Before I begin … I am very disappointed in the strawberries I’ve been eating. Their outside is frigging red as hell; a deep, dark, juicy, succulent red, and yet when I bite into them I taste nothing. This does not compute with me. I am deeply disappointed…. But, I have three left. I’ve unenjoyed roughly 15 strawberries and yet I wasn’t able to stop myself. I’ve left three here based on the principal that I should not be finishing something that my taste buds don’t fancy. So, at this point it’s become something more psychological. I wish I could apply the same theory to Sour Cream & Onion chips and Smarties but unfortunately they satiate my taste buds as if I were a lion, mowing down on a warm kill after a long, cold winter of nothing but frozen-ass carcasses. And it’s like this year round.

My little brother is getting married in a little over 5 months. It makes me think of my wedding that almost was. The wedding I called off four months before the date. It makes me think of my wedding dress that hangs like a whisper in my closet. A safe secret.

It’s such a beautiful dress. It feels like magic when I have it on. Sometimes I put it on and let myself absorb what it means to me – where I was then, where I am now. What’s changed. What would my life be like if we had been married? What kind of wife would I be? You know, we probably would be having fun. I know that … we were a good team. The thought of it is bittersweet in many ways to me. But, it wasn’t a good idea if I look at the big picture. Neither of us were really ready, although for different reasons, and this was one of the most important and resonating voices I have ever listened to in my life up to this point.

Still though, dress-up time is fun! I have this gorgeous wedding dress and veil at my fingertips whenever I want. I sometimes put it on and just watch TV.

Indulge me if you please for tonight I conducted my very first single-girl’s wedding shoot. Probably the only one I’ll ever have in this dress. It deserves to be captured for the wedding that never was…

I was folding laundry and my brain started to wander to all the amazing songs that we save for jammin’ time. I know my list, as well as the lists of my friends – both female and male. I figured it’d be kind of nice to spotlight all the jammin’ songs out there so I’m going to make this a weekly special. Every Sunday evening I’ll profile a song that can be played during shnooky. They won’t always be mine, for the record.

Some songs may be an acquired taste that you may not ever agree with but jammin’ music is personal and that’s the beauty of it.

See where my mind goes when I’m being domestic? Sometimes I just can’t get a grip.

Now, before you question the new depths I’ve reached with this here blog I want you to note this: I love music on many levels and put it toward the many themes of my life… chaos, agony, sadness, heartache, happiness, joy, sorrow, love, lust, and nooky. You know you all do it. I’m fairly certain some of you have at one time pulled Sexual Healing out in the darkness.

Next week’s song is going to be dedicated to All Balls.

Now let’s get it on:

Big Log by Robert Plant
Why: That Rhythm & Melody
Now close your eyes, a dusty wind blows…

Big Log

Things are relatively back to normal between myself and my feline roommates. I have to admit, it wasn’t until I walked in my apartment the second time that I saw the damage they had caused. The first time I had opened the front door – coming home from a long day of work, I surveyed the scene while standing in the doorway, and within roughly 10 seconds I shut the door again and walked away from my place trying desperately to convince myself I was in a dream. 

I had neither energy nor the patience to accept the devastation let alone clean it up. So I went for a drive, did some banking, and came home with a clearer perspective on the situation. The conclusion I came to was that they are cats. Although I am quite perplexed over why they are still so rambunctious at nearly nine years old. I accept the fact that to them, they don’t understand that scaling the walls and playing on my fireplace mantle, eating plants, then knocking my limited edition print onto the floor below thus shattering the glass and chipping the frame is not a good idea … no, to them it was just a little adventure.

I know it was Otis who was up there because he’s got the physical capability to do so. Marshall, being hipless, and slightly more emotionally mature, probably would have had nothing to do with it. Not at least until my plants hit the floor and he was able to feast on the abundance of their shoots and leaves. At that point I’m fairly certain he was thankful his brother Otis is such an Olympian. 

I sat among the broken glass, soil, and the shredded remains of my once lush and healthy plants for about an hour. Marshall & Otis slept behind me on the back of the sofa. It’s funny because my blood pressure never elevated. I have these simple triggers that can really irritate me or cause me to lose patience, but for some reason, the bigger things, the things out of my control – and obviously my own cats’ comprehension – was totally fine with me and lucky for them too.

I managed to make it to Home Depot later on that night for some plant retail therapy. They had some good discounted tropicals, and some really healthy purple Calla Lilies, so I stocked up and spent the rest of Friday re-potting my new plants, and watching About Last Night circa 1986. 

If you haven’t seen this movie, or maybe at one point refused to see it, you should make the attempt now. It embodies the perfect humble and unpretentious feel of the 80s movie genre. It was Demi before her big mamms and Rob Lowe in all his youthful hot, sexy, steamy deliciousness. It basically centres around the relationship that Demi and Rob establish after their two worlds merge over a beer keg at a baseball game. Rob kind of lives vicariously, although more innocently, through the life and sordid tales of his gregarious, ‘man’s man’ bestie played by Jim Belushi. Demi and her roommate, played by Elizabeth Perkins, are doing their own Sex And The City 80s-style thing; gawking at men, bringing the odd one home, sleeping with the boss, etc., until the fateful keg-pump meeting between Dem and Rob. Liz, in and out of casual sex with various random men that snore loudly, can’t seem to land a good man if at the very least a good lay. Both Demi and Rob appear to be living a life with their respective best friends that doesn’t really interest either of them. So once they meet, and they bang, their love story begins. 

I won’t offer any more than that, but if you’re ever in the mood for an easy, simple, 80s angst-ridden, playful love story, watch ALN. Then, write me and let’s discuss.

My Saturday was a little more dramatic and eventful. I ate two lunches, spent some time in the Framing section of Opus to order some glass for my fallen print, took in the late afternoon sun with Sherene, and then entered nightclub mode around 9PM. Gee and I head to Ginger Sixty-Two first and after waiting in the “little peoples’” line-up for approx 30 mins, we finally graduated to VIP, and were in 15 minutes after that. It was a really nice surprise to see the $18 cover after standing out in the chilly night air for 45 minutes but we paid it nevertheless and sipped on Club Soda to counteract the cost of admission. We took in some sort of burlesque performance by some very jumpy girls wearing some super sexy lingerie (which reminds me, I must find the retailer). 

Shortly after this performance, our night can really only be summed up as follows:

Guy gets punched in the face by a crazy guy who must have wanted to cause great harm to him and attempted to kick him in the face while he was down before security came to his rescue and hauled them both out side victim is standing outside bar after Gee and I decide we’re bored with Ginger and offer him a ride to the hospital which he graciously accepts so we do and drop him off and drive back downtown this time to Elixer where there was some kind of swanky Juno thing going on so we snuck in with two guys one of which was allegedly some hockey player we didn’t recognise who were in front of us in line and went inside where Jason the Bachelor was in there surrounded by living breathing mannequins who kept telling him he looked good in the middle of voicing their opinions of his final rose ceremony and advising him on what he should have done while offering to buy him drinks that he declined politely then we spent the rest of the night engaged in interesting conversation with two men who spent the day wrapping up filming of a movie 3:15AM rolls around the lights go on we exit eat some street meat say bye to our new friends and I’m in bed by 4:00AM.

This morning I woke up to the sounds of the monsters scratching on my bedroom door at 6:15AM. The same time my alarm goes off every weekday morning. I fed them in some sort of half sleepwalking, half possessed manner that I barely remember. I woke up about four hours later to my cell ringing, it was Greg who wanted to go for a walk so I rolled out of bed and into my car and experienced a warm, sunny 2 hour walk through the trees. I feel like I haven’t felt the hot sun on my face in too long so the patches of it, when the trees opened up along the trail, felt so perfect. 

I then did some running around, went for coffee, met up with Katie and head to Granville Street where there were some Juno things going on but we just ended up window shopping and eating which worked better in my opinion. It was more entertaining.

Here I am at 7:24PM on Sunday evening and my eyes are burning for closure. My sofa is calling me and my throw is washed and smelling welcoming. I won’t make anything wait any longer.

I think we’re cool now, no?

Marshall’s just in the middle of apologizing…

He truly is magic.

I had one of those toothbrush-in-the-purse mornings where for some silly reason I only gave myself 7 minutes to get ready from rolling out of bed to leaving my house. I can tolerate these mornings the best on Fridays because I know all it takes is fighting through the day and the party starts.

Sometimes partying means watching TV until I fall asleep on the sofa. To me, party time is any time not spent at work – simply because it is not very acceptable.

Within my first hour of being here I had repaired the dishwasher. It was leaking all over the floor, the ladies were panicking, barricades were put up “Slippery Floor!!” Hand-made warning signs on the dishwasher door “DO NOT USE!” When no one was looking, I snuck into the kitchen to assess the issue. Turns out someone mistakenly put Dishwashing LIQUID into the dispenser rather than Dishwashing DETERGENT. Everyone was on standby, waiting for the supervisor to give them the go-ahead to call the plumber and repair man. A couple jugs full of water, a collection and removal of all the suds, and a quick press of the “Cancel/Reverse” button and the washer was dry.

I really really wanted to take all the credit for being so smart and ingeneous but I couldn’t. I humbly took the thanks, and retreated back to my desk, not before rolling my sleeves back down.

For lunch I ate the following: Sour Cream & Onion chips, Doritos, and sour gummy worms.

It was so fantastically disgusting.

This calls for lemon water for dinner. And nothing else!

Hard to believe my mom’s been here for two weeks already as of tomorrow. I think the fact that I’ve been working this entire time has made it feel shorter than it really is. In some ways it’s good that we’re not together 24/7 because I’m not sure we’d still be sharing my apartment right now.

See I’ve been living entirely on my own since late August 2007. Before that I was in two, long term relationships at 5 years each – which took up my entire 20s (except for an 8 month break). This brings me back to 18 when I had my very first long-term relationship. I’ve always shared my life with someone … boyfriends, roommates, my mom. Now I’ve been here alone; just me, Marshall, and Otis. I settled quite nicely into being on my own. Sometimes I love it too much because I go in and out of total hermitude where my friends start to ask if I’m neglecting them.

I’m independent to begin with, or at least really crave my independence and to settle into that life becomes comfortable. Even with the feeling that sometimes it’d be nice to fall asleep cuddled next to a warm body at night, I am still enjoying my solo life at this time in my life. It’s very interesting being single in your 30s. I control when I come home, if I come home, who I come home with, how many people are over. If I don’t do my dishes for two days, I don’t care. It’s my mess.

I’ve been existing this way over the last year and a half, so having my mom work her way into my little bubble feels a little foreign at times. My place can feel crowded now every once and a while, my things are pushed out of the way, there is another toothbrush in my holder. The toilet paper goes faster, so does the toothpaste, and the dish soap. I have to answer to someone now. I’m asked why I buy salted butter and am expected to answer, I’m reminded to soak my pots after cooking, I’m told my shampoo smells too strong.

At the same time though, it’s comforting having my mom here to take care of me. I feel like life, since moving here, has sometimes called for my mom’s warmth and understanding, her words of support – something to cheer me on and tell me everything’s going to be okay. To not have her here in physical form during times of crisis or agony can be difficult. So I’m cherishing these moments we’re spending together. I come home from work and dinner is simmering on the stove top. It’s a real dinner too. Not canned salmon on toast with a slice or two of celery. Brewing coffee fills my senses every morning before I leave for work. She seems to be able to remember to do that, where usually my mind would be in such a state of chaos because I’m running behind, my cream for coffee can go bad before even opening the carton.

We’ve argued at least once an evening though, sometimes twice 10 minutes later. Our arguments are very frustrating for me a) because I’m not used to having to argue with anyone and b) she thinks she has me all figured out and she couldn’t be more misdirected. When I tell her she’s wrong, she disagrees with me which then propels me to prove to her that she’s mistaken, and she will just throw her hand up in the air – usually when I’ve made a valid point – then say “I don’t want to talk to you anymore right now.”

I’ve done so much self-reflection since I’ve moved here, and learned about exactly who I am, why I think and feel the things I do – where they come from, what the triggers are; I’ve observed my friendships, what they give me, and what I give to them; I’ve looked at my moods – when they start, why they start. Every hurdle I’ve cleared, and even the ones I hit on the way over, I know why they were there. So to have my mom come in and tell me otherwise can be frustrating, but she’s still my mom and it is her natural role to be that way so I let her get away with it. Not all battles are worth fighting on the field.

It’s funny, even now, she’s lying on her little bed in the middle of the living room absorbed in cable TV because she doesn’t have cable at home. She’s talking to CBC news, then switching channels and laughing at the sitcoms, then asking me if I heard the joke. Then she starts talking to me about a thought – just like she is right now – I’m not really paying attention, because I’m absorbed in what I’m writing, and yet she’s still talking. She knows I’m not listening, but we’re communicating nevertheless just by being in the same room together, and it works. She just told me I remind her of Erica in Being Erica and she wants me to pay attention. I forgot to answer her and now she told me that I am not listening. I told her “I know.”

She drives me nuts sometimes, but she’s been my saving grace in so many profound ways throughout my life. I feel lucky to have her.

Anything nice you do for someone, ever, should only be done because you want to. Not for any other reason other than that. Not for payback, definitely not for manipulation, and not because you expect something back down the road. Not to use it against someone, either.

Nice things are unconditional. So are kind words, oh and apologies too.

Also, the personal choices we make are called ‘personal choices’ for a reason. If you make these choices to make someone else happy, or for someone else please do society a favour by NOT blaming that person later down the road if in the event your life falls apart. It’s called accountability. If things would have turned out, there wouldn’t be so much blaming now would there.

By the way, if you lie – that’s personal choice too.

Without this basic understanding, my patience deflates quickly as my disappointment inflates, thus resulting in an extreme unbalancing of opinions and perspectives which can really irritate me. There are moments in life that I just find so preposterous I need to have laugh attacks just to survive.

As long as we all understand the above, the world will be a much better place for you and I to live in! Say it with me now.

More insight to come. Topic: The appreciation of one’s personal space in an enclosed area.

I logged into my Mac to post something that was on the tip of my tongue, and logged into Facebook at the same time.

I noticed a new group had been formed called “Avenge Dusty.”

I have this issue that I’d like to get a hold of where anything I come across or hear about that involves animals in pain or suffering torments me for what often feels too long. I can’t even articulate the way my brain starts to process things after I come across something like a thumbnail of an image even. The facial expression captured is enough to throw me into sadness. Not many people get this about me, which is okay, it’s just for the most part I don’t ever want to know about it – EVER.

So I avoided the video on the Avenge Dusty site – It would ruin me in ways I can’t explain. It is essentially the torture of a family cat at the hands of a 14-year old captured and placed on YouTube (which has since been removed). I don’t want to know about it, hear about it, I want to be ignorant to it. It’s enough to put me out of commission for a day. It’s the animals; their vulnerability, their faces, their expressions. I can’t quite explain it but sometimes learning of things like this cause me to physically ache for a while. Throws my tummy into painful knots.

Essentially I’m not in the mood to type what I was going to type anymore. I’ll have to try again later.

All I can say with regard to this case is the cats have been rescued and are in shelters right now. I think about the 14-year old and his little brother filming the torture. It worries me. This is right where it all begins.

I work five days a week. Every morning I walk the same path to get to the SkyTrain, run down the same set of stairs at my stop, run across Broadway to get to the 99 B-Line, hop on the bus and it is at this point where I either stand or sit. I don’t mind either actually. Sitting is obviously my option of choice but standing is okay as long as there is no slime on the section of the bar that I have to grab.

The stops along the B-Line are my favourite part. This is where you get the most perspective on just how well people can choreograph the exiting of the bus with each other. For those who have been sitting, they know their stop is coming, and I can tell because they start to gather their purse straps, or raise their briefcase up to their lap, shift in their seats, etc. Their look becomes more goal-oriented rather than stoned by the early morning. They perk up. If I’m standing in front of them I immediately start to predict how it is they are going to prepare-for and eventually exit the bus.

It’s a good idea that I do this because sometimes there is a bit of strategising involved if they are the more frantic or efficient kind. These types will rise immediately after the bus starts moving from the stop right before theirs. Sometimes this becomes a precarious situation because if I am standing knee-to-knee in front of them and they rise I might have to shift left, right, sometimes back. Sometimes they don’t acknowledge that this action often disturbs the feng shui of that section of the bus because we all have to shift with each other. When it becomes REALLY scary is if you take a kamikaze bus driver and a panicked commuter who MUST make their way toward the doors immediately and they begin to become very aggressive if I don’t move. What they do not realise and please, if you are or know of someone who is one of the ‘non-realisers,’ take heed: If me moving so you can disembark involves letting go of a grab bar while trying to maintain my balance because of the kamikaze bus driver I am NOT keeping my arm there because I think it’s hilarious that you appear to be trapped, I am holding on because the bus is whirling and swirling, and riding over bumps as if on a dune buggy which would mean that if I let go to alleviate your sense of urgency, I could essentially die. OK, maybe not DIE, but I could cause myself serious damage in the event that our bus driver must slam on the brakes. I can’t imagine how soaring through the air on a bus filled with people, hitting every vertical grab bar on my way to the windshield would be much fun, especially on a Monday morning.

Sometimes it’s me who has to accommodate the frenzied. Sometimes I’m just an observer. It’s interesting taking it all in no matter how involved you are. It’s like your first sleepover with someone - you have no idea what they’re going to look like the next morning, react like, when they’re going to leave and how, how are they in the morning? Do they brush their teeth right away? Are they patient? Frantic? Relaxed? Do they respect your space? Or use your toothbrush? And if they do, do you say something? Or just throw it out after and forget about it?

Somehow though, when you’re in such an enclosed place with people who are literally independent creatures with separate thinking methods and patterns, it all works – most of the time. Everyone is forced, maybe for the only time during their day out in public, to acknowledge the person near them. It’s a very intimate situation. Often you can smell what someone had for breakfast, if they missed hairs on their neck or chin when they shaved, if they had time to match their socks, if there is nail polish on their stocking that probably just ripped that morning while out the door, what they’ll be eating for lunch. It is SO neat.

It’s not quite like driving – which is a whole other observation on its own saved for another time.