I love games like this on a Friday lunch-hour. While Quack is out purchasing pretty shoes, I’m sitting here in front of the glow of an LCD watching the minutes tick by until I must return to career-mindedness. She didn’t really invite me to play this game, but it’s a time-passer and those are splendid sometimes so here goes:

1. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?
No. But there is a story behind my name and it goes like this folks:

My parents were procrastinators and did not have a name ready for me come my entrance into this world. So for roughly a day I was nameless. Visitors came and went at the hospital, some offered their ideas, but nothing really seemed to fancy either of my units. Then one cool, spring day my Nana was looking into my eyes (or, she could have been examining my hairline because apparently it was quite similar to my grandfather’s on my dad’s side) and said “I think she looks like an Andrea.” Then my Dad tried it out: Andreaaa. Then my mom did the same and they agreed right then and there that I would become an Andrea.

2. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?
I think I fell asleep crying last night actually.

3. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING?
Yes. I love it.

4. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT?
Genoa Salami

5. DO YOU HAVE KIDS?
Yes, they were born with four legs and go by the names: Marshall and Otis.

6. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON, WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU?
Yes. But I’d kick my ass quite often.

7. DO YOU USE SARCASM?
Only with someone I know can handle it. My sarcasm is quite discretionary.

8. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS?
No. Apparently mine were the size of ping-pong balls and knocked my surgeon out of the water once they emerged into the light of day.

9. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP?
No. Any kind of adrenaline-inducing activity that would result in an extremely horrifying death is off limits for yours truly.

10. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL?
I have always loved Wheetabix.

11. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF?
Nevah.

12. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM?
Mint Chocolate Chip, with French Crisp coming in as a close second.

13. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE?
Men: Their forearms
Women: Their chin/neck area

14. RED OR PINK?
Red.

15. WHAT IS YOUR LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF?
That I put off getting out of my big, warm bed, and exiting my dark, tranquil room on weekdays so long that I often have to leave my house with my toothbrush in my purse because I don’t have time to brush my teeth.

16. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST?
I miss my grandpa who passed away in 2008. He was my first grandparent to pass away so the shock of that took a while to deal with. His energy, his passion, and how genuinely kind and loving he was is something I miss very much.

17. DO YOU WANT EVERYONE TO COMPLETE THIS LIST?
No, not everyone.

18. WHAT COLOUR PANTS AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING?
Dark, indigo jeans and black shoes I like to call “dolly shoes.”

On another note why is this question so lame? There could have been so many more articles of clothing that would have been much more exciting to answer.

19. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW?
This bizarre humming sound circulating my office that I believe is coming from outside the window. Mind you I’ve also been trying to figure out if the humming is taking place in my head because I’m so tired.

20. IF YOU WERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE?
Cerulean

21. FAVOURITE SMELLS?
I love the smell of a man. I love the smell of wet pavement minutes after the rain comes. I love the smell of a forrest. I love the smell of the top of a mountain. I love the smell of tangerines.

22. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE?
One of my client’s landlords.

23. DO YOU LIKE THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS TO YOU?
This is not applicable because I stole the idea.

24. FAVORITE SPORTS TO WATCH?
Hockey. Downhill skiing. Soccer.

25. HAIR COLOR?
Dark Brown

26. EYE COLOR?
Sometimes Brown/Green, other times Green/Brown

27. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS?
No. But I wish I wore glasses.

28. FAVORITE FOOD?
Oh God.

29. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS?
Both. I love the kinds of scary movies that make me feel sick with fear. I also love mushy movies that make me bawl my eyeballs out.

30. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED?
The Reader

31. SUMMER OR WINTER?
Both. Equally. No question.

32. HUGS OR KISSES?
Both. Especially simultaneously.

33. MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND?
Je ne sais pas.

34. LEAST LIKELY TO RESPOND?
See above.

35. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW?
Eat Pray Love

36. WHAT IS ON YOUR MOUSE PAD?
I don’t have one.

37. WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON TV LAST NIGHT?
The news

38. ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES?
Hmmm. Both.

39. WHAT IS THE FARTHEST YOU HAVE BEEN FROM HOME?
Czech Republic

40. WHERE WERE YOU BORN
Ottawa, Canada!

First of all, I can’t stand the term Hump Day. I always imagine that Hump Day is used by professionals who love their jobs, all the time. Usually they’ll be overheard saying things like: ”Happy Hump Day!” or “Don’t worry, it’s Hump Day!”

Hump Day

When I was 12 “hump” was the term you’d use when you thought you knew what sex was. For example: “Did you hear that Sally and Johnny humped after school yesterday?” Then, around 15 you learned the term “dry humping” and some time after that humping never transitioned into the opposite of dry, and went straight into describing a day of the week – and usually a happy one at that. I feel a little cheated.

For my mid-morning snack I ate 3 Ferrero Rocher balls and these yummy little snack packs of roasted seaweed strips seasoned with sea salt and sunflower oil. I suppose I should confirm this as lately I’ve been mentioning eating things like cottage cheese with Cheezies, and now Ferrero Rocher with seaweed … I am not with child. I just have the taste buds of an Asian, the appetite of a European, and the fearlessness of a starving caveman in winter – so I hear anyway. I don’t make these things up.

I read an article on the cover of today’s Vancouver Sun titled: “Mountie displays ugly attitude when an apology is in order” and discusses the testimony of RCMP Constable Gerry Rundel regarding the Tasering of Robert Dziekanski that he was involved in. As a trained officer of the law – wearing a Kevlar vest, with a gun strapped close to your hip, beside a high-energy weapon, how can you possibly admit that you were fearful of an agitated man holding a stapler? I mean, even if you are trying to justify the reason for the Tasering, isn’t admitting something like that kind of like The Undertaker admitting to Triple H he’s afraid of Vern Troyer? I personally would find it much more hulky and manly if Mr. Rundel would just say something like “It was stupid, we overreacted, I’m sorry.” But who am I, eh?

What else is there …

Oh ya, my mummy is coming to visit me for the first time since I moved here a year and a half ago. Yes, I call her mummy even though I’m 31 years old. Sometimes it’s mère, sometimes maman, sometimes it’s muzah, every so often it’s her first name if she’s misbehaving. At any rate, I’m happy she’s going to be here because I think I need a hug from her quite badly. We’ll be roomies in my place for 3 weeks during which time we will most likely argue about the following at least once a day: My finances. As per tradition, we will battle it out Italian/French Canadian vs. Italian/Ukrainian/French Canadian-style. I am taking reservations for spots now so don’t delay. It will last for roughly 20 minutes and then I will spontaneously recite a scene from a movie that our argument is reminding me of (last time it was the scene where Atreyu was pleading with Artax to fight against the Swamps of Sadness in the NeverEnding Story. It went something like this: “Artax, please!! You’re sinking!! Stupid horse!!), and she’ll say something like “I’m being serious!” Where serious will come through lips that are starting to smile because she knew it was coming, then she’ll start to laugh, then I will, and harmony will be restored once again throughout the land. It’s really quite effective, you should try it some time. Arguments, especially ones with mothers, and especially ones about money should only ever last 20 minutes max.

I guess that’s about it. Now I will go walk Broadway and will probably end up in Wonderbucks spending money on a votive holder and some funky dinner plates that are 2 for 1 right now, and maybe a plant.

Here’s what I have recently found interesting as of roughly 2 hours ago:

It doesn’t matter how horrible your life is at any particular moment in time – the sun will always feel good on your face. Looking up at a clear, blue sky will always give you a moment of peace, even if only fleeting.

It doesn’t matter who you are. Where you came from. What you’ve seen or done. It doesn’t matter if you’re angry, sad, or content. These two things are sure things, I’m certain of it.

And why? Well, it’s because I can have a discussion with a client at my desk. They can tell me how they slept on the street last night, how they were robbed this morning, maybe someone kicked the shit out of them, maybe they lost a loved one, maybe they’re lost, they might not even know how they got to my office 15 minutes earlier but remarkably, if the sun’s high, and the sky’s clear, they still have the capacity, or the room to push all that pain aside and acknowledge how wonderful a day it is.

Imagine?

© Andrea C.

haha.

So it’s my lunch time again. I had something more sensible this time around. Just down the block from my work is a new Caffé Artigiano that I figured I’d check out so I’m mowing down on a bocconcini eggplant something or other and it’s tasty. Before this I spent $11 on a new dish rack that’s going to sit in my sink so I can have more counter room upon which to throw my unopened mail.

As I was walking down Broadway I began my analysis of people as I usually do when I’m solo and strolling. I try to figure them out quickly, sometimes imagine that the more stiff-looking ones are animals in bed. They usually make me smile. Then I look at the “spare-change?” people and try to figure out how and why. Sometimes I recognise them or vice versa and I’ll say hi, and they’ll say, “See you later this afternoon!” Then I smile and keep walking.

I watch they way people talk to the person next to them while they each carry their Wendy’s lunch bags to take back to work. I see if they’re rushing, and if they are I’ll look at the time and if it’s close to the half-hour, or hour, I’ll know why. I see if they have a shoelace untied and if the lace is tubular and thick, I’ll know why it’s untied. I’ll notice if they’re wearing different socks if their pants are a bit shorter and didn’t get the invite to party with the shoes that morning.

I pass people singing to themselves, talking to their Bluetooths, picking their ears, littering. I pass the oblivious, and the ones who hug the brick wall to avoid being brushed by.

So then on my way through the building back to my office I wonder if people look at me in similar ways. If they’re as fixated on my mannerisms and humanisms like I am with theirs. I wonder if they suss out that I help people all day long. I wonder if they can tell that my desk at work is a disaster where my place is tidy. Maybe they can tell that I took exactly 7 minutes to get ready that morning, and my toothbrush is in my purse.

Can they tell that I have a tendency to go through periods of wild party-time chaos, then other times when I want to shut out the outside world and play my albums really loud on a sunny afternoon and watch my cats bask in the rays of the hot sun?

I love sometimes the depths that my brain reaches. It can be so over analytical sometimes but this tendency to be this way makes life … people … so curious, fascinating, and interesting to me.

I wonder if when people look at me they can tell that sometimes I wonder what life would be like as a High Class Escort.

*I’m home from work now, it’s the evening and the Canucks just beat my Sens … and I’m torn between happiness and disappointment – and now I realise that in my secret life I’d also like to be a hockey wife for 18 hours.

My lunch will be over at the end of this time…

I feel neglectful of my blog lately again, and really this time there’s no actual reason. Oh no wait, it’s because I’ve started a relationship with someone. So a lot of my thoughts are occupied with happiness, elation, excitement, I’m all abuzz with gaiety.

This person is actually an old friend. Someone I lost touch with over the last half year, or so. But I’m so glad I found them again. I missed them. They were kind of elsewhere for a while. Consumed by some tumultuous things. This person is back now, admitting to feeling like they just crawled out of a vortex of overwhelming circumstance.

This person I’ve met, is me. I’m talking about me.

I realised the other day that I’ve found myself again. For half a year I existed in such intensity where I honestly forgot that I was a living, breathing, human, with its own feelings, thoughts, emotions. All that. I honestly broke up with myself unintentionally and let something… someone else become my focus. I got lost for a while.

I said to Gee during a phone call that it feels like I’ve been suffering from a debilitating illness and have just been given a clean bill of health. My suffering is over and now I can regain my focus and outlook and “feel” things again. Laughter is coming so much easier now. It’s not shrouded by a dark soul-sucking cloud of dashed hopes anymore.

So I sit here, eating Cheetos Crunchy Cheesies and Cottage Cheese for lunch (in separate mouthfuls, of course) and I don’t give a shit. My tummy growls each time I swallow and I say sorry to it, rub it, but I chew on and I chew happy. And, that’s because I AM happy. A real happy.

I’m going to cherish and nurture this rediscovered relationship the way I’ve always known myself to do. It’s what comes naturally to me. But, for some reason I let myself have a time-out from this self-care, although I’m not sure why.

I learned a lot about the complexities of people, and the fragility of my self.

Fini.

For someone as aesthetically delicious and perfect as Christian Bale, he sure is a cranky Mother F*cker.

Such dirty words for such a pretty face.

Dear Body,

I hope you noticed I ate an apple last night. I’m sorry for the one month apple-eating break, I realise this is less than acceptable and I am sorry. I’m humbly writing to ask for your forgiveness for what I’ve done to you over the last five days.

I should have never teased you with a measly one hour and fifteen minute sleep on Thursday night Friday morning. You poor thing, I should have never put you to bed at 6:15AM after the concert knowing full well my alarm would be going off at 7:30AM for work. I think in all my ignorance I was happy that I was starting half an hour later Friday and I guess abused that notion to the fullest extreme.

Nevertheless I am thankful you allowed me to make it through Friday without falling asleep at my desk. I don’t know how you do it, but you do and I never cease to be amazed by your resilience and controlled, steady battle with Brain.

Come Saturday afternoon I promised you I’d give you a nap mid-day before going out that night for the birthday occasion that we both knew could possibly be a repeat of the morning before.

You fought me hard on this one because as I was out exerting energy in the sunlight of a cool afternoon you did try to get my attention by causing my left eyelid to twitch for 5 hours straight. Then of course the entire shutting-down of my limbs one-by-one as the energy drained from them. I’m so sorry that my compensation for a lack of a siesta was a large coffee with cream. It was all I could think of to give you a false sense of alertness and hopefully carry you through one more night before deciding that you might have to force me into a coma for the next 8 hours.

Yes, I know I did get home 2 hours shy of my record the morning before, but at least this time I didn’t have to get up for anything! Right?

I see what happened though, you’ve given me a cold now. I suppose I deserve it, but still, why do you have to allow this cold to penetrate my lungs? I’d be just as miserable with a broken thumb you know.

I do also realise that when I was falling asleep on the sofa last night at 10:00 that I really should have gone straight to my bed once I woke up but I didn’t, and did not put you to bed until roughly 12:30AM.

Your clock is now drastically off and once again, I’m sorry.

In hindsight, I know that Thursday and Saturday were worth it for you as we re-lived our early 20s like the good old days when naps between days were our only source of sleep. Remember how much fun we used to have? Aside from that I know that at the end of the day you’re happy, because we really did have so much fun, didn’t we? Something to write home about although with some form of censorship of course.

Only you know the secrets that I keep.

Sincerely, from the bottom of our heart,

- Andrea 

It’s the banner on my cell phone – and people will always ask “Why does your banner say ‘I don’t know?’” my answer is always… well, you know.

But it is so more true a statement to my life than I care to admit to myself sometimes. It’s not always people asking me questions, but also the questions I pose toward myself on a regular basis.

I don’t know how I do it, I don’t know where it comes from, but sometimes things happen to me – serendipitous – strange – inexplicable – it takes on many forms.

But, it’s allowed me to look at my life in a more appreciative light sometimes. You know when you wake up sometimes and you already know your day is going to be brutally busy, or full of angst, or loss of time … but then in some way or another the stars align and something fantastical happens. Does anyone else experience this?

Maybe it’s my saving grace given how tumultuous the other half of my life seems to be during certain stretches. Like a constant test – “Let’s see how she’s going to hit THIS curveball.” Sometimes it hits me square in the face, other times maybe in my collarbone, but sometimes it just flies right past me by a hair.

Then, I’m left standing there thinking – what the hell just happened?

I’m only 31. Wait, pretty soon-to-be 32. Am I allowed to profess ignorance in this case any more? Or, come your 30s, are you supposed to know? Or maybe think you know? Or at the very least have pondered the thought. Become perplexed over it. Given up on it – And then after careful resignation and scrutiny, reauthorize your idea of life and love and decide that yes, fuck yes, you’re right.

So where do I fit into all this? Well for a while there I was certain I had a life/love strategy mapped out. However, upon careful consideration, I am realising that this ego-driven hypothesis has slowly buckled me into a booster-seat which is strapped in a car heading straight for the Republic of Spinsterland.

Sometimes I see myself happily frolicking among other spinsters in a meadow, picking daisies, and reflecting on a life lived to its fullest potential. Full of travel, soul food, experience, epoch, and possibly a slight ambiance of ambivalence. I’m sure we live among confirmed bachelors as well. Perhaps we’re all resigned. Perhaps we pretend we are but our guts, like leaves, hold steadfast to the trees of the “what ifs.”

Smiles might clinch the end of the day weary and fading as we lay our bodies down for the night and dream about what it would have been like to create a lineage of new life after us that carves the earth for rivers of generations and we think: a generation has stopped at us.

But the next morning we may rise and greet the birth of a new day with fervor and confirmation of the clean wash of happiness that yes, we really do feel.

The truth is that some days I’m clammy with consternation and I feel that in order for my life to exist happily I must feel the measure of satisfaction that I feel when I’m in a relationship that excites me, stimulates me and provides for me all the things I feel when I’ve discovered a sidekick; someone who I could potentially grow brittle with and rock with in a swing set until the sun fades toward the earth, even if we can’t talk any more because we’re deaf. … Our rickety fingers would touch, just barely, but it would be enough.

At the same time, my possible shortcoming at this point in my life is that I have terrible fears of settling into a relationship where I relinquish things to make room for other things. I have fears of commiting myself to a person who just ‘does the trick’ so it’s caused me to become very picky and to remain too concrete over my expectations in a relationship. Then again, with divorce rates so high, and couples seeking external stimuli on either an emotional or physical … or both, level am I on the right track with my credentials? Is settling worth all the angst? Then, is staying true to my hopes and dreams worth all the angst it will bring? I think I have to arbitrate over which source of angst will be worse at the end of the day.

Do I take the comfort of another body to walk through life with, even if this person ends up being someone that’s just good enough? Or do I abstain from all corners of this potential and allow myself to be happy by myself.

These are the things I think about while I’m working away at the absorption of lives that hurt more than mine ever will. My mouth does a lot of talking, a lot of asking, and my ears hear a lot of sorrow. My fingers, document it all. Then, finally a portion of my brain makes the conscious decision to help the person standing in front of me. All the while I could be mapping out my life and every time, without fail, I reach this precarious fork in the road where I plop down on the torid, moistureless pavement and wait for an answer to come to me.

It’s quite interesting, really.