You cannot do a kindness too soon, for you never know how soon it will be too late.
- Ralph Waldo Emerson

I spend most of my waking life in constant thought and am most stimulated by those who are the same. I think it’s because in some sense it’s like being telepathic only there’s not necessarily communication in the verbal sense and it’s not el-creepo. It’s more like when you’re around someone similar your psyches do this kind of high five with each other. I know when it happens because I’m attuned to it.

You have to really be there to get it. I get a sense that some of you are going to know what I’m talking about. Still, some of you are going to wish you knew what I was talking about and some of you are reaching for the popcorn right about now to sit back just for the entertainment and stay completely out of it. It’s okay.

If I can try to explain it very simply: Imagine you’re traveling alone in a foreign country where you don’t speak the native language. You can move around and go relatively unnoticed when it comes to sticking to the universal standards of human behaviour (walking on two feet, feeding yourself with your hands, etc.) but at some point you will need to communicate with a local which you are already anticipating to be a challenge.

Your entire exchange will be quite basic and might include carefully flipping through the pages of your translation book as well as the odd, shameless charade in an effort to enhance what you’re trying to say. You would still be interacting, but it won’t be the most relaxed or natural way for either party. Each person is forced to augment the way they would normally communicate. Things might become so misinterpreted that you end up purchasing a live hen when your original request was directions to the latrine. You might try to explain yourself a few more times to no avail; the hen doesn’t fix the fact that you still need a toilet. With the other person’s hands waving in the air they motion you and your new hen away with reckless abandon. Frustrated and misunderstood, you have no choice but to give up and walk away.

Then, by some fortuitous happenstance you spot someone familiar through the wanderers. It’s someone you recognize from home – maybe the teller at your bank… anyone. It doesn’t matter that you’ve never officially met; what matters is you have found instant fellowship; someone who will understand you.

You rush over to the bank teller and bypassing all formal introductions, you both begin to laugh. You don’t need to offer a word of excuse for why you’ve got a dusty, old, clucking hen tucked under your arm because they will already know why.

There are some people who you meet along the way who will get you, even if you arrive at the friendship with a hen tucked under your arm. They won’t ask why because it will make sense because it’s just what you do. Find those people, keep them close, love them with all your heart, and be good to them.

Cluck, cluck.

Wednesday Jam Sesh?

Note: Lyrics.

Incubus | Dig

We all have someone that digs at us, at least we dig each other.

So someone brought in Pilsbury pre-cut cookie dough to bake in the toaster oven in my office. I was really hoping this week to reestablish my good eating habits however first day back at work yesterday and Jodie and I hit the greasiest of Chinese food restaurants in the Downtown East Side that we could find.

My spring rolls, although delicious, were stuffed with ingredients completely unrecognisable by sight and actually coated my palate, inner cheeks, uvula (that’s u-v-u-l-a), and esophagus with something that can best be described as having the consistency of engine oil. They were also about the size of a small child’s forearm.

I should note that I did also complement this bastardization of the common spring roll with a heaping, steaming plate of bok choy. Luckily I steered clear of the side of oyster sauce because one quick taste of it off my fingertip nearly burned a hole into the tip of my tongue due to the salt content alone. If there was ever any sign of oyster in there it was eradicated years ago when that bottle was first stored away in the depths of the cupboards in the back.

I had a good, small, and healthy dinner last night that consisted of pure pumpkin puree (yes, the kind you normally use for baking), heated on the stove and mixed with some olive oil, salt, and pepper accompanied with one lonely, cold chicken drumstick as all that remained of the chicken carcass I picked up at Costco a few days earlier. Oh, I dipped it in some homemade garlic mayo for flavour.

Don’t you all wish I’d invite you over for dinner some time?

I woke up this morning proud of myself for eating healthily during dinner the night before and decided today would be another new day. Another attempt at trying to get my digestive system back to our regular way of eating.

But then the cookies started cooking in the toaster oven. I might as well have had them all in my mouth the moment my olfactory system picked up the scent because they were as real to me as John Mayer waking up beside me tomorrow morning.

Just one! I screamed to myself from the inside. Two later I was entering the kitchen for the third time. Just one more and that’s IT!  I screamed to myself again from the inside. There was only one co-worker in the kitchen when I went in. I suddenly felt the need to justify my third visit to the kitchen by saying out loud this time These are just too good, I can’t stop.

Me neither, she responded, that’s why I’m sitting so far away from them.

I’ll just take one more I think, I said without much conviction. And, with that I grabbed the smallest one just to prove it to myself that I had some measure of willpower and sure enough it was stuck to two others and the paper towel they were all sitting on. I then had three clasped between my fingertips while I tried desperately to remove the paper towel that was moving around so much the other cookies were sliding off the plate and by the time it was all over, I walked out of the kitchen, head hung low with three more cookies in my hand.

What an embarrassment I was to myself.

I was nice and not to mention diligent enough to stop at Joan’s desk on the way to mine and dropped off two saying, Here, I brought these for you.

Date the wealthy? More like poster-girl for third-world famine and dumpster diving.

Sorry.

I get the feeling that Mother Nature is putting me through a test. That perhaps the idea is to have me lined up as ruler of the Animal Kingdom in my next life and these are challenges to see how well I’ll do at each level.

Tonight was the rodent round. 

Margot brought this home this evening, into my bedroom too. I guess it was the only way she could think of to show me her appreciation for my hospitality. Although a nice gesture, I told her to please leave the baby mice alone in the field next time. 

I forgot what it is like to have an outdoor cat. Try as I might to keep Margs inside, she is wild at heart with a soul that covets the open air. Unfortunately, I don’t know how long dear Margot has been emancipated from the four walls that housed her previous humans and thus she has become entrenched in the ways of wilderness survival. Cat against nature. She’s like my little girl guide. 

Just when I had every intention of going to bed early I ended up packing Fievel up in a shoebox with one of my softest hand towels and some shredded Kleenex (Puffs 3-ply) and dropped him off at the doorstep of the WRA in Burnaby. As I drove slowly down the dead-end road, entirely void of street lights, I kept thinking to myself, Please self, don’t hit an animal, there is not enough room in this shoebox.

I made it deep in the bush, little shoebox in hand, and placed it on the rickety stool just outside the Care Centre doors. I made a wish for strength through the night and will call in the morning. 

I hope I passed the test. 

How nearly every time I log into Hotmail I’m assaulted by some WSPA banner ad that contains images of a dog with its lip split open and slash marks on its face and body or a dancing bear with a pashmina around its neck and rings through its nostrils. 

I understand the purpose of the ads, believe me. If anyone on this earth understands the plight of all animals, insects, rodents, etc., it’s me. I just don’t want to see that ad however many times a day because I find it incredibly horrifying, deeply disturbing, and enough to make me want to do that hermit thing and cleanse my body of the thought of things like this still happening by lying in my dark room, deep breathing the images away.

I used to tell my mom I thought I needed therapy because of how hyper-sensitive I am toward animals. I remember a time when my mom took my brother and I to see Benji the Hunted in theatres. I was 10 years old. Within the first scene, a hawk swoops from the sky, snags a leopard cub, and flies off with it caught in its talons. I was so beside myself for having witnessed such a thing that I burst out crying so hysterically that my mom had to remove us from the theatre. 

Growing up I’d be the kid that intervened when a cat was preying on an unsuspecting bird or chipmunk. Then, if any one of these little creatures was caught and left clinging to life I would be the kid that had various-sized cages and a mini infirmary in my bedroom closet. 

I was the 15-year old who had a rat named Susan. When Susan was diagnosed with a tumour on one of her many nipples my dear mother, fully having identified and understood my obsessive and powerful compassion for all creatures, booked an appointment with our vet to have Susan’s tumour removed. This resulted in a mammectomy and she lived another two years. 

I was the one who happened upon an possibly abandoned Canada goose nest containing six eggs. I was the one who made Kenny drive to the nest at midnight with me  just because I couldn’t sleep while my mind raced wondering if mother goose had returned. I was the one who then made Kenny let me take the six eggs back to our house because they were in the nest cold and abandoned. I was the one who then stayed up until three in the morning researching how to incubate goose eggs. Kenny and I were the ones who went to Home Depot the next morning to buy the wood to make a platform that the humidifier would sit under while the eggs incubated on top. Kenny was the one who let me rig all this up in our walk-in closet. Kenny was the one who never yelled at me when he’d walk in and be overcome with steam and heat then walk out with wrinkly dress shirts.

I once witnessed a father Canada goose lead his family and wife onto the 417 highway in Ottawa then proceeded to dry heave and almost pass out.

I’m the one who has seen seven loose dogs running on either highways or major streets in their life time. I am the one who will risk life and limb to catch these frantic, thirsty, and scared dogs, then resorts to calling 9-1-1 if unsuccessful and requests a return phone call once the dilemma has been solved. 

I once lived with a chipmunk in my kitchen while Kenny was away on a fishing trip. I gave it fresh water every morning along with some leafy vegetables and whole wheat Shreddies. I fed the cats in the living room while boarding up the kitchen so the chipmunk would be safe. Come Kenny’s return we had a Hav-A-Heart trap which ended up catching this less than appreciative chipmunk while he was in the middle of peanut butter and crackers. He was then released back into the wild with a full tummy.

I once made a boyfriend’s friend look into a black, garbage bag thrown on the side of a farm road because I thought it had a calf in it. They wanted to bet me money that I was paranoid and mentally ill but I ended up winning. 

I spent two hours once cleaning off glue from the legs of flies that I had picked off strips of fly tape at a cottage. 

In my first apartment here in Vancouver it wouldn’t be uncommon to have some wolf spiders hanging out in the shower drain when it was time for my shower. I would pick them out with toilet paper every time and bring them to my front door then release them. 

I figure if I never make it to the pearly gates of human heaven, I’ll have a VIP pass to the barn door across the meadow made of clouds. I don’t think this would even bother me anyway; sometimes I feel like I like animals more than I do humans anyway. 

The long and short of it is … I just don’t want to see the WSPA ads anymore.

Like, what would happen if you’re a vegetarian and your boyfriend spritzes this on between his pecs. Or, what if you’re a ravenous meat eater so much so that you grill your steaks for breakfast and quiver the minute someone says short loin or foreshank? What if all of the sudden your dog asks you out on a date? 

I hate to sound like the most gullible person in the entire world but what the mother?

Is it weird that the only reason why I bought this soup mix is because of the packaging?

This one’s for you, Nicole; for next Friday reading.

I believe in one of my past lives I was the love child of Murphy of Murphy’s Law notoriety.

Earlier this week I decided I wanted to get rid of my bathroom mirror. I’d been staring into it for the last year and a half and although a gradual dislike, I finally replaced it with a big, round mirror from IKEA. This previous one was gaudy in a slightly baroque-y way. It would look good in the basement powder room of grandma’s house, basically.

This new mirror is heavy, which means it needs hardware to hold it up. I’ve never been one to shy away from hard anything, and kind of welcomed this long-weekend project. I bought a shiny new aluminum level, too. I read the cryptic IKEA directions … mark an “x” every 22″ to form a square. I mean how hard can that be? My level doesn’t have measurements on it so I had to improvise by placing a measuring tape along the edge and marking 22″. So far sooooo good. I was so excited to hang it and admire it. Xs were made, it was time to drill. IKEA didn’t provide me with anchors but it was okay because I just happened to have a bulk container of them! So far sooooo good. My cordless drill was full of juice and I was so ready. I drilled four holes (22″ apart) pushed the anchors in, screwed in the brackets and hoisted my big, round mirror toward the wall to place it.

I could see my reflection in the mirror I was carrying. I went from delighted, to dazed, to desperate, to demented in roughly 15 seconds. By the 16th second I had smoke pouring out of my ears and my hair was standing straight up on the top of my head. To make matters worse I couldn’t figure out what was wrong, why it was so wrong, and at what point I frigged things up that badly. I had a level for godsake! I measured every thing twice so I would only have to cut once! So there I was gripping this roughly 12 pound circular mirror delirious over the situation at hand (get it?). In effect, the bottom of the mirror slid into the brackets perfectly, but for the top brackets .. well they were about 2″ too far away from securing the top of the mirror. I looked at the directions again, over and over again. I felt like such a moron trying to figure out if I missed a key step in a two-step drawing. I even, out of complete bewilderment tried to rotate the mirror in case it was actually oval and I couldn’t tell because it was so big. It wasn’t. I lay it down on my bath mat and slid down my bathroom door staring at the stick men, the four Xs, the 22″ space between them … the 22″ space between them … the 22″ space between them … 

Wait a minute, this says 20 inches apart.

This says 20 inches!

Oh @#$% this says @#$%ing 20 @#$%ing inches!!

Yes, I installed the brackets two inches too wide apart. Any calm person would have been able to figure it out right away. My problem is I think I’m calm. I had a level!! I have a fancy cordless drill!! I fix things all by myself! I build things! They always work! I was beside myself for having made such a rookie mistake. Not only was I looking at anchors that I’d would now need to pull out, but I was then going to be looking at four deep holes in an off-white, faded yellow-y wall. 

I dropped everything and marched to Canadian Tire – picked up some Polyfix, sandpaper, a putty knife and … Oooh this is a pretty purple … Okay, I had every intention of buying some medium-base, satin white paint to keep it simple, but fell in love with this shade of purple I found. I knew it was for me when I saw its name: Andrea Lauren. It relaxed me, as I often find purple does, and figured this would be the perfect band-aid to my mistake of embarrassing inaccuracy. 

Sylvia’s out in Alaska for a week touring around, so she’s not exactly here to ask. But, she did let me paint one of my bedroom walls a deep, sky blue – which she happened to really like. So I went with this notion and decided that if she really hated it, I would paint it back white, worst case scenario. So I took the chance because my sanity was too important.

So I went from an easy $29.99 mirror purchase … to spending an additional $34 on supplies to fix my mess which should hopefully result in an updated, tranquil bathroom. 

After recovering, I filled the holes and would wait for them to dry. I figured the worst of this day was over and sit down on my couch to do some ‘waxing’ while watching TV. I overestimate my ‘pro’ status when it comes to this sometimes and do get lazy and multi task by either watching TV, scrutinzing over a crossword puzzle beside me, or talking on the phone. I should have known better. I should have known that given the way my evening was going so far, something else was going to go wrong. I figured out what it was when I looked to my right and saw my overturned hot, sugaring wax dripping off my crossword puzzle and collecting in a puddle on my sofa. Meanwhile I’m ready for the next rrrrrip and am completely helpless to remedying the situation as it worsens right beside me. Thankfully sugaring wax = sugar base, which means hot water and a rag melts wax nicely. I still didn’t appreciate the wet spot though.

Sometimes, I tell ya …

I woke up this morning to Otis playing with my hair. I tell you, sometimes he makes the best boyfriend. It’s a strange habit he picked up maybe two months ago. He’ll be nine this summer and in all our years together he has never exhibited this behaviour.

I know with him though, it comes with a catch, and despite this, I appreciate the gesture. He wants food, and I think in his old age, this is his way of waking me gently but with conviction. Previous to this his tactic was to unleash chaos on my otherwise extremely tranquil bedroom. This would frequently involve knocking over my water glass, walking over my alarm clock hitting the ‘sleep’ button and turning it on prematurely, jumping over my tuckered body in what I like to refer to as “the caged chimpanzee on methamphetamines method.” If all this doesn’t work he would resort to assaulting Marshall because he knows the wail Marshall is capable of brings me to my feet instantly in a fervent attempt to save my dying cat. This often results in a time out for Otis locked behind the sliding doors of my tub. He doesn’t like this, especially when he can hear Marshall crunching.

So, I’m liking this more pleasant approach as annoying as it is. It’s sweet.

My transit ride into work felt like it got me there in record time. I think it is because I caught the 7:34 SkyTrain which brings me to the 99 B-Line stop at precisely the time when it is approaching the stop while at the same time getting the red light, giving me enough time to cross the crosswalk and get on. I swear sometimes it seems like the earth lives and breathes right down to the seconds that tick on my watch. Like synchronised swimming.

I had four hospital apps today which were tolerable, as opposed to the make-my-knees-buckle-walk-back-to-office-crying ones I have sometimes. They took me a while though which brought my lunch time to roughly 2:05PM, and too late for my demanding tummy.

I did satiate it with a bowl of Tim’s chili and three fuzzy peaches for a pre-lunch snack. In addition to this I walked to London Drugs to buy some cheap ear buds to replace the other cheap ear buds I previously bought. While I was inspecting the goods a man came up too close behind me to do the same. When I decided this was distracting and rather uncomfortable I stepped back to walk away. Close man didn’t step back, thereby forcing me to squeeze between him and the end-of-aisle rack, which caused my hip to graze his knuckle. Gah! I gave him a stern and … okay … quite possibly a super bitchy excuse me, which I assume was interpreted as the latter because he did turn around to acknowledge the little 5’4″ person it came out of and I think I saw a head shake. At this point I was prepared to have an “Aaaand in this corner…” with him if he were to have said something. But he didn’t. It was super awkward when I wasn’t paying attention and stepped up to the same cash he was already standing at. I contemplated for a moment an about face but figured that’d be a sign of surrender, so I played it cool.

I got back to work to find a pair of size two, toddler shoes on Steve, the building manager’s, windshield. I’m not sure who donated such things as they are a rather strange adornment for a windshield. When I stepped outside after lunch I saw that Steve had moved them to the concrete ledge which I took to assume he wasn’t really feeling the gift either. I for one am now curious as to what three year old is walking around without any shoes on.

Time to put together my notes now. Lunch is over, just in time for my last break. Funny how things work.

Just a day in the life of Andrea.

Today’s word of the day is: Ambiguous

My ’24 Hours’ Taurus Horoscope for Wednesday, April 29th

You are groping blindly for satisfaction and aren’t clear about how to find the target.