LOVE DON’T LIVE HERE ANYMORE

LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You are in a really good place right now — especially if you are seeking to reinvigorate your love life! You look and act as appealing as anyone could ask for, so make sure the right person is watching.

Laura’s Log:
Head scratcher of a horoscope today. Couldn’t be more off if it had told me to pull out the hammer and nails and start a birdhouse building hobby. Strange emotional episodes notwithstanding, I’m not looking to “reinvigorate” things with Gabriel. And I’m having a really bad hair day and I (once again) spilled my latté on my white blouse so I don’t get the comment that I “look and act as appealing as anyone could ask for”. Is the Laura standard that low?!

I’m in a snit at the moment. It’s part Pity Party, part Divorce My Family reverie. After Tuesday’s disastrous attempt at mediating the latest sisterly feud, Lucy and Estelle peppered me with phone calls yesterday, not requesting another round of peace talks, but wanting to persuade me that the other sister was the insane, inflexible, insensitive one. Can’t we just call it a tie?

Just as I sat down with a bowl of organic, low-fat popcorn to find out which Idols were getting the boot, the phone rang yet again. Which one this time? Unfortunately, it was neither. That’s right: unfortunately. Sister crazy is at least predictable. Don’t really have to say anything. Let ’em rant.

“Uh, hi there. Is this Laura Nebergall?” Shaky voice. Male. I could sense the nervous sweat oozing through the airwaves.

“Who’s calling?” A first time telemarketer? A repentant Derrick? The creepy neighbor who sneezes and hugs the wall every time I pass him in the hall? Did he have my mail? Please tell me he didn’t paw my Entertainment Weekly!

“Uh, well, you don’t, uh, know me, but my mom told me to, uh, give you a call. Your mom gave, uh, my mom your, uh, number. My mom said you’d be, uh, expecting, uh, my, uh, my, uh, you know,…my call.”

Ah, the highly desirable Betty Ng’s son. Still didn’t have a first name.

Ten minutes later, he finally thought to introduce himself. Jacky Uh Ng. Not sure if he meant to divulge the middle name. Probably spilled it in a fit of anxiety. Didn’t find out what he does for a living, but he’s big on backgammon, Ping Pong and Céline Dion. The last fact came as her version of “All By Myself” blared on repeat in the background. Okay, it could be my theme song too, but who advertises that when calling to ask someone out?

He finally got the courage up to ask me to “coffee or a ride on the Skytrain.” Since when was a ride on Skytrain a date? Skytrain as a destination, not a mode of transportation! As odd as Jacky came across, it was painful to have to decline. “I’m just getting out of a relationship. I’m not ready to date again.”

“Oh, uh, of course. I’m uh sorry.” And cue dial tone. Poor guy. I’m sure he had to go shower.

Maybe rejecting Jacky explained today’s bad karma: my bad hair, my stained blouse, my lingering tummy lump from last night’s entire bag of mini chocolate brownies scarfed down as I bid adieu to (Ugly) Betty, my cruel horoscope. Indeed, maybe I needed to start seeing the world from the low Laura standard.

KEN’S JOURNAL:
DECENT RUN LAST NITE. I’VE FIRMLY ESTABLISHED MY PLACE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE PACK. MIGHT AS WELL HAVE RUN ON MY OWN THOUGH. MADDIE AND THE OTHERS BARELY ACKNOWLEDGED ME.

A NEW GUY SHOWED UP. LOGAN. PERFECT NAME BECAUSE CLEARLY THIS WAS LOGAN’S RUN. BLOND, BLUE-EYED AND LANKY WITH NO TRACE OF AN AFFINITY FOR BEER, HE HAD THE WOMEN SWOONING ALL OVER HIM.

I INSTANTLY HATED LOGAN. OF COURSE, MY OPINION WASN’T WHAT MATTERED. HE SPED OFF WITH THE FRONT GROUP, ALREADY DONE HIS COFFEE BY THE TIME I HOBBLED IN. MARGIE BOUGHT HIM ANOTHER. NOT EVEN COFFEE—EFFIN’ STEAMED NONFAT MILK!

“OOH, THAT SOUNDS SO GOOD!” ONE OF THE MELISSAS COOED. SUDDENLY EVERYONE WAS SIPPING HOT WATERY MILK. IT WAS THEN I REALIZED I WAS LACTOSE INTOLERANT. I POURED MY CAPPUCCINO INTO A TO-GO CUP AND LEFT.

NOT THAT ANYONE NOTICED.

YEP, I LOATHE LOGAN. RUNNING GROUP CRASHER!