I’ve been taking a Sociology course as part of a University transfer program in pursuits of a University degree in some sort of social science that I’m not even certain of yet. It’s only part-time (one night/week), as I can’t afford any more of a course load for the same reason I can’t afford a decrease in my salary by going part-time. Nevertheless, this course has kind of made my sleuthy, over-analytical, mistrusting, debunking, intensely curious brain quite satiated as of late! Now the world around me is accompanied by a bit more background and history. In other words, I’m starting to get a good sense of when society really went down the shitter.

Just kidding. I love you, Society!

It’s interesting in terms of my own self-understanding as well because this is really the first time I’ve been attending school classes since I finally cut myself off from all mis-directed post-secondary courses back in… what was it? 2004? Yes, I graduated high school in 1996 and was in post-secondary education for eight years. And no, I did not become a doctor. I left school educated and enlightened but still unlabeled when it came to taking courses with an end goal in mind.

For a while I wanted to be in Advertising, then it was Graphic Design, after this it was a bartender in an upscale restobar that I was going to establish, so six months of that led me into Small Business Management where lo and behold I finally obtained a 2-year diploma. However, that wasn’t enough for me because I no longer wanted to be a restobar owner and decided that computers were actually my calling so into Enterprise Networking I went. By the time I finished my post-secondary education I could create an entire advertising campaign from beginning to end, do all the graphic design work for it, while moonlighting as a bartender, and networking, configuring, and encrypting enterprise servers in my spare time.

My problem was that for my entire educational life I was so focus-and goalless that I just went through the motions of what was acceptable and expected while having very little interest in what was actually being taught to me. If I had it my way I would get through school successfully by drawing, writing stories, and reading novels of my choice. I was so indifferent toward the structure of school that I felt almost irritated by it for getting in the way of letting me learn what I really wanted to learn.

Can you imagine being my teacher? Funny though, some of them actually really liked me.

I once did a left-brain vs right-brain test… lemme see if I still have the results in an email.

Looking…
Looking…
Looking…
Yes.

Your Brain Usage Profile:
Auditory : 35%
Visual : 64%
Left : 63%
Right : 36%

Andrea, you are somewhat left-hemisphere dominant and show a preference for visual learning, although not extreme in either characteristic. You probably tend to do most things in moderation, but not always.

Your left-hemisphere dominance implies that your learning style is organized and structured, detail oriented and logical. Your visual preference, though, has you seeking stimulation and multiple data. Such an outlook can overwhelm structure and logic and create an almost continuous state of uncertainty and agitation. You may well suffer a feeling of continually trying to “catch up” with yourself.

Your tendency to be organized and logical and attend to details is reasonably well-established which should afford you success regardless of your chosen field of endeavor. You can “size up” situations and take in information rapidly. However, you must then subject that data to being classified and organized which causes you to “lose touch” with the immediacy of the problem.

Your logical and methodical nature hamper you in this regard though in the long run it may work to your advantage since you “learn from experience” and can go through the process more rapidly on subsequent occasions.

You remain predominantly functional in your orientation and practical. Abstraction and theory are secondary to application. In keeping with this, you focus on details until they manifest themselves in a unique pattern and only then work with the “larger whole.”

With regards to your career choices, you have a mentality that would be good as a scientist, coach, athlete, design consultant, or an engineering technician. You can “see where you want to go” and even be able to “tell yourself,” but find that you are “fighting yourself” at the darndest times.

I’m left-hemisphere dominant with a preference for visual learning. Yes, totally. I think up until this test I just convinced myself that all my troubles of mis-direction were explained simply because I was “right-brained.” The daydreaming, crayon loving, space-cadet that loves numbers, calculations, theories, and logic, as long as it’s all demonstrated to me in pretty little pictures and stories.

This little assessment is pretty bang-on for the most part; with the exception of the athlete as a career choice. Truth be known, my hamstrings would never allow it.

So, let’s just say this hemispherical breakdown has been a theme for most of my life, then, a sentence like this: “Such an outlook can overwhelm structure and logic and create an almost continuous state of uncertainty and agitation,” explains so much.

Moving right along…

As with every single post I’ve written over the last two years, the first half is usually initiated at least 2-3 weeks before the second half, sometimes 2-3 months (see diagnosis above). Since my very first sentence up there, I’ve written my mid-term, and received the results. 68%! Now, some of you scholarly academic types will see that mark and throw up a little. For me, I’m just proud of myself for passing! Granted this was my very first University exam, ever (remember, I’ve been college educated), I have all great intentions of surpassing 70% next time (they’re called baby steps, okay?). I studied so gall darn hard for that mid-term. And, what was different this time around was the fact that I actually enjoyed learning. I wanted to learn. I couldn’t wait to learn. These intentions are great except for the idea, as I’ve recently learned, that University professors all have a specific, and individual, way of structuring their exams. I imagine the social science professors are probably the most unique in their exam structuring, too. I know from the first five minutes of my class I was already assessing her. Watching her body language, her use of the floor space at the front of the class, her animated face, the way her nostrils flare when she talks through her smile. The way she almost flips her head in a ditsy fashion which doesn’t match the PhD title she maintains in her email signatures. How she goes bug-eyed when she says something ”hip” to the fairly young class and blinks over her bug eyes while waiting for a reaction. The thing is, the class reaction comes in this kind of hesitant, I’m snickering because it looks like you want me to snicker, but I don’t exactly think what you said is funny, however, you’re standing there, staring out at us, waiting for a reaction so here it is, now please carry on with what you were saying.

You know the type?

Sometimes she signs her emails with just her first name, other times it’s Dr. Last Name.

At any rate, I felt as though there was definitely one answer (which I got wrong) that was so misleading I asked her about it after class. In my opinion, it should have been tossed entirely (which would have brought my mark up to 72% – there’s that 70% I wanted!) but she passed it off as semantics and thanked me for pointing it out. I’ll note that for the final. Semantics? Listen sister, I went into this mid-term with a University-level approach. I know those multiple choice questions are tricky on purpose and I already have a feeling you enjoy being tricky so, when I read the question and the subsequent a), b), c), d), and e) answers I thought right away: “Ah ha! This is one of those tricks!” and answered the question accordingly. Unfortunately, the answer was e) all of the above but I completely disagree and if I were in the court of law, I’d actually represent myself; I was that confident. However, I didn’t have the energy to discuss things further (class nights make for really long days) so I Meh’ed it off and drove home feeling 3% smarter, because I knew I was right.

I enjoy class, though, if not for the fact that I was so ready to learn something new. I swear, if I would have entered grade 9 at 34 years old I would probably get straight As. ha. I’ve had 34 years of discovering, experiencing, learning, and understanding how to look at the world, how to deduce things, how to break things down. My brain is much more equipped at being able to learn things based on this kind of mental experience, or exercising. I can’t just head straight to the race track and expect to win gold. I need to train for those things! That’s how I look at school.

Other than this, life is moving along swimmingly. I’m really enjoying playing house and like the idea of having another body to wake up with in the morning and falling asleep with at night. I like how Nick makes zero noise while in slumber so that sometimes I actually touch his back to make sure he’s breathing.

Okay this is good for now. Nicole, you will happy with the relatively short timeline between this, and my last, post. See? I’m learning.

Bye bye.

* this post started on Tuesday, December 28th.

I’m 37,000 feet above ground right now in an Airbus 333. As per the interior specifications card, there are 51 rows of seating on this plane; 37 seats in first class, 228 in economy – where I sit in the 42nd row; the seating arrangement is 2-4-2 in econ. I am part of the four grouping, but at the aisle, and the person in front of me doesn’t seem to want to recline which I am thoroughly enjoying because my tray table is down. My seat isn’t reclined either. The sky is dark because it’s about 7:30 PM EST. I never thought this until now, but it’s odd writing “the sky” while I’m actually flying up in it. If I refer to the sky, it’s usually as something I look up at, not out at. You know? Anyway… I’m on my way back to Vancouver from spending Christmas in Ottawa. This jaunt was a big deal for me because the last time I saw my family and friends at Christmas was 2006. I spent Christmas with them for 30 years before I moved, so to lose that makes holidays in Vancouver a little bittersweet. Curse all airlines for making Christmas-season flights upwards of $900. This year though, I must have been a really good girl because Santas (uncle Mark, Mum, Dad, Nana) got me a flight home collectively.

Shanny, my same-sex soul mate:

Is my nana a beauty, or what?

Shan’s little Noah

Averyyy

Self-timed family photo:

Chelsy and Riley-girl

Katie and Dylan baybee

Nom nom nom

Heeee

Miss this spot:

Check out Oscar at the NAC:

Miss the Parkway a lot:

Shoppingtimes with Kokomo:

I call this a ‘Yuck.’ It’s a Yam Duck!

Chez my brother and wife:

An aunt sandwiched between a niece and a nephew:

Sister and brother with cousin in order by height:

Mama:

It’s my Harley-inspired dad:

So, about this flight I’m on: Right now I am in an ideal position considering I’m 42 rows away from the front exit which means that disembarking is going to take a while but, I’ve got leg and laptop room and my crossword puzzles. It’s almost the best of all possible economy situations (where first class would mean fully reclining and having a nice, soft blankie, and my own little pod to sleep in) … except for the woman at the opposite end of my quad row. Between us is a young couple. I’ve got the girlfriend beside me and I’m pretty sure she drugged herself because she was literally asleep before the plane even left the ground. She’s got her boyfriend’s jacket draped over her and he tucks it in on the sides for her every time she shifts. They’re really sweet. Now, as for this woman at the end, she might also have drugged herself but I’m wondering if maybe hers were amphetamines? She’s watching something funny because every few minutes or so her shrill cackle breaks the silence and she rushes her body forward a bit, then bounces back and her gold bracelets collide with each other.

The problem with it being every few minutes is that I have just enough time to come down from being startled out of my pants only to have it re-occur. Cackle. Lunge. Crash. Clink clink clink. It feels like torture actually. It’s worse that the plane is dark because darkness makes people quieter, darkness is usually associated with rest, sleeping, whispers, nighttime.

With each obnoxious assault on my peace, I look over at her. But, she is not giving me the satisfaction of returning my eye contact so I can’t suggest she quiet down with my glare and hope that she snaps out of it. I’m not getting that satisfaction! It’s so startling that the young woman beside me actually jolts a bit in her sleep each time; like a cat.

It just happened again, this time I looked at the woman beside me, who looked at her boyfriend, who looked at me, then back at his girlfriend, then we all turned to the laughing woman who never looked at us. We all had a silent, telepathic, group commiseration and I do feel a bit better. Yes, we are being very passive aggressive in our approach right now and we have her on our hyper-radars. The girl friend is totally awake and she’s tense; I can feel it coming off her. The problem is none of us want to be the one to tell the woman. How do you tell someone who’s in the throes of laughter to clam it?

So now my mind wanders … Does she know we’re looking over at her and couldn’t care less? Maybe she’s developed a waking unconsciousness toward anything that goes on around her. Maybe she’s the type of person when even if someone did point it out to her, she’d just cackle it off and put her headphones back on. She’s failing on many levels and is a bad, bad, terrible person.

But look at her … laughing away so carefree. It is likely that no one will say anything. Maybe we’ll turn the volume up on our own headsets now. Or we’ll all just daydream her away. She’ll get off the plane, reminisce over the hilarious show she just watched, and how nice the flight was. Then she’ll board a plane again in the future, do the same thing, no one will tell her, and she’ll have wonderful happy airplane memories. The End.

I am admitedly very choked to the point of downright internal bitchiness which I am not proud of. The problem is I am a creature who functions best when my environment is set to levels Harmony and Tranquility. Shrill, spontaneous, loud noises actually rattle me both mentally and physically. It’s like I have shell shock only I don’t ever recall being surrounded by gunfire or any kind of cacophonies of the sort.

The thing is, this is just one of her isms. I mean, she can’t be purposefully scraping a rusty ice pick along the sensitive auditory canals of my ears. Her cackle just doesn’t work well with my own loud, spontaneous noise disorder.

Okay wait, it is also that if I do say something, she may respond less than agreeably to my suggestion then over-exaggerate her laughter because who the hell is this bitch telling me to laugh quieter? So, because I’m 37,000 feet in the air, trapped in a steel tube with no where else to go and I have no idea what kind of personality this woman has I’m going to have to ultimately let it be.

But man, do I ever wish her show would hurry up and end.

I’m going to go for a plane aisle walk. brb.

…

…

I just had a really interesting conversation with an 8″ tall man. Okay, maybe he was more like 6’4″ but when you’re 5’4″ it’s easy to misgauge. We met in the aisle toward the back where the flight attendants hang. It’s also where the bathroom is and what he was waiting for. I asked him what it’s like sitting in a plane being so long. Yes, I said long, yes I thought about it after it left my lips, but he handled it well and told me the key is the emergency exit row. Of course! Then he told me I was probably small enough to stretch out in the overhead compartments.

Phew, that walk really did me in. The Gravol and decongestant I took have kicked in now and I think I need to close my laptop and try to have a little snoozy-poo. I have no idea when I’ll go back to this post again because it will be around 9:30 PM PST by the time I get home which will feel like 12:30 AM EST so I certainly won’t be returning to this today in either PST or EST. So, I’m going to say good bye for now.

It’s the early evening of Saturday, January 15th. I went skiing with Mandy today. My skis were recently waxed and sharpened and were just incredible. The weather itself wasn’t very nice as dark clouds did loom over head and it eventually started to rain but the snow on the trails was so fluffy and fast. We found a couple treed runs that ran along the main drag, and had not been touched, so it felt like our own little side of the mountain.

Speaking of tree trails, I learned a new term today: Tree wells. Falling into a deep one means you have a mere 10% survival rate, on average.

© stevenspass.com

Basically, if you’re in an area where the trees are tall and the boughs rest upon the snow, then chances are there is a void of loose snow that surrounds the section of the tree trunk that is beneath the boughs. So, if you ski too close to the trees, or you lose control and hit one, you can fall into a tree well. Often it is the depth of the fall that will result in limbs being injured which contributes to the decrease in survival and  it can apparently be as quick as drowning to suffocate to death. There were two experiments conducted in the US and Canada where volunteers were placed in a tree well and 90% could not rescue themselves. This death is called Non-Avalanche Related Snow Immersion Death, or NARSID.

© dodgeridge.com

So ya, watch out for those whether snowmobiling, snowshoeing, skiing, walking, etc. Stay away from the boughs of the trees. Don’t let me catch you stuck in one or I’ll be really upset!

Okay, taking a T.O. right now, need to stretch my body before it seizes from skiing.

It’s Monday. I’m at work. My morning has been spent forcing emails upon someone who I’m fighting tooth and nail with over purchasing the skis he’s been saying he wants to purchase for the last three years. EBay link after EBay link, screaming deal after screaming deal, and nothing. I had to draw this release the frustration:

 

 

 

My blogging consistency has been anything but. And I’m sorry because I can see my regular readers checking in every so often and there’s just been nothing exciting here in a while.

Although, I suppose if I consider it, nothing too exciting has actually gone on as of late which is good for me because I often like my eggs over easy. In addition, my life’s definition of  ”exciting” doesn’t always mean winning the lottery or sitting across from James Franco in a dimly lit, steamy-windowed coffee shop.

So anyway, I do have an interesting and exciting true story to report. This one’s a goodie and hopefully it will entertain you long enough until the next catastrophe rushes into my life without warning. I am going to graduate cum laude in resiliency and patience training by the time this frigging life is through with me!

Between Thursday and Sunday I experienced: Concern, worry, extreme elation, consternation, fury, diabolical rage, frustration, bewilderment, happiness and the wind in my hair.

In a very long-winded and verbose fashion (albeit we are covering four days here), the story goes like this:

I met my friends for lunch this past Thursday at The Plant on Railway about a ten minute walk from my work. We had a nummy lunch, parted ways, and I made my way back. It was snowing that day - heavy, watery snowflakes which dissolved into droplets millimeters before landing on warm bodies below. It was easy to get soaked walking for too long but this walk was short and I welcomed the fresh, wintry air.

I arrived at work and walked up the stairs to my office reaching into my jacket pocket to check the time on my cell phone which was no longer in my pocket. My heart sank. I rushed into work to advise my colleagues of the sitch and headed right back out the door, trudging all the way back to The Plant following my own boot tracks right through the door. No one had turned in my phone. I left and walked back to work following the same path I had made three trips before and frantically scanned the sidewalks and roads. Nothing.

I arrived back at work to stay for good and called my phone. My answering machine picked up right away. Please let it have been run over, I thought to myself as I would have been much more comfortable with that outcome versus my phone being in someone’s hands with all my personal text messages, contacts, calendar, and photos available for perusal for as long as my battery was alive. I called Telus to report my phone missing and forced myself to push the situation out of my mind so I could focus on working.

Later that afternoon I called Telus again to enquire about the phone upgrade options I had seen on my account last time I logged in. To my surprise the guy (his name was Carlos) told me that someone had found my phone and called it in to report it. She left her name and contact number. Carlos put me on hold while he called the number. He promptly came back to tell me that the number connected to one of the Triage Shelters in my area and that the woman wasn’t there. In all candid and humble honesty, when I found out this information, two things went through my head: 1) Please let it be someone who works there 2) Please don’t let it be a client.

Carlos gave me her name and the telephone number and we said goodbye.

I made the announcement to the office right after this and immediately the name was recognised. “Oh… she has your phone?” And it was not in an uplifting or reassuring way. My elation dissipated quickly as they told me personal accounts of their experiences dealing with her. I began to visualise the hands and fingernails of the person who my phone was now in the company of. I have a tendency to take note of noteworthy fingernails. I don’t know why I do this but it’s just one of the many odd things I do. As a result, the visualisation I had of her appendages made me shiver but clearly I had no confirmation on whether or not I was overreacting. I thought about the track ball on my Blackberry. I thought about the photos of Mandy’s kitten. I thought about my James Franco (don’t be alarmed) wallpaper that everyone laughs at. I thought about my recent text messages and the vet and dentist appointments I recently scheduled. I thought about important birthdays and the addresses of my friends and family.

Still, I thought to myself, I’m going to get her a really nice thank-you card and put a bit of Christmas money inside. I thought about what I would write in it and that maybe I’d also get her a gift card at Starbucks, too. Despite her not-so-good reputation in my office I still appreciate and understand the struggles the people in this area face and since I’m all for paying-it-forward in life I was almost excited to get my phone back and to see the look on her face when I gave her my gift in return.

At 4:30, when my shift ended, I walked over to the shelter to see if she had dropped off my phone. She hadn’t. They were familiar with her there and recalled her showing them my phone earlier in the day but she didn’t want to leave it with them even though the phone number she left me is for the shelter – which she only visits but does not live at. They mentioned she enjoys wandering the streets with her compadre and will often do this for hours on end. My phone was right at my fingertips! I left my home number with them in case she went back and rushed to catch my bus…

…which never came. The weather turned from heavy, fluffy snowflakes to sleet and then to rain. The sun was down and it was damp and cold. Cars driving by the bus stop seemed to go in time lapse. Every so often one would drift over the white line a little bit and send a wave of sludge toward us waiting commuters. These commuters came and went as their buses arrived on schedule. Four bus routes pass by this stop and I spotted all but mine every two to three minutes. As time elapsed I started to mumble in my head how much I hated my life at that very moment in time. If I had my cell phone I could call the transit line and find out if and when my bus was coming and what alternative ones were available. I could maybe call someone to pick me up. My jacket suddenly wasn’t as warm as it felt before I lost my phone. I hated my stupid jacket for not having proper pockets. If it had proper pockets, my phone would have never fallen out. I thought about how I decided to bus to work that day because the weather the night before had predicted heavy snowfall for the next day. I looked at the rainy roads and realised driving wouldn’t have been so bad. If I had my car I would have been home by now, on my sofa, under a heavy blanket beside my cozy Christmas tree with its multi coloured lights mesmerized by the flames in my fireplace.

If I were to write an illustrated storybook of the time I spent at the bus stop, the cover of the storybook would look like this:

Forty-five minutes and 15 buses later I got onto the next one and asked the driver how close he got to my stop. His route was much longer but it worked for me and I got on out of desperation for warmth and dryness.

On a normal day, the bus gets me home in about 25 minutes. On Thursday, I was home an hour and a half after leaving work. Unnn-acceptable!

I stomped toward home, down the dark path that everyone tells me I should stop stomping down at night time but I think my body language, hunched shoulders, and heavy, plodding legs would have scared anyone lurking in the bushes. I’m pretty sure I was probably grunting too. It was like that demon in Jeepers Creepers I:

Meets Jack Nicholson in The Witches of Eastwick at the early stages of his devilish transformation:

That was like me coming down the path.

I finally got into my sanctuary and turned on the lights on my Christmas tree which became the only source of light in my apartment. I fed my boys in the darkness and went to my bedroom where I noticed my digital answering machine had a little message flashing. So I listened and it was her. The gatekeeper. She had found my “Home” entry in my contacts. She said she found my phone at 2:30, it’s safe and… let me bring out the quotes for this: “And yes I want a reward because I’m doing the right thing, believe it or not.”

Oh I believe it.

She called me again that evening, we talked this time and I told her she didn’t have to ask for a reward because I planned on offering her a little something anyway as a token of my thanks. In knowing that the shelter was open 24 hours, and close to her apartment, I asked her if she could drop my phone off at the front desk for me to pick up the next day and I would leave her a little card and my gift to pick up when she was there next. She told me no, that she “wanted to meet the lady whose phone I have” and that “I want to shake your hand and hand it over to you.” AKA, “I want to make sure you give me money.” Although it severely irritated me, I understood her mentality and instead she offered to meet me at the shelter at noon the next day.

We disconnected and I finally relaxed. I was going to be reunited with my phone! Around 8:15 PM I decided to head out to the bank machine to take out some cash for her just in case the following day was another bus one for safety. I bundled up, got to the garage and noticed that my interior light was on because I hadn’t shut my door entirely since I was last in my car a full day earlier. I might have sworn several times while getting into my car and saying something directly to God in between, who I very rarely discuss things with. I look back on it now and the two probably shouldn’t have been combined. That’s likely why my engine wouldn’t turn over. Oh how it tried though, it really did. As I mustered the last bit of wrist energy to turn the key a few more times I flashed forward to the next series of events that would take place. #1. With a dead battery I can’t drive to the bank machine right now, the bank is about a 45 minute walk away and I’m not sure my body will survive another bout in the elements under unfortunate circumstances. Ex. Walking outside on a cold, rainy night should really be something I choose to do, not actually have to do. #2. The dead battery also means I have to bus to work the next morning no matter what (again removing the choice from me). This means that 2a) there is no bank on my bus route. #3. If I don’t have the cash to give her as her “reward” she’s not going to hand over my phone without a fight and 3a) I don’t want to fight anyone so close to Christmas!

I surrendered and head back inside. I think I might have popped recreational Gravol that night just to make sure I would actually sleep through the slow and steady rage (not rush) that was starting to line the underside of my epidermis.

The next morning I woke up a little early and tried to charge my car battery with my little trickle battery charger I have for my motorcycle. It wasn’t enough juice. Luckily I got a call from a friend who just so happens to pass by my hood on his way to work. “Get the cables ready,” he requested “we’re going to do a drive-by charging.” And I did as requested. My battery was alive again! I left immediately and got some cash from the bank machine on the way, I even was able to get my free McDonald’s coffee. It was a good morning – until the afternoon at approximately 12:40 when I left the shelter as per our meeting place and time the evening before. I was there from 11:55 AM to 12:40 PM. I spent my lunch loitering in the lobby of the shelter. I heard people tooting, burping, and discussing heated issues quietly to themselves. Someone dropped his chocolate chip cookie at my feet and in rising from picking it up he hit his head on my right bum cheek. “Oh sorry,” he said. “Do you think my cookie is still okay?” I told him he must have picked it up in under five seconds and he seemed to agree at the same time he started chomping down on it.

I talked to Maureen for about 13 minutes. She was explicitly telling me to stay out of relationships for the rest of my life and just get a lot of cats. I told her I was already two in and she high-fived me. She also relayed several stories of renting woes, and cell phones, and televisions, and bunions, and ankle cramps in winter boots that were a little too big.

Come 12:40 PM I knew that I wasn’t going to get my phone and left. I crossed the street and had to relay the disappointment to the office and watch their smiles turn to scowls. I sat at my desk and asked for silence as I deep breathed the fury out of my bones. How dare she control this situation I kept thinking. I was completely helpless to getting my phone back now and I realised that the chances were very slim that I ever would.

I worked the rest of the day trying so hard to not project my rage onto my poor clients. I selfishly and self-pityingly associated them with her and I had to shake the thought a few times to keep neutral. I called the VPD non-emerg line on my break and reported my phone as officially stolen. I wasn’t really expecting anything to come of it but at least I could take back some of the helplessness I was feeling over the situation.

Friday afternoon I got home without incident and head to the mall to the Telus booth to see what upgrade options were available to me. Luckily it wasn’t busy so I was able to pour my heart out to the poor Telus rep who probably did not wake up that morning thinking some crazy customer was going to come in that evening to entertain him with the last 24 hours of her life. We eventually got down to business and I checked out the phones. At the end of the rundown I was looking at spending at least $240 no matter which option I went with. I remember hanging my head and exhaling deeply. The rep (Ben) put his hand on my arm and said “I have an idea, meet me back at my desk.” He rushed off into the back and I made my way as instructed.

He emerged out of the back with his knapsack and pulled out a Blackberry Tour 9630. “This is my phone,” he said, “and I’m going to give it to you for free.” I looked up at him and he didn’t give me a chance to say anything. “I just upgraded to a new one, this one’s going on Craigslist anyway, so I’m just going to give it to you instead. I believe in good karma and you need it right now. This phone is only 10 months old, I’ll switch everything over to this one so it’ll be just like before you left for lunch on Thursday only you have a different phone.” I think all I mustered was, “Holy shit, what? Wow, thank you.” (I’m very classy during moments of extreme appreciation). Before leaving I purchased a $70 Bluetooth so he could get some commission off of me. It was the least I could do for forcing my story upon him for the last hour.

I got home and my little voice mail light was flashing again it was that voice. This message was a stark contrast from the coherent one she left me on Thursday as well as the conversation we had that night. This one was complete gobbledygook.

An hour passed.

She called again and told me she wasn’t able to make it. I was not about to get into a lecturing session with her because she had property of mine and I couldn’t risk having her do something with it. So I placated her and maintained the false appreciation in my voice. She enjoyed the control and tersly asked me, “Well, what do you want to do?” Almost as if I was inconveniencing her fancy plans on a Friday night. Seeing as how it was after dark, I wasn’t about to head into the down town east side alone so we planned to meet at noon on Monday (yesterday), same place.

I played with my new Bb for most of the night and had a better, drug-free sleep knowing that my phone was still alive and she was still in contact with me. Still though I went in and out of almost laughing at the situation thinking about how I’ve handled other people’s lost property I found. The process is usually to get a hold of them right away and immediately make a plan and likely meet at both our next available opportunity. It’d involve meeting half way, or dropping it off at work – all the things that would accompany handling a situation with urgency. Here I was dealing with someone who was basking in self-gratification for having done something good… “believe it or not.” For this woman, I’m sure it was enough to compensate for her otherwise lackadaisical regard for the fact that she had a piece of property that was very important and private to me.  The situation was entirely on her schedule and priority determination and I was at her full mercy if I was to continue to pursue getting my phone back.

Saturday morning my phone rang around 8:00 AM. It was the officer assigned to my case. He told me he was in her area and he could go retrieve my phone if I wanted him to. For a moment this excited me but then I felt bad all of the sudden that I had made this plan with her for Monday and an officer showing up prior to this would be quite alarming for her. Not to mention the fact that she can be volatile – which I warned him of. His alternative was that he’d assign a plain-clothed officer to my office at noon and we’d walk to the shelter together to get my phone. If she escalated or started asking me for more money, they officer would take over from that point. It felt like a sting operation. We confirmed that plan and that was that.

As my mind started to wake up more I began to feel less guilty and more clear-headed. Come Monday she would have had my phone for four days. If she didn’t show up at noon on Friday, what’s to say that the same thing wouldn’t happen again on Monday? As long as my battery was charged all of my personal information, my contacts’ addresses, telephone numbers, my appointments, text messages … they were at her complete disposal. So I called him back and told him to go get my phone.

He called me back forty minutes later to let me know he had it.

I nearly laughed through my words of thanks and in a way almost felt emotional. This ordeal was finally over and my business was safe now – back in my hands. It’s hard to explain. I was heading out to do groceries and we met outside the store. He handed my phone and we exchanged a few words. He remarked how she had denied ever having asked me for reward money and that he told her it was considered extortion. ha. I told him all the evidence was on my answering machine and he reassured me that he “knew.” We parted ways after that and I went about my day. I wondered when I got home if there was going to be a message from her on my phone. She did, after all, call my home several times over the last three days.

And sure enough… She sarcastically wished me an “Uh ya, Merry Christmas” and told me that I didn’t have to send the police. She made sure to tell me that at least she had a clear conscience because she found my cell in the snow. I’m not sure how that works exactly but at that point I really didn’t give a poo.

The frigging end.

… but what I’m wondering is: if I don’t win LotoMax tonight what are the chances someone could send me to the David Sheldrick Wildlife Trust elephant rehabilitation centre in Nairobi, Kenya?

I just watched For the Love of Elephants on David Suzuki’s The Nature of Things last night and I’m pretty sure this is something I have to experience in my lifetime. I am so deeply touched that I’m honestly willing to sell my soul just to get there.

No wait, I would need my soul when I get there.

I’d actually sell my bookshelf with all my books. Every single one.

That means I mean business.

I have been a really poor blogger as of late. So poor, in fact, that I wouldn’t even call myself a blogger. I am a sometimes, a fair-weather, a lazy, a sidetracked. I’ve accumulated too many drafts again. Some of them actually contain just one word; the start of what might have been a very profound and provocative thought but sadly was never seen through to the end; or, really much of the beginning for that matter.

I blame summer which sounds hardly excusable because who blames summer? I’ve been out! I’ve been at the beach! I’ve been on a boat. I’ve been on the road! I’ve been practicing the lost art of s.f.a. I’ve been eating at the Richmond Night Market. I watched Back to the Future outside on a big screen at David Lam Park with Keira and Jordypants!

Cool!

… I’ve been gallivanting in Seattle! I’ve been napping like a European.

(the rock biter has nothing to do with anything, I just have affection for him)

I find during the hot season my mind takes this kind of psychological vacation. I become very immersed in my physical life and what’s going on around me which in turn causes my brain to go into this kind of out of office mode. It’s like a continuous sensory stimulation that I get distracted by, or maybe too enveloped by. I get distracted by things like the way a pure blue sky looks first thing in the morning. Or the way the hot sun feels on my face. The smell of beach on my skin. The way the air feels around me and the way the sand crunches under my bare feet. How hot my apartment is and the way my curtains blow in the evening. The colours of summer clothes. It’s the food, oh the food: The juiciest peaches, the reddest strawberries, the sumptuous raspberries, the deepest blue blueberries that pop, the blissful watermelon. The BBQs. The grilled zucchini. The summer salads. The mojitos.

I don’t like the idea of this though. It’s criminal and very mean to trap the berries and insult them with gelatin of all things.

By the way, do you ever listen to the way you pronounce the word “continue?” Do you pronounce it like “kin-tin-u?” You shouldn’t.

So I saw Eat Pray Love on Monday. It resonated with me at a very deep level that I won’t get into because at this point it will probably need its own spiral-bound, four-section notebook once I’m through with explaining all the profound ways it affected me and how similarly this part of her (her meaning Liz, not Julia) life made sense with mine in many ways (run on).

I can say, though, that I’ve known I’m not finished with where I am right now which has always been exciting for me to know and this movie kicked my ass a little further toward that.  Kind of like the One Week effect. There is a world of inner and outer places I need to visit and explore.

As a side note, I’ve noticed that it’s in your 30s when the real divide occurs between the single life vs the committed/family life. I think it’s in your 30s when you can really be defined as a grown-up (in terms of chronology) so you get a taste of what the world looks like from a grown-up perspective. In hindsight, my 20s was still quite young, by definition. I didn’t have any real sense of time, I was just going about my life and I realise that now that I’m 33. I was all over the place about what I wanted, the expectations I had of my life, the sacrifices I almost made to make these expectations a reality. At the same time, my awareness of myself and the way I look at the world, especially in my mid- to late-20s, was the same as it is now… I just listen to, and honour myself, more.

Basically, I’m single. Life is short, the night is young. I pack tomorrow.

What else…

I’ve connected with some people from home who have made their way over to Vancouver as well. It’s curious because with the exception of a few of us (many of us go back to childhood) we were never friends as a group back then. We were aware of each other in passing and from living in a small town but some of us were in different grades, went to different high schools, or had different circles of friends. But here we all are and familiarity and our pasts have become the building blocks for a friendship that’s ready to be made. It’s great! We all went on a 3-hour boat cruise around the Burrard Inlet a few weeks ago that I invited Gee to as well. Initial conversation was spent catching up over things we remember from growing up. Who we knew… what we did… where we hung out… who we dated… how we ended up in Vancouver, etc. It’s like a reunion of strangers. We all ended up at my friend Matt’s place for the final night of the Celebration of Lights fireworks show which we watched from his rooftop patio while doing that party thing that people do.

For the animal lovers and those who understand my love for my cats: Marshall’s doing really well. He had one more follow-up appt where his creatinine level had dropped even more. His BUN level was slightly raised and because of that he’s got to stay on his subQ therapy for now. We did determine that he had acute renal failure where acute means toxicity vs chronic, which develops over time on its own. It was due to him biting the lily leaves in the garden. I didn’t realise Sylvia had any until the stalks started to bud and then bloom. Lily plants are so toxic to cats they only need to ingest a small amount from the leaves to poison their kidneys and such was the case with my Marscapone. It was very hard for me to realise this at first, because I felt guilty, but at the same time the outcome for acute renal failure is usually a bit more encouraging than chronic because if you nip the acute in the bud right away they can resume life as it were for years before the kidneys eventually start to degenerate. I’m hoping by the time that happens he’ll be a sweet, old man.

I went to Ladner a couple week-ends ago with my friend Nicholas who has a friend named Brent who lives in a silo on a farm. Brent is an artist and it’s how he makes his living. He is one of the most creatively interesting people I’ve ever met and what he’s done with his silo-turned-home is like nothing I have ever seen before. I swear I took photos of every inch of the inside, as you will see. The land itself is just as incredible. It’s sprawling and forested, AND it has its very own Cowboy Town which was built by the property owners and is often used in movies and TV shows. It’s like a fantasy. Of course, as with many farms, there are horses and on this farm the horses are affectionate, inquisitive, and like to nibble clothes. They were so beautiful.

Gee and I made it to Seattle this past weekend for a girls’ night out. We hit this bar called Trinity and although it’s a really cool bar on the inside, with several rooms each with different DJs, and lovely decor, the clientele is … well it’s … it’s just that they’re … they … they’re very … they really like the physical contact. I attribute it to some sort of rainforest mating dance. You don’t really get that here in Vancouver. There’s more of an appreciation for one’s space. Don’t get me wrong though, had many of these men been ones that I’d want to get jiggy with I would have been in pure hormonal heaven, but sadly, this was not the case.

By the end of the night I had lost all patience which is unique for me because I’m usually guilty of talking to just about anyone about anything but instead got to the point where I would have none of anyone. I still had fun though. Believe it? I’d go back, probably. I should mention that while standing behind the velvet rope at the very start of the night, I managed to get Gee and I past both the VIP and the regular line as well as bypassing the $15 cover charge, just by asking the nice man in a suit how much cover was. And, it’s not like I was dressed like a little school girl either – actually maybe that was exactly why. Such chivalry at the door.

Note to the men of the rainforest. Personal space is the best compliment you can give a girl in a dark bar.

Also, I offer the following five tips:

- Do not surf the web for popular pick up lines any more
- Do not resort to pulling if your request to dance was rejected
- Do not touch
- Do take the hint
- Do not follow

To everyone I offer a warning of Copacabana Cafe in Pike Place Market, even if you’ve got that morning after, breakfast craving, don’t do it. Eggs only come scrambled. Bacon only comes microwaved over and over again. Remember the scene from Three Amigos when they’re sitting around the bonfire? “Batwings, Dusty?” That’s their bacon.

My Civic is dying. The mechanic today tells me he’s not sure how much time it has left. The clutch is nearing the end. I simply can’t quickly come up with the approx $800 it will cost to replace it so I will have to retire it when the time comes. This makes me a little sad. Did I mention I have a motorcycle? No, I don’t think I ever did. Well I do, so I’m mobile at least until the Fall. Winter, well, let’s hope white lightening makes it and if not, then I will go car-less like I’m obviously meant to.

Which reminds me, I hear you need a mechanic as one of your “must have” friends … does anyone know of a mechanic in Vancouver who’s looking for a new friend?

I think I will stop here because Nicole’s been patiently waiting for something … anything and I don’t have the heart to make her wait any longer.

First, it’s Master Blaster (Jammin’) – Stevie Wonder.
So jammin’…

Second, your supplemental photos:

Boat Cruise around Burrard Inlet:

Pretty city

The rooftop after party:

Brent’s Place:

From the back:

Front door:

Detail:

The inside:

Lights out, slow shutter.
Sexy.

Disco ball spins.

A three-hour border wait results in moments like…

Gum wrapper air plane.

Trinity:

Sundays | Summertime

This Sunday Jam’s right on schedule for once and perfect because it’s the Sundays singing Summertime.

O. o. Oooh. Mmmm. It is summertime. Like, full-swing summer times. I remember lamenting rain not too long go. What was that all about? I have so much to write about I’m not sure where to begin. In addition I am up past my bedtime but made the mistake of drinking a Coke about two hours ago and now it might as well be 10:AM. My mind’s telling me no, but my body.. my body’s telling me yes …

(that’s from Bump n’ Grind; I can’t make stuff like that up)

Shall I recap?

Gee and I boat trip to Sechelt for some RnR in June as seen here:

We were lying on the grass under the sun under blankets because the wind was brisk.

Gee disturbs my peace.

Then visits me under my blanket.

It’s like crabs in the bucket, but not really.

I found this to be one of the proudest wolf bust lamps I’ve ever seen.

Gee demonstrates “engrossed.”

If there was ever a Cutest Cemetery I’ve Ever Seen contest, this one would be my entry.

William’s in the photo holding their catch of the day, standing beside who he would have likely referred to as “a great catch.”

I’m kind of like, “Let me try engrossed now.”

My sweater won the Sweater of the Weekend award.

Once upon at time this was a floating Grocery Store, Pizza, Coffee Shop-type thing.

Grade 5 Chris came for Canada Day times. He lives in Arizona now but spent both Canada and Independence Day in Canada. I mean, obviously.

It was sometimes like we were in grade 5 again. But, that could have been my fault.

It’s hard to make a photo of this nature look genuine.

These guys were so easy-going.

Some pretty art along the sidewalk.

To Cathy, Chris is grade 3 Chris.

A really small W. Erskine Johnston Elementary School reunion.

I then went Jericho-ing with T.Mo and Keira.

© Keira

© Keira

© Keira

© Keira

So a week later, Hannes is in town from Mexico where he is studying Spanish while on an extended vacation from his home country of Switzerland.

Which now brings me to this past weekend. I had Kate’s puppy, Penny with me all weekend. The most precious Penny.

This morning I hauled Penny and all my purge-ables over to Cathy & Kyle’s in the hopes of making some cash at their multi-family yard sale. I sold nary a dollar, not even a quarter. But, I had fun and so did the dogs and the kids… and I was in the sun eating cookies, Cheezies, watermelon, and pink lemonade. Who needs money?

In Coquitlam dogs can actually float. It’s the neatest thing.

“The doggy licked my hand.”

Muffin loves how a half-off nightie makes her look like a flower.

Penny and Buddy demonstrate how to properly share a tennis ball.

My niece and my nephew whom I babysit.

Perfect Penny.

Claws on the inner arm feel so good.

So I’m kind of in the middle of these two dogs…

And after a hard morning of yard-sale’ing, Gee and I make for the beach. Kits this time.

While Gee read Barbara Wawa’s autobiography, I entertained myself with the latest GQ using a little treasure I found.

Baby crab-leg Imperial.

Baby crab-leg Pancho Villa.

Baby crab-leg Mono Brau.

Baby crab-leg Barrette.

Baby crab-leg Slip on Thumb Party Trick.

Please stop.

reading Craigslist Missed Connection ads.

yellow tulips.

animals. all of them.

crossword puzzles.

music. loud.

Prussian blue…


© Wikipedia

^ takes my breath away.

a crackling campfire. on a cool night.
and the smell of a hot tent.

still lakes.

ravens and crows.

the sound of crickets.

absolute silence.

hot pavement
seconds after the rain starts.

bob seger on a sunny day.

moments
exactly
like
this.

long drives without
destination.

the way suntan lotion skin smells
while lying on a beach
under a really hot sun.

words.

crooked teeth.

birch trees and oak trees.

planet earth.

piggybacks and arm wrestling.

the idea of Bora Bora.

© Tanehonu

the design of a chain-link fence.

Ooh, oopsie. My blog has taken a backseat to my living, breathing life. Actually it could have even been straggling behind my living, breathing life for a backseat would mean it’s still relatively close in thought but it really wasn’t.

At any rate, I’ve had a busy month or so and it’s funny because if I look back at one of my more recent posts, where I started doing that puzzle like a grandma, things were just plodding along then. Although I can tell you the exact moment life livened because it was when I finally finished that puzzle and realised I only had 499 of the 500 pieces. 99.8% of that damn puzzle was complete. It was such a crushing disappointment. I had been committing my evenings and early Saturday mornings to such a relaxing past time only to have it conclude on such a farcical and ass-chapping note. I swear I immediately got down on my stomach and slithered around every nook and cranny of my living room floor. It’s a good thing I live alone sometimes.

You’re probably picturing this harried, possessed, maniac writhing all over like a rabid ferret …

As a side note, don’t ever do this to your ferret. It’s weird.

But, let me explain… in many ways this would be considered maniacal behaviour. However, my mood never escalates to the point of complementing what my body is physically doing. So although it may look strange to the average person, I am actually very calm and purposeful in my mind. I probably get it from my mother. She once came home from a date to her water and smoke damaged home and her front tree smoking and crackling. She drove up and said, “Well I’m really happy now that I had such a nice date.”

I did go as far as cutting open my vacuum cleaner bag. There was enough cat hair in there to create a third and fourth cat and enough dust to create a bunny for them to play with. I found my favourite pen, some bobby pins, but no blasted puzzle piece.

I left that 99.8% complete puzzle sitting on my coffee table two weeks after that because I couldn’t bring myself to break it up and put it back in the box just in case by some miracle it turned up.

Kenny arrived at the end of the second week on Sunday. I still attended to my scheduled domestic responsibilities but this time had a helper. “Good. Reminds me of when we lived together; I’m glad I came.” He said in a not very nostalgic tone.

Kenny helped by using his big muscles to lift up my furniture while keeping his eye on Britain’s Peep Show he was streaming from the Internet. Lo and behold there was that cursed puzzle piece wedged under the far leg of my sofa! Only Kenny knows me well enough to accept that those tears in my eyes were confirmation of the level of absurdity I am capable of reaching and luckily he’s okay with that. I completed the puzzle and we tore it down about 5 minutes later.

So Kenny stayed for a week and we adventured around and lounged around. It was nice having him around. He left on a Friday and I flew home to Ottawa that Wednesday for a little four day jaunt. I just got back this past Monday night and I’m adjusting to simplicity, serenity, and autonomy again. I didn’t go through my usual withdrawals and feelings of vacancy that I get when I normally return from home. I think the reason I can feel that way is because of how surrounded I am with family and friends every single day that when I return to my apartment-for-one, on the other end of the country, life can all of the sudden seem overly still and eerily quiet. This time it didn’t feel like that which was fantastic. It might have helped that Vancouver’s weather has been so beautiful to welcome me. There is always something so redeeming about sunshine and a skyline that’s embossed with a luscious mountain range.

This trip home was nice because I caught up with two friends I haven’t seen in at least 7 years. One was actually a bouncer I met when I was an over-zealous teenager abusing my body by going out three nights a week and staying out until five o’clock in the morning. I was 18, underage, he was a bouncer. Sounds like a country song. So after we became grown ups there was no reason to see each other three times a week anymore. He went on to become a cop, I went on to … find myself, and here we are, still in touch after 15 years.

The other was a girl friend from 1st year college in the Advertising program. Neither of us were ready at the time to handle such an intense and immense workload let alone know if this was really what we wanted out of our lives so we didn’t return to second year. We remained friends but eventually relationships get in the way of frequency. She went on to get married and have babies, I … got disengaged and moved across the country that same year. I’ve watched her daughters grow on Facebook so it was wonderful to see her family in person.

I spent a lot of my time at home feeling guilty for having to tell people I couldn’t connect. I tried so hard but the days were just so short. On mother’s day I left so early in the morning to say bye to Chelsy and her family, then Shannon and her family, then lunch with my dad, then to reunite with my old classmate, that I didn’t even see my own mother until 6:30 that evening. Oi.

I suppose I’ll end this now. I’ve been typing it over this last day or so I don’t even know how fragmented it’s going to seem when I actually publish it. Perhaps I will distract and overwhelm you with some photos over the last couple of weeks now.

Oh and Frigs! worth mentioning:

Frigging Home Depot!
Frigging Vancouver Canucks!
Frigging Gulf of Mexico Oil Spill!
Frigging Landslide in Quebec!
Frigging Graham James!

Here’s your Sunday Jammin’ Song on a Thursday.

A young woman who died much too soon. I would have given anything to be around when she was.  Janis Joplin | To Love Somebody. If you’re going to click the link it’s worth reading the two highest-rated comments as well. Nailed.

My birsday dinner with  Keira and T-Mo.

Kenny and I discover Lynn Canyon.

A very long Seawall stroll.

Only at English Bay have I ever seen sunsets like this…

Home now. Family first.

My poor dad.. taken about fifteen minutes after he walked into his kitchen only to find me sitting at the table when I should have been in Vancouver. I’m such a trickster. His brows are still furled.

And then there was one. This was so much more majestic when my mom had four of these.

Aves had no idea I’d be there to greet her after school.

Cute.

My same-sex soul mate.

Time to play with their Auntie Andrea

Good-bye tea

Shaun wears his new, spiffy hat he bought at tarts n’ crafts.

F-ing disgusting

Have you ever considered upgrading yours?

This button is to give your shoes some sun

Oscar – my dad’s.

…especially when Katie’s back in Vancouver! Oh how I miss my Katie B. She’s only a province away but she used to be only ten minutes away. She’s from home and home out here feels good. Comfortable.

Man this weekend was busy for this hermit. I moved TMo with Keira, got my atrocious split ends dealt with and my hair enriched thanks to Marlee, a birthday party that ended at 2:30 in the morning, coffee early this morning, and Katie’s baby shower Vancouver-styles.

And the weather was beautiful.

Oh wait, well… SaturDAY was not beautiful. It was rainy. But, Saturday evening was balmy because the finished rain made it so. The city smelled pretty. Clean almost. Moist too. Good for my soul.

So I spent the weekend with my circles of dear friends experiencing a sense of renewal. New apartment, new year ahead, new life on the way. And, I just kind of cycled through it all floating around and watching everyone experience their moments of magic.

Tomorrow’s back to work, back to the people who need me and back to the business life of Andrea.

I’ve got a week’s vacation coming up next Sunday. Oh my it’s my birthday too. I will feel this newness but at the same time I reflect and wonder how the hell it got here this quickly. How is it that I’m going to be thirty-three years old already? I test myself at times and my memory still goes vividly back to three years old. Okay good; I hope that never changes.

I wish I could present more photos, but I only brought my camera along for Katie’s shower. So here they are…

But first here’s your Sunday Jammin’ Music song actually on a Sunday for the first time in a long time!

Click it for the beautiful song, the lyrics, and the beautiful video.

The Warped 45s – Radio Sky

Tried to get us with the tummy.

I thought this was a lovely and intricate tree.

This is Smokey, I found him to be very handsome.

Sorry for the delay, I’ve been dealing with the Olympics. Yes, the Olympics. They’re over now. Two days over and this city I call home is shrinking back down. Calming down. Coming down. I have no excuse to be out until the wee hours of the morning anymore and frankly I’m glad. I can go back to being the hermit I am deep down inside.

I’ve been challenged by the Universe again recently which came at a time when my energy levels were still very much thriving in the spirit of the city. There really wasn’t much energy to deal with one of the heaviest things I’ve ever had to deal with to this date. Someone I know left this earth very recently in a quick surrender to a life shrouded by inner turmoil, torment, and a deep sadness. It has been very upsetting to me in a way that is surprising me. It’s probably because I am such an emotional, deep, and sensitive person that I’m looking deeper into the reality than just accepting it for what it is. I think also what feels really strange for me is that when I look back at people who I’ve shared my life with, in love or in friendship, my memory of them comes along with the awareness that they are still around, I may even be seeing them tomorrow. It’s something you kind of take advantage of in that way. Remembering time spent with someone who is now gone under those circumstances feels like an incomplete thought process. It’s a different kind of memory.

You know when you’re driving? Or you’re reading, cleaning… whatever… and you have music playing in the background but you’re focused on the moment and you might snap out of it and realise you can’t even place what the last three songs were? That’s kind of what this feels like right now. I’m existing very much in the moment, going about my life… work, friends, responsibilities… but there’s this continuation of thought that’s running in the distance.

No matter who it was, I find myself most upset by knowing that someone’s life was so unbearable they had to rid themselves of it. Death is so permanent. So then imagine for a moment what that heaviness must be like. Imagine just not being able to pull yourself out. We all deal with our feelings in different ways. Some of us can ignore them, maybe dismiss or diminish them, cover them up with other emotions. Some of us are just so damned consumed by them. Some of us are only limited to three or four basic emotions, where others have multi-dimensional ones that vary and fluctuate according to the situation. Some people feel their pain. Some people pretend it’s not there. Some people have no pain.

We really are such complex and fragile beings aren’t we?

In the midst of all this I had Franklin with me while his human parents were in Maui. While they were being evacuated from their hotel for tsunami safety, I’m coming home to new surprises of destruction including the box of baby food I had. Pablum and dog saliva seems to result in a glue-like residue that can really only be scraped off laminate flooring with hot water and a putty knife (sorry Sylvia, aw jeez). The pièce de résistance happened last night when Franklin tried to party with a skunk. Unfortunately, skunks don’t run away like squirrels and cats do, unfortunately still, when an animal presents a dog with their ass they will go nose deep. Luckily skunks will demonstrate a variety of self defense warning moves before actually bringing out the big guns, unlucky for Franklin he didn’t give a shit.

I learned a new thing last night. Actual skunk spray doesn’t smell like the skunk spray aroma we often smell when we can’t see the skunk. Actual skunk spray, to me, smells like a mixture of burning rubber, sulphur and rotting flesh floating in a soup of gasoline, sour milk, and vom. Needless to say I was quite upset at this predicament for several reasons: a) It was 11:00 at night. Groomers are sleeping. Grocery stores are closed b) My soap products consist of things that smell fruity and pretty. My soap products don’t include ingredients powerful enough to deodorize a skunky dog c) Poor Franklin basically made it home face down, ass up. He literally pushed his face along the pavement alternating sides the entire way home. In as much as I’m fairly certain I wanted to punt him into tomorrow this was very difficult for me to watch.

He eventually handed over control to yours truly and for the next hour or so he sat in my bathtub while I stayed by his soaking side rubbing various experimental, soapy scents all over his face and chest. I wiped the poor guy’s swollen eyes with a warm face cloth over and over again. He just looked so forlorn and pensive; like he kept living it over and over again in his mind.

In hindsight though we had a lot of fun together, like we always do. We took a two hour road trip up to Manning to spend the day at Randy’s getaway. We cuddled, played fetch, wrestled… (Oh, this is with Franklin by the way, not Randy). Franklin was a good distraction in a week where I really needed it.

Oh ya, Sherene and I finally made it out this past Sunday. She’s been here for a year working for Bell on the Olympic contract and we finally got in some good, honest play time. Too bad she’s leaving tomorrow. This makes me incredibly sad. We’ve been friends for 20 years and Sherene is like home to me so this is going to be a tough transition to not have her around anymore.

Okay so, I guess that’s about it for the majors. I’m hoping life slows down a bit now. I’m ready to spend some quality time in the arms of my sofa and some good movies for the next little while.

An apropos tune for Sunday Jammin’ on Tuesday:

The Kinks – Better Things

Everything’s going to be okay.

Check out that happy little guy in the back

Weeeee!

Eastgate Diner

That’s Dave in the back.

“Can we please trade benches soon? It’s cold being in the shade all the time.”

Party Time Begins

We did some posing that we thought was fit for a Sears catalogue

Granville’s still bumping at 1:00AM

Pwetty girl

Oh mmmm

Now’s the time for cool down. You know, you’re going to look at these photos and think we’re both plastered. I can’t speak for Sherene (ahem) but I wanted to make mention of this… The damn cover at that bar was $32! The coat check was $5! $37 dollars spent before I even set foot in the bar.

So this is me drunk on club soda and lime. Yes, the least they could do is give me free club soda. Gotta love Vancouver… and the Olympics in Vancouver.

Now you’re all: Okay wait, she’s not behaving this way because she’s drunk? She’s really weird.

Snuggles

Oops, careful