for me.
I am also enjoying the stabbing pain in my stomach. Trying to quell it with coffee, but it's not going so well.
Let's end this madness. Confirm you've received the documents. CONFIRM IT.

Yeah, yeah, I'm going to bed

There is totally no correlation between the number of blogs I post in one day and my stress level. Really. No connection whatsoever.
But in my ongoing attempt to be a positive person who is thankful for what has been bestowed upon her, I shall make the following factual statements:
1) I smell really good right now
2) I still totally dig Joni Mitchell
3) I have super terrific friends that seem to check in at the most opportune times
4) all the paperwork, deadlines, injuries and bullshit aside, I do know that all my friends love me (to varying degrees) and that they want what's best for me and they accept me for the neurotic, multi-blogging spazz that I am
5) I make awesome iTunes playlists
6) this has been one of the most blogged days of my life, and I am so glad to have shared it with you. Come over here. Let's have a little hug. This is nice. Thank you for seeing past my neuroses and accepting me for the animated, self-deprecating, stressed out, beleaguered idiot that is yours truly. Plus five pounds.

And also?

This is why I manage the minutiae. One cannot trust anyone but one's self to ensure things of any importance are done correctly. My mortgage broker procrastinated, and now I am paying for it. Don't procrastinate. Do it. Do it now.
I totally need to finish packing. Or do I?

Righhhhhhhht

Just checked my email. Why. Why?? If I have to extend the closing date I am going to be super pissed. Like, more so than usual.
I was really mellow twenty minutes ago. Quite relaxed, actually. And a little sleepy. Now this. What have I learned? Ignorance is bliss. Got a problem? Ignore it as long as you can or it will ruin your sleep.
Ah, who am I kidding? I'm sleepy again.

I don't like stress

It's stressful. My mortgage broker almost gave me a coronary today. I don't even want to get into the details, they are so ridiculous. Add to this the fact that my A-type personality appears to be resurfacing which has led me to move loads of boxes to store at Michael's apartment. M said, "Um, you know the movers can move your boxes, right?". No. No, they cannot. I must do everything and control everything. You want me to sit back and what? Relax? Not possible. Must. Manage. The minutiae.
I shall spend the rest of the afternoon trying to control the weather.
Have I mentioned that I haven't been running?

Where ARE your pants, people?

I don't sleep nights anymore. Went to bed at 11:30 and woke up at 3:30. Making mental checklists of everything that needs doing and then deciding that it's physically impossible to accomplish it all in the time frame allotted (which was at one time vast, but which I piddled away) is fun.
I wonder how long I can sleep in the bathroom stall for before someone notices I'm missing at work.

Karma

And yes. I get it. Karma is totally being a lineblocker in my life to ensure I stay on the straight and narrow. Thank you, karma.
I really need to start running again. Or doing something that works up at sweat and leaves me tired and disheveled.
Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

Lost in Translation

Still good, umpteen times later. Sigh.
Unrequited love. I am so unfamiliar with the concept. Please to explain.

When is a Volkswagon Jetta a tricycle?

When it loses one of its wheels on the Stanley Park causeway. I would say, "How in the hell does that happen?", but that's the kind of thing that would happen to me.
My leftover dinner from Saturday night has gotten significantly spicier. I guess it's been stewing in its literal juices for a bit. It's this, canned salmon or beef broth. Choices, choices.
Was supposed to see my nana, mom and aunt for lunch today but my mom cancelled. She lost power this morning and a tree fell across the road. I said, "Suck it up: you know how to work a chainsaw". Kidding. I wonder when I'll see my nana and aunt next. It's kind of a weird thought. I wonder when I'll see you next. I can hardly wait. I am breathless with anticipation.
I had a dream that I was in the house at Lasqueti last night and there was an earthquake. When it started I knew immediately what it was and I fell to my knees as started praying to god (because everyone knows how tight I am with god). Then it stopped and I thought to myself, "Well that wasn't so bad" and then it was like a hand tipped the house on a 45 degree angle and I was like, "Ahh... there it is". I dreamed this because I watched a show about religious fanaticism on Sunday night (after Simpsons, Family Guy and American Dad, natch). It was great. The interviewer was asking questions of these old, white, shake n' bake Christian bible pounders and they're spewing hell and brimfire and the interviewer asks the question that I've always wanted to ask one of these people. He said (roughly), "What do you think about the fact that there are Muslims out there right now who believe as fervently as you do that there faith is the one true faith above all others?". And you know what they said, "Well, they haven't read the bible.". Wow. It's like trying to explain quantum physics to a five year old. Except I think you'd have better luck making headway with the youngster. In other religious news: Buddhists do not agree with homosexuality. So much for that path of enlightenment. I know that I make mention of creating my own religion on my profile, and I think I might just get to work on that once I'm all settled in.

I am afraid to go outside

I shall anchor myself with steel toed boots, a belt with a huge brass buckle, and lots of heavy jewellery.
Also: thanks to the one person who has discerned that "hell, yes" they will come and visit me in Central Lonsdale. I love you, mom. Kidding: her power is down. And she's long since been sufficiently horrified to stop reading my blog. Her words: "I don't need to know that".

Blogging is more fun than packing

Bye bye apartment. You will only be mine for five more days. Egads. Maybe this long weekend is to my detriment because I'm moving really slowly. But you keep reading this and it only serves to encourage me. Stop encouraging me! Get over here, grab a box and start cramming stuff into it!

Alright. I'm out. I'm heading off into the wild blue yonder.

Unmotivated

Here's what not to do: turn on some really great jazz first thing in the morning (kcsm.org) and then marvel how you really want to sit in some darkened lounge, sipping wine, legs crossed, one foot bobbing in some erratic non-rhythmic staccato. Afterwards you'll go to some beat down bar in town (smoking cigarettes along the way if, of course, you smoke cigarettes) where you'll have conversations starting out with the noblest of causes: the opium fields in Afghanistan; the proposed social housing to be inserted in Dunbar; unions; Buddhism; unaffordable housing. But then the conversation will slide just a little, going from the macro to the micro. Your gaze, once slightly furtive and sly becomes more intense: latches on. Oh, you saw the new exhibit too? What did you think? You're looking good these days. I like your shirt, have I seen it before? Have you seen the new Wes Anderson movie? Remember the time we...?
And bam! just like that you're sitting in an empty apartment, surrounded by boxes bulging at the seams, sipping coffee sans sugar because you ran out a few days ago and simply cannot be bothered to introduce one more food product into your shrinking cupboards, as you update your blog and allow your mind to wander upon learning (from the new, thoroughly enjoyable San Francisco based jazz station) that there is a jazz festival going on in San Francisco right now.
I should probably buy some sugar.
Or a ticket to San Francisco.

Do I qualify as a geek yet?

It strikes me as a bit lame that I'm sitting here tweaking my blog to incorporate a list of books that I wish to urge others to read - on a Saturday night, no less - instead of, you know, being with people. I like books. Maybe I should start a book club. In central Lonsdale. Pants optional.
Ah! There is no time for that. I need to compile lists of music, wine and movies. Oh! Oh! I should do a list of all the things I need in a man. Now we're talking. Ha. I entertain myself so easily, why do I need to spend time with others?

Vote early, vote often

Well, it's nice to know that, if my blog readers do choose to visit me in Central Lonsdale, it is likely that they'll be pantless. It should make for an interesting house warming party.
Went for dinner with Michael in North Van last night. We went to pub that we'd been to a couple of times before. Everywhere we go now he says, "This is your stomping ground. This is where you can have your hangover recovery breakfasts. This is where you can have coffee with your friends." Also, I think he's jealous of my proximity to the Buy Low. If I run out of anything I can make it to the Buy Low, pick up said item and be back in my apartment in ten minutes. I'm going to do it a lot. In my pajamas. Maybe fresh from the shower donning a robe and with a towel on my head. It'll be like the time at the Fairmont Chateau Whistler when ding! the elevator door opened and this guy in a fluffy white robe with a drink in his strolled out into the lobby.
Packed more shit. I have a lot of shit. Was happy to see that the landlord took away one of the giant blinds that I was originally supposed to clean. It was broken and I kind of begged off. How was I supposed to clean it? It didn't fit into the tub. It would have taken for frickin' ever to do it slat by slat. I mean, I suppose I could have done it, but the more likely scenario would be that I would make my mom do it when she helps me do the final clean on Friday. What!? She's not too old for hard labour!
Yeah. That's kind of it. I'm a bit tired and I've run out of boxes to pack. And I don't have any blinds on my big living room window so I'm pretty sure that everyone in the building across the street is staring at me and scrutinizing my every move. Cause if I don't have any plans on a Saturday night, it's not possible for anyone else to have any. And I'm really entertaining to watch. There was the packing bit, the scrubbing bit, the clothes folding time, then some excitement when the smoke detector went off as I was making dinner. Then me sitting at my kitchen table reading and eating - that must've set them all a-twitter.
I guess I should get back to it. There is still more weeding out and paring down to be done. You can sit outside and watch me, if you wish.

Revolt!

People do not share my taser-related views. Though one of my coworkers did do an excellent impression of a police officer from Alabama.
This is our freedom we're talking about here people. Our right to not get shocked with electricity! I'm organizing a rally this Sunday at 6am: are you in?

Well that didn't take long

Okay. I'm mad now.

Dear RCMP and police officers: stop tasering people. Yeah. Way to taser a 68 year old man that was delivering newspapers. Another guy was tasered because of a parking dispute. An eighty something woman was tasered in Quebec (I didn't even have the strength to read that article). Try and taser me. Please. I will take that taser, shove it up your ass and pull the trigger until it goes 'click' (one gold star to anyone that can name which movie that comes from).

Here's a really great question that Michael put forth the other day: "What did the cops do before they had tasers?". My best guess? They tasered people a hell of a lot less.
Right. Oh yeah - good morning!

This is why I'm happy

Because I am never too far from a coffee with a coworker, an email from a friend, dinner with co-conspirators or a phone call from a member of my inner circle. It's good to be me. I work with, and am friends with, such cool people. How did this happen? I feel like they're going to put all the pieces together one day. Hmmm... she's a bookkeeper, she's not that funny, she's gaining weight, she can't run very fast any more and I hear she's caved, gotten cable and watches a lot of reality t.v. now: imposter! Let us not allow her to hang out in our midst any longer!
Met up with Po and N for dinner at the Kingston tonight. Ah, N is the last of us to retain a boyfriend. Good for her. They are possibly going to Victoria for the weekend which I think is romantic regardless of the rain. Actually, I'm not even sure if it is going to rain this weekend. Po is going to visit her brother in Seattle. Then I mused out loud, "What am I going to do this weekend?" to which Po yelled, "You're packing! You've got a lot of packing to do! Get packing!". Okay! Holy shit. Maybe, at the rate I'm currently going, I won't be fully packed until 2008. Maybe I need to step it up a notch. Bleh. Who likes packing? Ruffling through the remnants of my life and remembering random things: my brother fixing the brakes on my Supra for my birthday; the bullet holes in the sign at Pompino Beach; coming in 3rd place for my age group at the Sandcastle 10k not because I was fast, but because essentially no one else in my age group showed up; Bard on the Beach (x2); the Happy 16th birthday card Po made for me (I've kept it for 14 years!); Blue Rodeo this summer (in my winter jacket, of course); graduating; seeing the big tree in the Alcan commercial first hand (and being unnecessarily nervous about bears); my trip to Loon Lake with my second "major" boyfriend Rob; contemplating buying a condo in Fairhaven, Bellingham (look, I really, really like Fairhaven, okay?); nearly burning down one of the Finnerties; the letters my dad wrote me from Lasqueti when we weren't communicating so well; the death of both my grandfathers; Blackie; photography; Vegas; L's stagette downtown; gay pride.
Ah. I love my life. I love all the people in my life that enable me to have these wondrous experiences. I hope I have been half the friend, sister, daughter, girlfriend to these people as they have been so, so much to me.
Holy sappy, Batman! Tomorrow I'll be angry about something again. I'm sure of it.

A sense of calm prevails

Alright. So the issue at work is ongoing. Like M says, I’m not to sweat the small stuff. It’s all irrelevant and who really gives a shit. Not me. And Michael sent me the token email that we send to one another when our outlook is sufficiently dour: “Hang in there, kitty”. This is, of course, a nod to the Simpsons’ episode where we see the infamous “Hang in there, baby” poster showcasing a dangling kitty in Ned Flanders’ rec room. And it just gives you that great, kitschy image and you realize that nothing is all that bad, tomorrow will bring a new day and that, at some point, someone thought it would be cute to hang a kitten from something and to write “Hang in there, baby” on it.
And even though I really need to do laundry, and I couldn’t get one of the screws out of the wall in my bedroom last night (insert screwing in bedroom joke here), and I took down one set of blinds and I can’t get them back up again, and there are boxes everywhere, and my apartment is like a sauna and I spent last night getting covered in grime and bleach trying to wrangle with the other two sets of blinds in my bathtub (hey – you come up with a better solution!), and I finished “Tess of the d’Urbervilles” (I won’t tell you what happened but I strongly encourage all of you to read this book: it was just absolutely amazing) and was quite saddened, I am still in a good mood.
And oh, I just got skyped by a coworker who said that if I can get his expenses to him by the 13th he will name that day in my honor. So I’ve got that going on. It has a nice ring to it. “Happy T- R- Day!”. “Happy Duder Day!”. Oh, now I like that.

The fun things in my cupboards

I found some Pez in a drawer. I shall view it as an appetizer. My dinner is going to be a sandwich with tomato soup. Except I have Soy Milk instead of cow milk. I bet that's not going to work too well. Hmmm...
So the coolest thing happened when I was walking home. I get to S. Lampman (purveyor of fine men's clothing) and I hear loud jazz. I thought, huh, they must have their outside speakers cranked up for some reason, on this dank and dreary day. Then I see that there is a man sitting on the bench outside the store playing the trumpet. Well. Apropos of nothing. It put a little spring in my step and helped to temper the rage I felt when, after dumping laundry detergent into the SOLE WASHER in our building, I dropped the lid and noticed that, oddly, ten minutes were remaining on the wash cycle as a horrific grinding noise started to emanate from the bowels of the machine. So someone broke the machine with ten minutes left, pulled their stuff out and didn't leave an "Out of Order" note. Chunks.
Where's that trumpet guy again??
Oh, I have smoked oysters, too.

And yet, the higher road slopes markedly downwards

Apparently taking the high road means verbally sparring with someone, and ending up in tears in the CFO's office. There is nothing more pathetic than a woman who cries in an office. Hi. I'm that pathetic woman. I am so frustrated. Less so about the matter at hand, but that I will now be thought of as "emotional".
I wish I became more eloquent when I was frustrated. But, you know, having shaking hands and welling up with tears of rage is just as good.

Higher road, higher road

I'm taking the higher road. Mmmmm... tongue biting is good. Some people's children, and all that.
Deep breath. Maybe go for a coffee this afternoon. It's not personal. It is small in the great scheme of things. Don't be petty.
Phew. Thanks, I needed that. You're a good friend.

I live in a box

Or boxes, rather.

I am lost without my bookcase. I kept out an unread Margaret Atwood to tide me through, once I finish "Tess of the d'Urbervilles" (providing I don't commit suicide upon its conclusion). Tess! Tess! Forget them all! Fie, Alec! Fie, Angel! Let's go get drunk at the Reagle Beagle and flirt with UBC undergrads.

A forcible diet

Hm. I haven't seen any action since September. That's awesome. I feel like crying from time to time these days. I wonder if the two are related.
Also? My landlord left me a note and said I don't need to clean the fridge or stove, just the faucets in the bathroom, wipe down the cupboards and (ergh!) clean the windows and blinds. The blinds are disgusting, all full of soot and grime from the outside world. Encroaching on my pristine living space. Bastards. Oh... my mind wanders a bit more these days, too. Plus, things are ending up in boxes and I just know I'm going to be in dire need of something and it'll be in the last box I rummage through.
I have a lot of salmon, pasta, oatmeal and chicken broth in the cupboards and I endeavor to eat it before I move. Oh, and tomato soup. So I may lose those five pounds after all. Bleh!!
Am coming across interesting items as I literally clean house. I came across this card from my mom and I swear to god, it said something like, "We're so glad that you're back. The peace and silence was deafening in your absence and your brother and I really missed fighting with you. We missed having to tip toe around in the morning so as not to incur your wrath". What!? That must've been after my first crash and burn relationship when I moved back home because I was lonely. And had no one to fight with, apparently. Then I found a bumper sticker that said, "I'm not opinionated. I'm just always right". Wow. People sure did have me pegged ten years ago. I think I've mellowed though (see prior blog about not hitting anyone with nunchucks).
Also found a couple of joint credit cards from when Michael and I got a line of credit together. I left a message for him to call me back on a couple of things. I think that, if he doesn't call by 8pm, it's fair game for me to rack the credit cards up and leave the country. Ha. It would be funny though, him calling me one day and saying "Um, I got this $6,000 credit card bill for what looks like a stay in a high end spa in the Napa Valley with charges at every winery in a ten mile radius. Would you know anything about that?".
Yeah. I'm getting kind of sad though. It's a big change, this. A seven year chunk of my life here. It was the best apartment. I covered a lot of ground here. Quit Hudd, got my diploma, started running, ran a marathon, turned 30, contemplated marriage, got my tubes tied, saw other people get married, worked part time, travelled, volunteered, entered the wonderful world of dating, rediscovered my friends, found cool music and books. And the apartment was always quiet and I got away with sometimes playing my music too loud, having people over too late, having different men come and go on various Sunday mornings, smoking a nice amount of pot, napping after long runs and reading Vanity Fair in the tub for prolonged periods of time. I know this is absolutely corny, but this apartment was like a content, non-judgemental, welcoming, embracing friend that was just always there and that I was always so happy to come home to. Yeah. I actually think I will cry when I leave. I'm embarassed to admit that I'm growing a little misty right now. But then we've discussed one of the reasons why I might be a little more sentimental these days.
Speaking of (non) action. Sat near the cute Japanese book reader on the bus again. Totally didn't even look at him. I frickin' rock. He has a cool jacket.

Crankypants

And so it begins: the fattening of Duder. I’ve kind of put running (and all forms of physical activity, apparently) on the back burner until after the move. The five pounds I gained seem destined to stay, for the short term at least. I’m increasingly tired as my energy levels drop. And I am cranky! By the time I got in to work today I was ready to punch someone and I had to check myself and ask what my problem was. It wasn’t PMS. Nothing that of any import occurred on the bus ride that should have elicited anything other than mild irritation, and yet there I was, ready to break out my nunchucks and start beaning people at 8:30 in the morning. Sigh. I wish I did have nunchucks. Wait! That’s wrong, violence is not the answer. Let us make love, not war. Please? Ha! How much does that factor into things. I digress. The point that I was trying to make before I managed to baffle myself with bullshit is that I’m cranky because I’m not running, and this move is definitely not helping matters.
And the weather isn’t conducive to running either. It’s not nice. It’s cold. It’s dark. I don’t have contacts and I don’t like to run with glasses. And it’s cold and dark. Did I mention the cold darkness? I’m a baby.
And yes. I am smart enough to know that if I run I will lose weight. If I run the stress will dissipate. If I run I can increase my energy levels. But the packing and the cleaning! The cold darkness! Why were there so many safety pins in the junk drawer? Why do I have stale taco shells in my cupboard? What am I going to do with three or four years worth of Vanity Fair? When am I going to take my IBM Craptiva to the computer recyling place? What the hell is in my freezer? Why do I have a spare microwave turntable? Is that even the correct term?? Do I have to clean my blinds?
Yeah, yeah. Enough already. It’ll get done. It is small in the grand thing of schemes. I mean the grand scheme of things.