LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Try to open up new conversations today — you’ve got lots to talk about, and you should find that others want to join you. It’s a good time to add new team members or recruit new friends.
It gets tricky having a dog and a dating life. I can’t spend the night at Gabriel’s. His building doesn’t allow pets and there’s no way Tupper could (or should) handle an entire night alone. Last night, the dilemma came to a head. We hung out at his place to watch the Canucks game, with Chris sitting down to join us. (“Nope. No plans tonight. My friends are seeing ‘Avatar’ for like the third time. I didn’t get the hype after the first time.” Okay, so if I really wanted to, I could have bonded with Chris on the No Love for Avatar front, but I still didn’t want to like her. The less I saw of Gabriel’s platonic female roommate, the better.)
After the (literally) last-second OT loss, I kept trying to give Gabriel the hint that we should retreat to his bedroom, but Chris channel-surfed and found “The Devil Wears Prada”. Yes, I love the movie. It’s one of those flicks like “Grease” or “When Harry Met Sally” or even “The Sound of Music” that I can sit and watch at any point in progress. But not when I’m sitting with my boyfriend and his female roommate. I wanted a little snuggle time—okay, more than a snuggle—before we went back to my place.
Gabriel, however, acted really into the movie as he’d never seen it. “Meryl’s a bitch,” he said, picking up on the obvious. “I love it!” Chris nuked some popcorn and it was clear that nothing would change until the movie ended. It was then that I gave Gabriel a quick kiss and asked, “Are you ready?”
“Ready for what?”
“To go back to my place. Tupper needs a walk.”
“Oh, yeah, well, I’m just thinking I’d like to sleep in my own bed for a change.” Chris at least had the awareness to get up, clear the popcorn bowl and bang away in the kitchen. “Can’t we just stay here?”
He knew the answer. I resented the fact he even asked. What was he, clueless or an animal hater? I left in a huff. Driving home I chastised myself for turning hurt into huffy. Not attractive. Still, I didn’t pick up the phone to offer a sweet goodnight. He didn’t either. And so I spent the night shifting restlessly as Tupper, snoring louder and taking up more space than usual, gloried in having booted the imposter from the bed.
Made it to Mom’s for brunch even before Estelle and the brood arrived. Everyone was there by 8:20: Lucy and Carl(a), Estelle et al., even Marella. Mom seemed put off by the fact we were punctual. “So now you all finally show up on time. When was the last time that happened? Back when Chrétien was still PM? I don’t even have the muffin batter ready and the waffle iron’s not plugged in yet. The coffeecake took longer than I expected. Thank goodness I decided against my homemade cinnamon buns. I really didn’t expect some of you to even show.” A clear barb against all daughters NOT named Estelle.
“God, Mom. Relax. We don’t need all the carbs anyway. What kind of fruit do you have?”
Mom threw down a mixing spoon and ran to her bedroom. Obviously, one of us should have brought something to supplement the two overripened bananas sitting on the counter. Carl(a) and Marella each reached for car keys to make the obligatory grocery run. “I’ll go,” Carl(a) insisted. “I could use the drive.”
With that, Marella retreated to the deck. She still hadn’t kicked the smoking habit. Lucy went to try to coax Mom out of the bedroom while Estelle and Curtis took the kids to see Grandad in the garage. I decided to join Marella.
She looked at me as she sucked in half the cig in one long inhale. “I can’t make it on time AND bring food. I don’t operate that way this early in the fuckin’ morning,” she said defensively. Had I given her a guilt-inducing look?
I quickly changed the subject. A Mom-Marella misunderstanding is something to avoid at all costs. The fruit fallout would linger for the next six weeks. “Still seeing that lawyer guy from Boise?”
She looked at me as if I was insane. “Oh my God. That was a month ago!”
“Well,…it’s not like I’ve seen you lately.”
“Spare me. I get enough grief from Mom.”
“No, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just saying I’m not up on your dating.”
“Ha! Dating. It’s called fucking. Who am I fucking lately? That’s what you want to know?”
“Jeez, Marella. I was just making conversation.”
Marella started on her second cigarette. “Okay, let’s converse. How’s your dating life, Laura?”
She almost swallowed the entire cigarette when I said, “Very good.”
And then she mellowed. Nothing like some sisterly gossip and a few details about a minor spat about where to spend the night. All it took was my saying, “I haven’t told anyone else yet” for Marella to be totally over the flare-up with Mom. She was getting first shot at a surprising new scoop: Laura dates! I was just relieved to finally share with someone in the family. It felt great. “Just don’t say anything to Mom yet. You know how she gets.” It was like we were teens again, keeping mum about Lucy’s school suspension for making out with a female reading volunteer from SFU or maintaining our solidarity in professing ignorance over the used condom found in the garage. Marella and I both felt gleeful—she even decided against a third cigarette. Marella even marched in to apologize to Mom. Gabriel had worked wonders.
And, God, I missed him!
CAN’T GET THE CHORUS OF BECK’S “LOSER” OUT OF MY HEAD. WELL, THAT & REAL ESTATE PANIC. EVEN DREAMED ABOUT LOOKING FOR A NEW PLACE. THE ONLY THING I COULD AFFORD WAS TOM SAWYER’S RAFT. SOMEHOW I MANAGED TO CRAM ALL MY PERSONAL POSSESSIONS ON IT W/THE HELP OF CONAN O’BRIEN. (YEAH, I GUESS HE HAD THE XTRA TIME AFTER HE GOT THE AXE, TOO.) AFTER WAVING GOODBYE TO CONAN, I WAS TRAVELING ON THE RAFT TO SOME SORT OF MOORAGE ON BOWEN ISLAND WHEN THE THING CAPSIZED. I AWOKE JUST B/F DROWNING (I WAS TUGGING MY SOFA, REFUSING TO LET IT SINK).
SPENT ALL OF YESTERDAY AFTERNOON LOOKING @ POSSIBLE PLACES TO LIVE. MARTY’S GETTING IMPATIENT. THIS IS WHEN HAVING YOUR BEST FRIEND BE YOUR REALTOR IS A STUPID IDEA. I DON’T GET THE FAKE-SMILING SCHMOOZER AGENT. INSTEAD I GET A LOT OF “WOULD YOU QUIT BEING SUCH A DICK? CHRIST, WHATDOYA THINK YOU’RE GONNA GET FOR THAT KIND OF MONEY?!”
OKAY, IT’S NOT JUST ME THAT’S MAKING HIM TESTY. THE DEAL ON OUR DUNBAR PROPERTY IS STARTING TO LOOK QUESTIONABLE. THERE’S A STACK OF PERMITS WE HAVE TO GET TO MAKE SOME CHANGES & THAT SHIT IS NEVER A SURE THING. I KEEP SAYING I’LL CAMP OUT @ CITY HALL ON MONDAY. I’LL MAKE IT HAPPEN. THEN THERE’S FINDING A GENERAL CONTRACTOR. ALL MY CONTACTS ARE FOR MUCH LARGER PROJECTS. IT’S MUCH MORE OF A CRAPSHOOT TRYING TO FIND A COMPETENT, DEPENDABLE GUY FOR A SMALLER PROJECT. I’VE GOT A GOOD LEAD THOUGH. I’M MEETING W/SOME LESBIAN NAME CARLA THIS EVENING. SHE TOTALLY REDID SARA’S NEIGHBOUR’S HOUSE, ON TIME, ON BUDGET. THAT NEVER HAPPENS. JUST HOPE SHE’S AVAILABLE.