Sunday, February 28, 2010

THE GAME IS THE ONLY THING ON THE AGENDA! GO, CANADA!

February 28, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): It's a great time to take care of stuff around the house. Your self-sufficiency is peaking, so you should be able to tie up loose ends and make sure that everything is ready for spring cleaning!

Laura’s Log:
Feels like I’m being Punk’d—like my Mom has created a virus with my daily horoscope. Spring cleaning? Really?! Is that how I’m supposed to spend part of my weekend? Despite all indications from the Vancouver weather of late, it is not officially spring and there is no way I’m going to do spring cleaning early or, as my horoscope suggests, “make sure that everything is ready for spring cleaning”. How does one prepare for it? Am I supposed to go plastic container shopping? Price mops online? Take the vacuum for a tune-up? I shall pick up all my clothes, put them in the laundry basket, give the bathroom a quick wipe down and be done with it. Being single has its perks.

Heading over to Estelle’s as she’s invited everyone over for the hockey game. Skyped her this morning and little Gretel had a red maple leaf painted on her face. Precious. Not sure what I think about face painting Sven. He’s only five months old. Somehow it seems wrong. It would be like me throwing a Canada toque and two pairs of red mitts on Tupper. My dog is not a photo opp.

But enough already. Go, Canada, go!

KEN’S JOURNAL:
NO TIME TO WRITE TODAY. BRAIN CAN’T FOCUS. KEPT DREAMING ABOUT GOLD MEDALS LAST NITE. CANADA’S GOTTA STEP UP. GO LUONGO! GO CANADA!

HITTING ROSIE’S W/MARTY & SOME OLD FRIENDS FROM U OF T. LET’S ROCK IT, GUYS!

Saturday, February 27, 2010

GRILLED & DRILLED

February 27, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You need to be ready to answer questions all day today, whether you are at work or at home. People look to you for guidance and that basic info they need to get by, and you don't disappoint!

Laura’s Log:
When you’re unemployed, you get to entertain thoughts about radical career switches. That said, I can unequivocally state I never want to be a marriage counselor. Mom showed up at my apartment at 8:15 this morning, demanding I buzz her in.

“How about we go for a walk and grab a coffee?” I suggested, as I quickly surveyed my apartment. It’s amazing how quickly I can go back to feeling thirteen again, that disappointing girl who wrote fan mail to Kirk Cameron (ick) and Jason Priestley (still mildly yummy) instead of cleaning her room.

“Just let me in. It’s pouring rain.”

I had to make a quick decision: listen to a ten-minute rant now about how my poor housekeeping skills were the reason for my path to spinsterhood or make Mom wait outside for five minutes and hear her spend the next month blaming me for a case of the sniffles. I let her in and immediately regretted the decision.

“My God! Have you been robbed?! They’ve completing ransacked the place?”

“It’s cleaning day, Mom. I just haven’t had my coffee yet.”

“I’ll never understand how you let it get in such a state. I’ll tell you what you should do while you’re unemployed. Get a job with Molly’s Maid Service. Teach you some skills.” Oh, my gawd. She was serious. And why is it that when she says unemployed it comes off as “one who is utterly irresponsible and lacking in direction”? Clearly, it was too early in the morning to have to face bigger mother-daughter issues.

“Why are you here, Mom?”

“Hmmph. I come to visit my daughter and I’m treated like I’m some sort of intrusion.”

I stared blankly, folding my arms. Cancel that guilt trip and demand a full refund.

“Oh, all right,” she said, realizing she’d have to be direct for a change. “Your father announced this morning that he doesn’t like cranberry oatmeal muffins.”

I waited for more, but that was it. I responded with what I thought was the obvious. “So?”

“So?! So?! I’ve only been baking homemade cranberry oatmeal muffins for your father every Saturday for the last eight years. Maybe ten. And now, all of a sudden, he not only tells me he doesn’t like cranberry oatmeal muffins but—You need to be sitting down for this, dear. I mean it. Sit down—he has NEVER liked my cranberry oatmeal muffins. Never! Can you imagine how hurtful that is? Do you realize that I have wasted the last four hundred, maybe five hundred Saturdays baking your father cranberry oat—?”

“So now you’re free. He likes cereal. Cheerios. No fruit on top. Just Cheerios. Why try to change that?”

“Don’t you see? We have a communication problem. Why did it take him eight, maybe ten, years to tell me he doesn’t like my cranberry oatmeal muffins? What else doesn’t he like? The new lube I made him try last week? The purse I picked up at the garage sale? Oh, my goodness. What if he doesn’t like my spaghetti sauce? What if—?”

Did my mother just mention lube?! Could I just pretend that had to do with an oil change? She was rattling on but I’d tuned her out. She'd already crossed the too-much-information barrier. I let her go on as I cleared the empty frozen yogurt container and wine bottle from the coffee table. (It had been a trying week, after all.) Mom followed me in the kitchen, grabbed a sponge and started wiping down things without missing a beat in her rant about Dad. In fact, fighting with the sauce stains on the stovetop wound her up even more.

By the time I’d sent Mom on her way, she felt better—well enough to say she was stopping by Terra Breads to pick up a green olive loaf “in spite of the fact your father hates olives”—and at least my kitchen had a shine to it. I took two Tylenol and collapsed on the sofa, trying to reassure Tupper with a tummy rub. Yes, the crazy lady has gone. It’s okay now. Everything’s going to be all right.



KEN’S JOURNAL:
LOGGED ON THIS MORNING TO FIND I HAD A NEW MESSAGE FROM “MKWLADY” ON THE PLENTY OF FISH WEBSITE. TOOK HER LONG ENUF BUT I SUPPOSE PEOPLE STILL PLAY GAMES ABOUT HOW SOON TO REPLY AND ALL. SHE SAID NOTHING ABOUT HERSELF. INSTEAD, SHE HAD PASTED A QUESTIONNAIRE WITH 43 ITEMS ON IT. QUESTIONS LIKE WHAT’S YOUR FAVORITE COLOR? AND TULIPS OR DAISIES?

I, IN TURN, HAD ONLY ONE QUESTION FOR HER: SERIOUSLY?!

METHINKS MKWLADY IS IN GRADE SIX & SIMPLY COPIED A PIC OF HER MOM OR HER TEACHER. I CAN JUST IMAGINE HER FRIENDS AND HER GATHERING AROUND THE COMPUTER AND HOOTING OVER HOW MANY DESPERATE MEN ACTUALLY RESPOND. I MAY BE DESPERATE, BUT I KNOW WHEN TO DELETE. SO CREEPY!

DECIDED I NEEDED TO GET OUT & WORK OFF THE HEEBIE JEEBIES. CALLED MY OLD SQUASH BUD, WILL, & BOOKED A COURT. GOT WHOOPED & REMEMBERED WHY I HADN’T PHONED WILL IN AGES. AS WE PLAYED, HE CLDN’T STOP ASKING ME QUESTIONS. “HOW’D YOU PUT ON SO MUCH WEIGHT? IS IT EVEN POSSIBLE TO SLEEP ON YOUR STOMACH ANYMORE? HAVE YOU TRIED RICE CAKES? SOME OF THE FLAVORED ONES AREN’T THAT BAD. ARE YOU WATCHING “THE BIGGEST LOSER”? IT’S INSPIRING, YOU KNOW.”

HE WASN’T TRYING TO THROW ME OFF MY GAME. HE WASN’T TAUNTING ME. WILL JUST HAS NO TACT. THERE IS NO LINE W/WILL. HE’S THE ONE GUY I CAN BET WILL ALWAYS BE SINGLE. HE DENIES IT, BUT I BET HE’S STILL A VIRGIN.

MAYBE I SHLD SET HIM UP W/MKWLADY.

Friday, February 26, 2010

YOU CAN’T CHOOSE YOUR COWORKERS…OR CAN YOU?

February 26, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You are naturally social -- though that doesn't mean you see yourself as a natural leader. Still, today you rise to the challenge and end up surprising a lot of people, including yourself.

Laura’s Log:
Just got word from the temp agency that today is my last day at Deer Lake Auto Shop. Feel like singing “Hallelujah” (more the forgettable, first-person-kicked-off-“American Idol” version than the supreme kd lang version, but still…). Delores should be back Monday, barring another trip to the curling rink. Mindy with the temp agency was booking me for a stint at a funeral home—keep me clear of the crematorium and I’m fine (I think)—and was surprised Sergi had not told me yet. That makes one of us.

I continued to be a nonentity at the auto shop and, since hell had apparently frozen over, I decided it was time to defrost the environment. I’d done all the tasks I could decipher on the lists thrust on my desk whenever I turned away and I decided to harass Sergi about the chicken scratch that continued to confound me. Don’t ever accuse me of riding the time clock. If I’m at work, the last thing I want to do is start updating my Facebook page or surfing for earsplitting first week “Idol” performances on YouTube.

“Sergi!” He set his coffee cup down and shuffled to the storage room. I followed. Drawing my heretofore unknown inner Rocky Balboa, I hollered, “Yo! Sergi!” He bolted out the back door and I chased him down the alley. As Sergi is 6’4” and 280, it was ridiculous for me to yell, “Don’t make me tackle you!” but absurdity seemed to be the norm at Deer Lake Auto Shop. To my surprise, he stopped and held his hands up as if to say, Don’t shoot!

Turns out he wasn’t so much afraid of me as of his wife. The Great Ice War had been mere subterfuge. Apparently, Tatiana, who worked the cash register, felt he was a little too excited during some Monday night lovemaking and she accused him of fantasizing about me. “You’re beautiful,” he noted. (That’s not entirely relevant, but I retain the right to document whatever I choose. And I also opt to repress any creepy subtext.) Judging from the way his eyes popped out and kept darting in every direction, our alley conversation was too dangerous to continue. He begged me to meet him at the front register, with Tatiana bearing witness. And then, with sweat already painting his brow, he said, “Wait ten minutes” and then ran around to the front.

Ten minutes. I looked at my watch. 11:40. I walked to my car and drove away. You know that expression, You just can’t pay me enough? I decided to start the weekend early.

KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
THE BOSS IS AWAY TODAY. THANK GOD. THE BASTARD SCORED TIX TO THE CANADA-SLOVAKIA GAME & DECIDED, W/ALL THE STRESS I’D CAUSED HIM, HE DESERVED A 3-DAY WEEKEND. I SHLD BE THE OFFICE HERO, BUT PEOPLE HAVE BEEN COOL TO ME ALL WEEK. WHILE I’M THE TARGET OF THE BOSS’ WRATH, HE HAS A TENDENCY TO LET HIS IRE SPILL OVER. WON’T MISS HIM ONCE I GET OUT OF HERE.

CONVINCED RAJ TO GO TO LUNCH W/ME. SAID HE WAS GOING TO STAY IN & ENJOY HIS PEANUT BUTTER SANDWICH SO I HAD TO OFFER TO TREAT HIM AT THE IRISH HEATHER. HE’S A CHEAP MF, BUT HE’S FREAKIN’ AMAZING W/REAL ESTATE. NEED TO LURE HIM TO JOINING MARTY & ME WHEN WE START THE NEW VENTURE.

IMMEDIATELY HE STARTED TO FREAK AS I MENTIONED THE POSSIBILITY OF BREAKING OUT ON OUR OWN. “BUT I’VE GOT A WIFE & TWO KIDS…” COME ON, DUDE. HAVE SOME GUTS. ENJOY MORE CONTROL. HELP YOUR FAMILY GET MORE OF WHAT IT DESERVES. MY PITCH SLOWLY STARTED TO WORK. (I THINK THE GUINNESS HELPED!) I HAVE NO DOUBT HE’LL HAVE A PANIC ATTACK AS HE TALKS IT OVER W/THE WIFE ON THE WEEKEND, BUT I’LL KEEP PUSHING. THERE ARE PLENTY OF PUBS IN THE AREA. I’LL CLOSE THE DEAL.

Thursday, February 25, 2010

ICE SCREAM

February 25, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You need to avoid the temptation to wig out if things don't go smoothly today -- because there's nothing you can do about it .Your friends and family can support you, but it's just another slow day.

Laura’s Log:
I realize being a temp is a form of damage control for my bank account, but at least a dozen times today I visualized quitting. There is no end to The Cold War. Amongst all my Russian coworkers, I am a prisoner of war. What started out as a disagreement about figure skating has only been worsened with the latest ice capade: Team Canada’s hockey blowout over Russia last night. Of course, I dared not say a thing, but it was clear everyone was moping more than usual this morning. The Russian flag hanging on Sergi’s office door was nowhere to be seen.

I continue to try to decipher the written list of tasks expected of me—three more pages greeted me this morning—but it’s hopeless. Nothing I do will be satisfactory. I don’t understand why Sergi hasn’t called the agency and requested a new worker. I’m starting to think Delores’ curling injury might not be as bad as claimed. Perhaps she simply needs a break.

KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
I’M STILL ON A HIGH AFTER YESTERDAY’S CANADA-RUSSIA HOCKEY GAME. WHO WLD HAVE EVER THOUGHT WE’D RUN AWAY W/IT SO EASILY? LET’S HOPE THE MOMENTUM CONTINUES!

OF COURSE, THE BOSS DID EVERYTHING HE CLD TO SQUELCH THE EXCITEMENT. HE’S RIDING ME HARD, STILL PISSED OVER THE DELAYS ON THE BURNABY PROJECT. I WISH HE WERE THE PASSIVE-AGGRESSIVE TYPE. THE COLD SHOULDER WLD BE A LOT BETTER THAN HIS WRATH, BORDERING ON ABUSE. ACTUALLY, IT IS ABUSE. EVERY TIME HE SEES ME, HE SAYS, “I CAN’T BELIEVE HOW MUCH YOU FUCKED UP” OR “YOU’RE A PIECE OF SHIT.” THE GUY WILL NEVER BE ON THE MOTIVATIONAL SPEAKER CIRCUIT.

MY DAYS ARE NUMBERED. MTG W/MARTY TONITE TO TALK ABOUT THE NEW BIZ. IT’S ALL HAPPENING SOONER THAN EXPECTED, BUT SOMETIMES “SHIT” CAN BE INSPIRING.

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

FEELING THE COLD

February 24, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Nothing new happens today, even if you're pining for some action -- so relish what you've got! It's a good time to stick with what you know and double down on projects that have already paid off.

Laura’s Log:
Day Three at Deer Lake Auto Shop and The Cold War continues. I arrived at work to find a legal pad on my desk with two pages of notes on things I needed to do. Old-fashioned email. Unfortunately, I can’t read most of the handwriting. When I asked Sergi if they were his notes, he turned and walked with urgency to straighten the thingamajigs on the window aisle. Rita, Andrei and Karl responded similarly. The displays will be immaculate by the time I’m done here.

I called Lucy during my coffee break—obviously, chitchatting with my colleagues was out of the question—and she’s apparently still miffed that I’m not praising and rallying behind her protest efforts. She hung up after I said, “Hi Lu—.” Naturally, I assumed we’d been cut off so I immediately called back. She managed to cram five expletives in a single sentence, serving as the noun, the verb and a superfluous string of adjectives. Then, the dial tone. Definitely a problem with the connection—familial, as opposed to technological. Seems like I’ll have to wait this one out. Lucy tends to devote her rage toward one family member at a time. I’m betting Mom or Marella will draw her ire before week’s end. In the meantime, we’re in a holding pattern. Then we can go back to dancing around our contrasting existences.

Dinner tonight at Hon’s with Tamara. She’s still seething over Andy’s comment at brunch on the weekend when he butted into our group commiserating session and asserted she should follow Bradley to Edmonton. He actually used the phrase “stand by your man” and there wasn’t a trace of jest in his voice. Even Nadia winced before shifting the conversation to those cute Canada toques on sale at The Bay, proving yet again the value of an adaptable fashion accessory.

Sergi, Lucy, Tamara,…seems I’m immersed in a world where the best I can do is negotiate temporary cease-fires. How do I phrase that on my résumé?

KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):

I DON’T SEEM TO HAVE CURED MY OBSESSIVENESS. I’VE MERELY TRANSFERRED IT FROM CLARA TO THE WOMEN WHO IGNORE ME ON THE PLENTY OF FISH DATING WEBSITE. WTF?! IT IS GOOD TO REALIZE I HAVEN’T HAD A THOUGHT ABOUT CLARA IN ALMOST A WEEK THOUGH. OLYMPIC FEVER IN VANCOUVER HAS HELPED. BUT NOW I FIND MYSELF CHECKING THE POF SITE MULTIPLE TIMES EACH DAY TO SEE IF KITSKAYAKER, WESTENDRUNNER OR MKWLADY—WHATEVER “MKW” STANDS FOR—HAS REPLIED TO MY WARM, WITTY OPENING MESSAGE. NYET. I SUPPOSE THERE’S A FINE LINE B/W WARM/WITTY & DOWNRIGHT ICKY. I SEEM TO CROSS IT TOO OFTEN. WHERE CAN I FIND A DATING COACH?

FOR NOW, I’M JUST GOING TO TUNE OUT MY UNLUCKY IN LOVE NICHE & TUNE IN TO CANADA-RUSSIA HOCKEY.

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

AN ICY RECEPTION

February 23, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You need to discuss recent changes with colleagues or family members, so start early and make sure everyone is willing to face up to what needs to be said. You can get almost anything done if you're firm.

Laura’s Log:
As a temp, I don’t expect to be welcomed to the fold with a box of chocolates and an invitation to join the gang at their favorite lunch haunt. I don’t even expect people to get my name right. Laurie, Lisa, Rapunzel,…close enough. But what happened to “hello”, “please”, “thank you” and “Canada rocks”?

The auto shop is owned by two Russian brothers and at least half the staff is Russian as well. They’d been cordial enough on my first day of work, but things iced over overnight.

I’d thoroughly enjoyed Tessa Virtue and Scott Moir’s graceful, captivating, golden ice dance last night and didn’t think twice about putting on my Canadian Olympic pin this morning. Sergi, one of the brothers, spotted it as he poured his first of forty cups of coffee. He stared, looking aghast. Since I’d completely forgotten the pin, I thought, first, he was ogling by breasts and, second, they had suddenly gone frighteningly asymmetrical. Maybe one had popped out of my blouse!

“How can you dare come off as a proud Canadian?” he roared. “Figure skating has become a travesty!”

He couldn’t be serious. I assumed he was playfully stirring up a patriotic rivalry, if a little heavy on the histrionics. “Weren’t they beautiful last night?” I gushed. “And such the fairy tale couple—Canada’s sweethearts.”

“Sweethearts, my arse. Russia was robbed! First Plushenko, now this! The judging is rigged!”

Rich. A Russian whining about suspect judging in figure skating. I should have kept my mouth shut. Of course, I didn’t. “Are you kidding me?! Virtue and Moir were the best on the ice. The Russians were clunky and lucky to get the bronze. It wasn’t even close.”

He seethed. I sensed I was going to be fired for the second time in a month. But then he turned away with the precision of a trained army marcher. I worked the rest of the day without a single acknowledgment from any of my Russian coworkers. Who knew that the beautiful sport of ice dance could restart The Cold War?

KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
THEY WERE FULL ICE CUBES, BUT HE CHOMPED ON THEM LIKE THEY WERE TINY SHARDS. SYMBOLIC. BASICALLY, I WAS THE ICE.

IT WLD BE FAIR TO SAY JERRY & I HAVE NEVER GOTTEN ALONG. I’VE ALWAYS THOUGHT MY BIG SIS CLD DO BETTER. NOW SHE’S GOT 4 KIDS SHE’S RAISING ON HER OWN. THIS WASN’T MEANT TO BE A CASUAL LUNCH. HE LED OFF W/ “YOU GOT NO BUSINESS TRYING TO BE TRAVIS’ DAD” & THAT LEFT THINGS WIDE OPEN.

“YOU’VE GOT EVERY BUSINESS BEING HIS DAD,” I REPLIED. “BUT YOU DON’T STEP UP. I’M NOT GOING TO LET SARA STRUGGLE THRU PARENTING ALONE.”

“WELL, I’VE GOT MY—”

“WHAT? YOUR JOB? THAT’S NOT AN EXCUSE TO BE AN ABSENT FATHER. NO SENSE BRINGING IN ALL THAT MONEY IF THE KIDS DON’T TURN OUT RIGHT.”

HE STOOD UP AND GRABBED HIS SANDWICH. “THINK I’D RATHER FINISH THIS IN THE CAR.”

“YEP. YOU CAN DO THAT W/FOOD. GET IT ‘TO GO’. BUT YOU CAN’T DO THAT W/KIDS.”

NO DOUBT SARA WILL BLAST ME FOR STIRRING THINGS UP W/JERRY, BUT MR. TO-GO WILL BE ON A PLANE TOMORROW, IF NOT TONITE, & I’LL BE THE GO-TO PERSON ONCE AGAIN.

Monday, February 22, 2010

HEADED FOR A FALL

February 22, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You are perfectly comfortable knowing that you don't know everything. Today brings a breath of fresh air to your understanding, as an old illusion dries up and blows away, leaving more truth to ponder.

Laura’s Log:
The less said about yesterday’s date the better. I’m not a sore loser when my team loses in sport—probably because I’m not that invested—so Canada’s loss to the U.S. in hockey wasn’t a heartbreaker. It wasn’t about a bad ref call or a star player being injured early in the game; Canada simply got outplayed.

I’m just glad I could disappear in the crowd at Hockey House and focus on the TV screen instead of on Derrick. He talked the whole way through the game. And it wasn’t like Derrick thought he was one of those sports know-it-alls who decided he could give a better play-by-play than the paid guys. In fact, I’m not sure he knows a thing about hockey. He spent the entire pre-game buildup talking about a rented unit in his building and the tenant who kept denying she had a dog despite all evidence to the contrary: barks, piddle stains on the hall carpet, clumps of fur clinging to the woman’s clothing. Did he really think I, as a dog lover, would empathize with his campaign to evict her? Of course, how would he know my position on dogs? First, he would have had to have asked and, second, he would have needed to listen to my response. The World According to Derrick is too insular to value anyone other than The Big D.

I tuned him out as soon as the puck dropped. Worse, I found myself lining up for the bathroom during intermissions, not because I had to go, but because I had to get away. PLEASE grant me the fortitude to say no should he dare call for a third date.

Got my first temp gig today. I’m working in the office at an auto parts store in Burnaby. That’s rich. If I didn’t belong to the auto club, I’d still be crying at the side of the road over a flat tire from four years ago. I can’t name a single car part other than tire, steering wheel, brake and mirror. It took me too long to find the place so I did without Starbucks. I’ve made two attempts to down a cup of office coffee—thought I’d messed up the first pot—but the stuff is undrinkable. I’ve since downed an entire package of mints but bad coffee aftertaste cannot be tamed.

This job is supposed to last a few days, maybe longer. Apparently Delores fell at a curling rink in Surrey. Must have tried too hard to emulate the moves of the studs who are the curlers on Canada’s Olympic team. (How often do studs and curlers find themselves in the same sentence?) I should be thrilled to get the work, but I’m hoping she heals fast. I don’t have a clue what people are talking about when they call. They don’t teach you car parts in university—or anything practical, for that matter.

Muffler! Aha. I do know another part. What’s it do? Keep the engine warm? So much to learn.

KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):

THE PAIN! YES, I STRUGGLED THRU A RUN THIS A.M., BUT THE REAL AGONY COMES FROM THE GAME. BRODEUR LET THE TEAM DOWN. SHLD’VE PUT IN LUONGO. IT’S HIS HOME RINK. IRONICALLY, THE BEST GOAL OF THE NITE HAD NOTHING TO DO W/GOALTENDING. KESLER’S EMPTY-NETTER ROCKED. WHERE IS THAT SHOT WHEN HE’S A CANUCK?

WORK HASN’T BEEN ANY BETTER. SAT THRU A 3-HR MTG DURING WHICH THE BOSS REAMED ME OVER ERRORS I MADE IN AN APPLICATION TO THE CITY RE. THE BURNABY PROJECT. CLAIMS CONSTRUCTION WILL BE DELAYED @ LEAST 2 WKS, COSTING TENS OF THOUSANDS. I HAVEN’T FELT THIS INCOMPETENT SINCE I FLUNKED STATISTICS IN UNIVERSITY. THE PUBLIC SHAMING OF ME ISN’T THE END OF IT. FEELS LIKE MY JOB IS ON THE LINE.

AFTER YRS OF BRINGING IN BUCKETS—NO, TRUCKLOADS—OF BUCKS, I’M NOT SURE I’LL MAKE IT TO THE END OF THE WK. GOTTA CONNECT W/MARTY ABOUT PUTTING OUR DREAM VENTURE INTO HIGH GEAR.

Sunday, February 21, 2010

BRING ON THE BREWSKIS

February 21, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): The morning should be relatively easy, without any big surprises. Things start to get more interesting this afternoon, but you should still find that it all seems to flow just about perfectly for you!


Laura’s Log:

Late start on the morning jog. Decided it would be safe to go back to the standard Kits route as, hopefully, Harvey will have given up stalking. Or, more likely, his old ankle injury flared up, putting the fitness gig to rest once more. As it’s a sunny Sunday morning, I knew it would be more crowded than usual but what surprised me was the fact that Olympic fever has spread to the paths. Three guys ran while sporting Canada flag capes. As they jogged in tandem, they chanted “CANADA! CANADA!” and others joined in. Battling for notoriety of its own, Norway was also represented by a single flag waver. Several people had the red maple leaf painted on their faces—a remnant from last night or a new part of the morning makeup routine? One guy even brought along his cowbell, clanging it as other joggers and I passed by. (I’m guessing he was one of the thousands turned away from attending events at Cypress. Apparently, the need to cheer cannot be suppressed. Have cowbell, will clang.)

I must admit that the extra energy along the route translated into my best run in ages. Glad I got the run in because I fear that the rest of the day is downhill, horoscope be damned. First, Tamara and I are meeting Nadia and obnoxious Bradley for brunch at Sophie’s Cosmic Cafe. Then, it’s the What the Hell Am I Doing date with Derrick. I'm thinking I'll need to down massive amounts of beer to survive. Whatever the hockey result, I’m just hoping it doesn’t go to a shootout.


KEN’S JOURNAL:
IT’S BAD WHEN I FIND MYSELF TAKING SOLACE IN CURLING. AFTER SPEED SKATING AND SKIING DISAPPOINTMENTS, I CHANNELED MY PATRIOTISM & SPORTS FANATICISM INTO CHEERING ON CANADA’S MEN’S MATCH VS. GREAT BRITAIN LAST NITE. SOMEONE SHOOT ME IF I EVER DECIDE TO SPEND A NITE ACTUALLY GOING TO A RINK TO PUSH & SWEEP A FREAKIN’ ROCK.

THANK GOD HOCKEY’S BACK ON THE SCHED FOR TODAY! SWORE I WLDN’T WASTE MY $$ ON THE MOLSON HOCKEY HOUSE, BUT MARTY GOT US TIX. WILL BE NICE TO EXPERIENCE THE WIN IN A PARTY ATMOSPHERE. THEN AGAIN, IF THE UNTHINKABLE HAPPENS, THERE’LL BE SOMETHING THERE TO WASH DOWN MY WOES. AIN’T BEER GREAT? IT’S GOOD WHEN YOU’RE UP, GOOD WHEN YOU’RE DOWN. THE ALL-PURPOSE BEVERAGE. YOU JUST CAN’T SAY THAT ABOUT MILK.

Saturday, February 20, 2010

WHEN TWO ISN’T BETTER THAN ONE

February 20, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Everything goes better with a partner today. Make sure that you're buddied up, no matter how you're doing -- even taking out the trash works out better if two of you are doing it together.

Laura’s Log:
I thought V-Day was last week. Seems like The Haves have overtaken my horoscope. Sorry, but I showered ALONE and cleaned out the fridge ALONE—moldy jar of salsa served as the impetus. Granted showering might have been more exciting with a partner, but I’m content to clean on my own. The last thing I want to do is explain why I have four opened jars of plum sauce in my refrigerator. When you’re single, you can be eccentric.

Derrick called as I scrubbed the toilet. The timing seemed about right. Of course, I’m shocked he called at all after our washout of a first date. Proving that he is indeed lacking in self-reflective skills, he asked me out again. And proving that I don’t have a spine, I said okay. We’re going to watch the Canada-U.S.A. hockey game tomorrow at Hockey House. If he actually shuts up, it will only because he’s consumed by the game. Great. That will leave me to take in a bunch of screaming, beer swilling wannabe jocks. Can it be any worse?

KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):

BACK FROM A COFFEE DATE W/NADINE FROM PLENTY OF FISH. BETTER THAN MY LAST DATE IN THAT WE ACTUALLY SAT DOWN, BUT OUR TWENTY-FIVE MINUTE CONVERSATION WAS LIKE A SPLIT-SCREEN BROADCAST OR DUELING CHANNEL SURFING. SHE’D RELATE A STORY ABOUT QUILTING CLUB; I’D GIVE MY ANALYSIS ON WHAT CANADA HAS TO DO IN THE HOCKEY GAME TOMORROW. SHE MENTIONED SOME SORT OF TEA PARTY HAPPENING NIGHTLY DURING THE OLYMPICS; I EXPRESSED INTEREST IN THE ZIP LINE. ICE DANCING; SKELETON. CURLING; SKI JUMPING. COULDN’T FIND A SINGLE COMMON INTEREST. I THINKING WE BOTH SHIFTED FROM SIPPING TO GULPING THE JAVA.

I’M STARTING TO HATE COFFEE.

Friday, February 19, 2010

A SNAPHOT TO LEAVE OUT OF THE FAMILY ALBUM

February 19, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Your social skills allow you to navigate even the most treacherous shoals of the social scene, and today you have to do just that. Your diplomatic ways should help you get what you want.

Laura’s Log:
The phone rang at 3 a.m. Lucy and Carl(a) were in jail. Mom needed me to pick her up and take to her there to bail them out. Don’t know why Lucy called Mom in the first place. Did she want to inflict more pain?

Seems that Lucy and Carl(a) got into a yelling match with some wayward Olympic revelers who decided to crash the tent protest village on Hastings after things died down on Granville. Lucy asserted that the hockey hoodlums stomped all over her tent so she chucked their hockey sticks in a fire barrel. A brawl ensued. Police hauled off two police vans, clearly wanting to send a message that disturbing the peace was limited to a few key streets downtown.

Took two hours to get them out. The jail was hopping with drunken blowhards and their enablers/rescuers. Mom got into it with Lucy and Carl(a) before we even got to the car. I couldn’t get them piled into my car fast enough. It’s a wonder the police didn’t just lock them up again, with Mom joining them to continue the argument in a vomit scented cell. I reached into my glove compartment and popped in my never-played Susan Boyle CD, my “Christmas bonus” from cheapo Ernesto. The deal was that each time anyone offered any opinion about the Olympics, protests or jail time, I’d crank the volume up an extra notch. Only took two tests to generate a fragile cease fire. Seems Ms. Boyle might be the key to world peace.

I dropped Lucy and Carl(a) off at their apartment even though they demanded I take them back to Tent Central. There is a limit to my enabling. Mom tried to get me to come into the house for coffee and more venting about Lucy’s misdirected actions. I was plenty awake, all things considered, and declined the invitation. My time with family had already reached the Boyle-ing point.

KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
HAD TO MAKE A DASH TO THE POLICE STATION @ 3 IN THE MORNING. SARA CALLED, A TOTAL MESS, TO SAY TRAVIS HAD BEEN TAKEN IN AFTER SMASHING CAR WINDOWS IN YALETOWN. SHE DIDN’T WANT THE OTHER KIDS SEEING BIG BROTHER BAILED OUT SO I CAME TO THE RESCUE. GOT HIM OUT FAIRLY QUICKLY, CONSIDERING THE PLACE WAS HOPPING W/OVERZEALOUS OLYMPIC PARTIERS. I GUESS MINORS GET PRIORITY.

BACK @ SARA’S WE SAT DOWN W/TRAVIS FOR A SERIOUS TALK. TRAVIS LASHED OUT @ ME W/PREDICTABLE “YOU’RE NOT MY FATHER” CRAP. GAWD, WHAT HAPPENED TO THE KID WHO IDOLIZED UNCLE KEN? HE WAS BIG ON SAYING IT “WASN’T FAIR” B/C HE WAS PART OF A GROUP & HE WAS THE ONLY ONE CAUGHT. TOTALLY LACKED REMORSE FOR CLIMBING OUT THE WINDOW AFTER MIDNIGHT & FOR THE PROPERTY DAMAGE. SARA FINALLY CALLED JERRY & INSISTED HE FLY BACK FROM CHICAGO. TOOK THIRTY MINUTES OF ARGUING & MY GRABBING THE PHONE TO GET HIM TO AGREE. NO WONDER TRAVIS IS MESSED UP. EXCUSES DON’T NEGATE THE FACT HE’S GOT A HELLUVA LOT OF WORK TO DO TO PAY FOR THE DAMAGES, BUT MAYBE IT HAD TO COME TO THIS TO BRING ABOUT SOME CHANGE IN THE FAMILY. SARA CAN’T HANDLE IT ALL ALONE.

I MISS THE TIMES WHEN, AS THE COOL UNCLE, I COULD SHOW UP FOR THE FUN STUFF & STEER CLEAR OF THE SHIT.

EATING THROUGH THE OLYMPICS

February 18, 2010
Laura’s Log:
No time to check my horoscope for today. Had a panic attack this morning when I thought my car had been stolen. Turns out I had a brain fart last night, parking where I usually do. Unfortunately, I failed to notice the No Parking sign in effect during the Olympics. No fun trying to figure out where my car had been towed. Less fun shelling out the money to get it back. They took no leniency despite the fact I pleaded for a break considering I’m jobless.

I called Marella and sobbed enough to get her to quit work early and meet me for a couple of beers at the Irish House. Didn’t really feel Irish—especially since the band played a Steve Miller Band song. Loved the men’s figure skating later on! Some hot men in the pack. Samuel Contesti has a smile that slays me. Marella spent more time flirting with the frat dude beside her. If he hadn’t kept going back to the concession stand, she would have missed the entire competition. (By my count, dude scarfed down a half dozen hot dogs, two pretzels, a pot pie and four or five beers. No doubt he was disappointed that deep-fried chocolate bars were nowhere to be found.)

Walked home from downtown, making the crawl down Granville as partiers hollered and donned Team Canada jerseys. Amazing atmosphere! Olympic-style Mardi Gras. Vancouver has never felt more alive. So thrilled to be here!

KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
LITERALLY STARTED BITING MY NAILS FOR THE 1ST TIME IN MY LIFE TODAY. CANADA EDGED SWITZERLAND IN A SHOOTOUT. HOW DID IT EVER COME TO THAT?! I SERIOUSLY CAN’T PROCESS ANYTHING ELSE. DOESN’T HELP THAT I WEANED MYSELF OFF THE NAILS AND SWITCHED TO CHOWING DOWN ON EVERY SNACK ITEM I COULD FIND IN THE KITCHEN: CHEESE PUFFS, DORITOS, THREE-YEAR-OLD HALLOWEEN CANDY—EVENTUALLY HAD TO RESORT TO FREEZER-BURNED FRUTCAKE. I’M ASHAMED OF MY BINGE, BUT PROUD TO BE CANADIAN.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

DATING DON'TS

February 17, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You shouldn't limit yourself socially today -- make sure that everyone gets a little piece of you! If that makes anyone jealous or anxious, you should just reassure them and then move on.

Laura’s Log:
The All About Derrick Show lasted two and a half hours last night. Over a long wait and slow service at Earl’s, the guy went on ad nauseam about all the “incompetents” he is forced to deal with on a daily basis at work, both clients and coworkers. I didn’t dare ask if he put Tamara in that category; nonetheless, I got the feeling he viewed everybody the same. Then he must have yammered for twenty minutes about the “nitwits” and “lunatics” he must listen to as head of his building’s strata council. I politely sipped my ice water—What the hell was taking so long with my pinot gris?!—and wondered if he’d ever get around to asking anything about me. Closest he ever got was the throwaway “Don’t you agree?” that he’d toss out every so often, cutting me off if I thought of going beyond the requisite, concise “Yes.”

He offered to walk me home and suggested that I invite him up for “coffee”. I politely responded that I could find my way home on my own, thank you very much. He looked stunned to be brushed off. I’m sure it bothered him for as long as it took him to fling me atop his growing pile of Disaster Dates, all on account of a glut of bland bitches populating Vancouver. No doubt, Derrick had never learned to be self-reflective.

Mom wants me to come by, ostensibly to help her pick an online gift for Gretel’s upcoming birthday, but really as an opportunity to whine about Lucy who apparently has now changed her protest tactics and is temporarily (?) living in a red tent on Hastings. Worse, Mom mentioned that she heard from Mavis Benson who heard from Trina Chu who got it from Harvey’s mother that Harvey and I ran into each other while running last week. “Why didn’t you tell me?!” Mom screeched on the phone. That damn file folder entitled “Laura’s Wedding” will be resting prominently on the kitchen table once again. I am prepared though. I’ll quickly pick out an adorable trinket for Gretel—anything in pink suits her fine—and excuse myself to meet up with Tamara who is dying to hear me go on at length over how awful the date with Derrick was. She’s still in pain over the breakup with Andy. My misery will be just the thing to cheer her up.


KEN’S JOURNAL (via iPhone):
IF THERE WERE AN EVENT @ THE OLYMPICS CALLED SPEED DATING, SHORT COURSE, I’D HAVE OWNED THE PODIUM…WITH A WORLD RECORD TO BOOT. I HAD THE WRONG START TIME FOR THE HOCKEY GAME SO I MANAGED TO CATCH ENOUGH TO SEE CANADA WAS GOING TO SKATE BY NORWAY B/F HEADING OUT FOR MY DATE W/RACHEL. AS WE STOOD IN LINE TO ORDER, I MENTIONED THE GAME AND RACHEL LIT IN ABOUT THE OLYMPICS BEING A CORPORATE PARTY & THE MONEY BEING BETTER SPENT ON THE HOMELESS.

“YOU DO REALIZE IT’S NEVER BEEN AN EITHER OR SITUATION,” I SAID. “I MEAN, DO YOU REALLY THINK THE POLITICIANS WLD HAVE SAID, ‘SINCE WE’RE PASSING ON THE OLYMPICS, LET’S USE ALL THAT MONEY TO DEAL W/HOMELESSNESS’? THAT’S SIMPLISTIC & NAÏVE.”

AND W/THAT, SHE SHOOK MY HAND, OFFERED A CURT “NICE TO MEET YOU” & MARCHED OUT OF THE CAFÉ. BY THE TIME I HAD MY COFFEE, I WAS WONDERING WHAT JUST HAPPENED? BUT WALKING HOME I REALIZED IT WAS A MERCIFULLY QUICK END TO WHAT WLD HAVE BEEN AN EXCRUCIATING DATE FOR BOTH OF US. I DON’T KNOW HOW I WLD HAVE HANDLED MYSELF ONCE SHE GOT AROUND TO BLASTING OVERPAID PRO HOCKEY PLAYERS FOR BEING IN THE GAMES. SO, LIKE LUONGO, I ENDED THE EVENING W/A SHUTOUT. I THINK HIS MUST FEEL A WHOLE LOT BETTER.

I’VE ALREADY MOVED ON, SENDING MSGES TO TWO MORE WOMEN ONLINE. ONE SPECIFICALLY LISTED “CANUCKS” AS AN INTEREST. WE’LL SEE WHAT HAPPENS. CAN’T GET ANY WORSE.

CAN IT?

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

JOGGING…OR DOG PADDLING?

February 16, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Progress is relative sometimes, and you need to remind yourself of that today. It could be that though you're not moving forward, you are keeping yourself from moving backward, and that may be a win!

Laura’s Log:
I have an appointment at a temp agency this morning. Can’t believe that my degree from UBC is going to be wasted answering phones and making coffee, but I have to slow the bleeding in my bank account. I can hear mom’s grating voice in my head haunting me: “Film studies?! What kind of job can you get with a degree in film studies?” At least I can be a very well informed date at the movies.

Still drying out after an insane jog in the rain. I would’ve skipped it, but since I’m seeing Derrick tonight, I need to work off last night’s Why Bother low fat tiramisu. Without the brandy, the thing would have been inedible. (I think Julia Child had it right. When in doubt, add generous amounts of booze.)

Pairs skating proved a disappointment. Only saw one couple skate without errors. I don’t know how proud I’d be having the world watch me fall on my ass. Hope the men’s event is better. Marella called yesterday to ask me to accompany her to the men’s final on Thursday. Apparently her latest boinker doesn’t think figure skating is macho enough. Can’t he look past the makeup, the glittery unitards and toy soldier costumes? My gain.

Must stretch my fingers before heading out. I think I have to take a typing test. Feels like I’m time traveling into the world of “Mad Men”.


KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):

ALWAYS THOUGHT RUNNERS HAD A FEW SCREWS LOOSE. TODAY PROVES THEY’RE BEYOND HELP. UTTER MASOCHISTS! RAIN WAS POURING DOWN AT 6 A.M. ONLY TONITE’S DATE POSSESSED ME TO GET OUT THERE AND JOG. TO MY AMAZEMENT, THERE WERE JUST AS MANY IDIOTS OUT THERE RUNNING AS USUAL. DOES EVERYONE HAVE A 1ST DATE TONITE?

MY SHOES & CLOTHES ARE BANGING AROUND IN THE DRYER. CLD TAKE HRS FOR THEM TO DRY OUT. NOT SURE IF MY RUNNERS WILL EVER GO BACK TO THEIR ORIGINAL FORM. THE ONLY GOOD THING ABOUT THE RUN WAS MY KNEE DIDN’T BUG ME A BIT. MY BRAIN WAS TOO FOCUSED ON DODGING PUDDLES & WORRYING THAT I SHOULD HAVE BROUGHT A SNORKEL & MASK.

SHOULD BE LOOKING FORWARD TO MY DATE. RACHEL POSTED MORE THAN 1 PHOTO & SHE LOOKS HOT IN ALL OF THEM. BEYOND THAT, WHO KNOWS? THAT’S WHY I PREFER TO MEET INSTEAD OF MESSAGING BACK & FORTH FOR WEEKS. STILL, WHAT THE HELL WAS I THINKING AGREEING TO COFFEE @ 7?! TEAM CANADA HOCKEY GOES @ 8. IF THE MTG IS A DISASTER, I’LL MAKE IT HOME IN PLENTY OF TIME. WLD IT BE A BAD START IF I ORDER MY ESPRESSO IN A TO GO CUP?

WHAT AM I THINKING?! I’VE GOT A FREAKIN’ DATE. MIRACLE! I JOGGED IN A DELUGE. GOTTA GIVE THE DATE A REAL CHANCE. STILL, THE MOMENT THERE’S A LULL IN CONVERSATION, I’M OUTTA THERE.

Monday, February 15, 2010

FAMILIAR TERRITORY

February 15, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Try to stick with what you know today. Though you may love the allure of the new, you should save it for a time when your reserves of personal energy are considerably higher. That shouldn't be long!

Laura’s Log:
Who knew that V-Day would lead to a date?! As Tamara and I waited for a table yesterday at Long’s Noodle House, a coworker of hers from the ad agency was waiting with a buddy. I was relieved that there was someone else Tamara knew since she was verging on getting weepy anew. She snapped out of it with Derrick present. We chatted at length about the Olympics—what else?—during our 30-minute wait and Derrick seemed to take an interest in me. His bud, Ron or Rob, seemed ruled by his stomach as he drifted away from the conversation to study (memorize?) the menu. Derrick was about to offer us his table and wait a little longer, but Ron/Rob’s eyes bulged and his hand turned to talon as it clenched Derrick’s shoulder. Yes, we’d wait longer, but Derrick asked for my phone number. He called later in the evening and we’re going out tomorrow. I like a guy who doesn’t wait around for days, trying to play it cool.

Tamara acted pleased, but then confided that Derrick can be an ass at work. Thinks his ideas are superior, doesn’t listen to others and, when he does, mocks their ideas. I didn’t see that side of him and, since I don’t have to work with him, I don’t see a problem.

Going with Tamara to Nadia’s tonight. It’s been ages since the three of us had a Girls’ Night. Nadia is making a low fat tiramisu—Is that something you really want to skimp on?—I’m bringing the Bailey’s and Tamara promises to bring a happy face (as long as no one mentions Edmonton). We’ll channel surf between pairs figure skating and our old steady, “The Bachelor”.

Joblessness notwithstanding, things are starting to look normal, even bright, again!

KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):

OH, YEAH! GO CANADA! NOTHING LIKE A GOLD MEDAL TO SHAKE THE V-DAY BLUES. COURSE, IT’S NOT MY MEDAL—LAST TIME I DID A MOGUL RUN I ALMOST COUGHED UP MY HEALTHY CINNAMON BUN BREKKIE—BUT WHATEVER.

SPEAKING OF COUGHING UP, DON’T KNOW WHAT THE CANUCKS WERE DOING IN MINNESOTA. NO EDGE. TOO CONTENT ON A 50/50 ROAD TRIP. AND WHERE WAS LUONGO? THINK HIS HEAD WAS ALREADY IN THE OLYMPICS. LET’S HOPE HE REMEMBERS HOW TO STOP A PUCK WHEN HE JOINS TEAM CANADA.

THE BOSS IS GIVING US THE OPTION OF WORKING FROM HOME DURING THE OLYMPICS, BUT I CAN WALK TO WORK. WILL BE NICE TO HAVE FEWER PEOPLE IN. ESPECIALLY NICE WITH MARJORIE NOT YAMMERING AWAY ABOUT THE LATEST “EXTREME MAKEOVER” HOUSE, THE BEST PLACE TO BUY PIPE CLEANERS & OTHER INANE TOPICS. TOO MUCH TO DO ON THE BURNABY PROJECT. I CAN FOCUS BETTER IN THE OFFICE.

COFFEE DATE AFTER WORK TOMORROW W/ANOTHER WOMAN FROM PLENTYOFFISH. COULDN’T MANAGE TO GET UP & JOG TODAY. WILL FEAST ON CARROT STICKS & BANANAS TODAY. YEAH, I’M SUCH A GIRL. WILL TRY THE EXERCISE BIKE IN THE FITNESS ROOM TONITE & HIT THE JOGGING TRAIL AGAIN TOMORROW. SARA SAYS IT’S GOOD THAT I’M STARTING TO CARE ABOUT WHAT I LOOK LIKE AGAIN. GAWD, WHAT DID SHE THINK ABOUT ME THE PAST 4 MONTHS? WHAT DID OTHERS THINK? WHERE WAS RICHARD SIMMONS TO BITCH-SLAP ME?

Sunday, February 14, 2010

TAKING A PASS ON VALENTINE'S DAY

February 14, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Don't volunteer for anything today -- you need to make sure that you're clear when other projects come your way in the near future. If you can avoid taking on new tasks, you should be good to go.

Laura’s Log:
“Can you get Mom to back off?” It was Lucy. 8:15. How had I slept so late? I urgently reached for Tupper. Still breathing. Thank God.

Being awakened by the phone had me feeling frantic. “Where are you calling from? You in jail?”

“WHAT?!” Lucy screamed. “Are you accusing me of smashing windows too? What’s with this family?!”

“Don’t act so indignant,” I said as I sat up and became more clear-headed. The piercing scream helped. “You wear your protesting like a badge of honor.”

“I’m totally against violence. You know that. Can you remind Mom? She left like ten messages for me yesterday, telling me I was ruining the city’s image and saying I was mixed up with hoodlums.”

“Were you there?”

“I was around.”

“What the hell were you guys thinking?” I’d seen the coverage on the news last night. Smashed windows at The Bay, protesters in black hoodies and masks. They seemed to be alienating everyone.

“I didn’t do it. It was some faction that just showed up with its own agenda.”

“There’s a surprise.”

“Look, I’m asking you to join us today. We need to beef up our numbers.” Was this a joke? Or was the cause, as ill-defined as it was, that desperate?

“Losing too many to jail, I guess.”

“Fuck you!” Click. Even if she hadn’t condoned yesterday’s vandalism, the violence was rubbing off. Lucy hadn’t flung the F word at me since university.

Did she really think I’d agree to joining the Olympic protests? Not that they were really protesting the Olympics, from what I could tell from the news last night. Seemed more like a desperate excuse to grab the spotlight with foreign media in town. A bunch of nebulous complaining about Big Brother as far as I could tell.

Not what I wanted to wake up to. I’d had enough drama. Late night due to a marathon session yesterday trying to console Tamara. Today will be even more brutal. My V-Day despair takes a backseat to Tamara’s as she continues to deal with being dumped. Andy, naïve clod that he apparently is, continues to campaign for a long-distance relationship with Tamara. “I didn’t want to move there,” Tamara said during a brief break from sobbing. “Why the hell would I want to spend my weekends flying there?”

We’ve decided to focus on Chinese New Year today. Gung hay fat choy! Will try to get a table at Long’s Noodle House for lunch. After that, maybe some Olympic viewing. So glad there are other distractions on V-Day this year!

KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
FIRST VALENTINE’S IN 8 YRS I DON’T HAVE TO RUN AROUND BUYING CHOCOLATE. GOTTA ADMIT I MISS IT NOW. NOT GOING TO DWELL ON IT. MARTY’S COMING OVER FOR TO LISTEN TO THE CANUCKS ON THE RADIO WHILE WE WATCH THE OLYMPICS. CAN’T EVEN MENTION VALENTINE’S AROUND HIM. IF I GO THERE, HE’LL GIVE ME A GOOD KICK IN THE ASS. SOMETIMES HAVING AN UNSENTIMENTAL, LOVE-PHOBIC BEST BUD IS A GOOD THING.

ROCK CLIMBING W/TRAVIS YESTERDAY WAS OKAY. HE USED CAVEMAN/TARZAN GRUNTS AND MONOSYLLABIC UTTERANCES TO COMMUNICATE BUT I RECALL PUTTING UP THE SAME WALL W/MY PARENTS. SOMEHOW I ALWAYS THOUGHT I’D BE ABLE TO STAY THE COOL UNCLE THRU HIS TEENS. CAUGHT HIM SMILING A FEW TIMES. MUST’VE NEEDED A BREAK FROM ROLLING HIS EYES. THINK I IMPRESSED HIM W/MY CLIMBING SKILLS. THEN AGAIN, HE MIGHT HAVE JUST BEEN AMAZED THE CABLES COULD SUPPORT FAT UNCLE KEN.

SARA INVITED ME FOR DINNER TONITE BUT I’M NOT READY TO TAKE OVER AS FATHER FIGURE. WORK TRAVEL OR NOT, JERRY’S GOTTA STEP UP.

Saturday, February 13, 2010

THE MORNING AFTER

February 13, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Work a little creativity into your routines today -- you can be more playful and still get stuff done! Your great mood only gets better as you sing or craft your way through the day's tasks.


Laura’s Log:
Reading today’s horoscope makes me wonder who they’re writing this stuff for. I’m supposed to sing or—gasp!—CRAFT my way through my routines?! I’m the type of singer who would cough up the following critique from Simon (S)Cowell: “If I’m being honest with you, that was excruciatingly painful. Don’t sing ever sing in public again. As a matter of fact, don’t sing in the shower, don’t sing around your dog, don’t even hum.” In third grade Mrs. Liu let me clean erasers while the rest of the class learned “This Land Is Your Land” and “Ebony and Ivory”. For the Christmas concert, she had the sense to assign me ushering and lighting duties. Crafts? My only stab at knitting a sock produced a wad of wool with three gaping holes before the first wear. (Not that I ever wore the single, sad looking waste of wool.) How am I supposed to “craft” through the day? Thirty-two is a bit old for macaroni art or building a fort out of Popsicle sticks. Where do I get a second opinion for today’s horoscope?

Mom is breathing a sigh of relief this morning. I got a text message from Lucy and, yes, she was in the protests yesterday, but she didn’t get arrested. Slight disappointment detected in her tone; total elation from Mom. I say it only prolongs the inevitable. Lucy won’t rest until an arrest.

Turns out Marella was nowhere near the Opening Ceremonies last night. According to a brief email, she’s in Boise—Boise?!—with a hot lawyer she hooked up with. In her words: “wears suits from Sears but once I get the clothes off, talk about a marvel in design!”

Have to dash off for coffee with Tamara. I anticipate it will be coffee, walk, lunch and shopping with Tamara. Anything I can think of to keep her moving and to distract her from the brutal news that Andy chose Edmonton over her. With apologies to Edmontonians, how does anyone cope with knowing Edmonton won out? I have no idea what to tell her to make things better. Poor Tamara. Gone from Have to Have Not on the eve of V-Day. I predict her credit card will take a major hit today. My Visa, too. I have to be a good friend, right? Solidarity through shopping!

KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):

WOKE TO LEW SNORING ON THE SOFA. HE’S NOT KIDDING WHEN HE SAYS WOMEN BREAK UP WITH HIM BECAUSE OF HIS SNORING. I SWEAR THE WALLS SHOOK—AND THEY’RE CONCRETE! WE ALL GOT MESSED UP AGAIN WITH TOO MUCH BOOZE LAST NITE. NEVER MADE IT TO DAVID LAM PARK—TOO MUCH RAIN. HAD TO DRINK OUR WAY THRU THE OPENING CEREMONIES. I ALWAYS FORGET WHAT A SNOOZE THE OPENERS ARE. BUNCH OF ATHLETES WE DON’T KNOW YET MARCHING IN. WHOOPEE. NO NHL PLAYERS, OF COURSE. THEN NELLY & BRYAN SINGING SOMETHING BLAND AND SOME POOR DUDE (OR DUDETTE—COULDN’T TELL) FLOATING IN THE AIR OVER WHAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE THE PRAIRIES. DRINK OR NAP, NOT MUCH OF A CHOICE. AND THE DRINKING WENT INTO HIGH GEAR WHEN OPERA LADY SHOWED UP TO SING THE OLYMPIC ANTHEM. HOW LONG HAD SHE KEPT HER FINGER IN A SOCKET TO GET HER HAIR TO DO THAT? MARGE SIMPSON WLD BE ENVIOUS.

THINKING WE’LL FORK OVER A HUNDRED BUCKS EACH TO CHECK OUT THINGS @ HOCKEY HOUSE LATER IN THE DAY. GET THE FEELING WE’RE BEING TAKEN, BUT I GUESS I’M TOO STUPID TO RESIST. YOU CALL IT HOCKEY HOUSE, I GOTTA GO. I’M WIRED THAT WAY.

Friday, February 12, 2010

TEST RUN DONE...NOW ON WITH THE SHOW!

February 12, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You need to get out there and try something new -- your energy is driving you to make a change! You may find that your people have ideas, but if you think for a few minutes, you're sure to come up with your own.

Laura’s Log:
In light of yesterday’s unfortunate meeting with the ex—so close to V-Day only makes it worse—I decided to change my running schedule this morning. Actually, Tupper had a paw in it. He kept making licking sounds and his bladder noises were louder than his snores so I got up at 5:30 to walk him. Bad precedent perhaps—the Dog Whisperer would not be happy—but I didn’t want to start out cleaning up dog barf yet again. Kinda sets the tone for the day.

By 6 a.m., I was running toward the Granville Street Bridge. Decided the new route could take in all the fenced off Olympic venues around David Lam Park and toward Science World. More runners than I expected, a few hobbling and limping more than jogging. Sad, but you do what you can. So glad it’s not raining considering all the media and tourists in town for the Opening Ceremonies tonight. Forecast calls for rain all weekend. Perfect weather for V-Day—keeps The Haves off the streets!—but not a great Welcome, World! for the Olympics. It is what it is.

Will go to Mom and Dad’s tonight to watch the ceremonies on TV. Plan to carpool with Estelle and Curtis. Mom will need support if Lucy shows up on television in a protest. Obviously, Lucy being Lucy, she’ll be out there screaming about how the Olympics are a corporate glam event, maybe throwing in a Stop the Seal Hunt rant if the cameras find her. A little off topic but, well, that’s Lucy. Mom is worried that all her friends will see video of her daughter arrested and thrown in a police van. As if the way Lucy is happens to be a reflection on Mom’s parenting! I think people will be shocked if Lucy DOESN’T get arrested at some point during the Games. A night in jail is Lucy’s version of a medal.

Don’t know about Marella. As usual, she hasn’t returned anyone’s calls. I’m betting she’s going to the ceremony and keeping it hush-hush under the delusional thinking that you can keep some things from the family. Can’t imagine she’ll stick a Canada flag tattoo on her cheek, but wouldn’t it be nice if there’s a flash of her on screen to counterbalance the imminent Lucy Incident? Mom may be anxious, but I’m looking forward to the show!

KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):

MADE ANOTHER GO OF JOGGING THIS A.M. NOT PRETTY. GLAD IT’S STILL DARK AT 6 A.M. LEFT KNEE WAS ONLY MILDLY ANNOYING FOR THE 1ST HALF K. THEN THE PAIN CAME BACK IN FULL FORCE. MANAGED TO DO A LIMP-JOG À LA TERRY FOX, STOPPED & STRETCHED & RAN A BIT MORE. I KNOW IT SOUNDS SEXIST BUT IT STINGS EVERY TIME A WOMAN PASSES ME UP. HEY, MY MALE PRIDE IS VULNERABLE THESE DAYS.

NOT SURE ABOUT THE CEREMONIES TONITE. ARTHUR & LEW ARE DROPPING BY, MARTY TOO. WE MAY WATCH @ THE CONDO BUT CLD BE COOL TO SHAKE UP THE CANUCK VIEWING ROUTINE & TAKE IN THINGS @ DAVID LAM, NOW KNOWN AS “LiveCity YALETOWN”. STILL REMEMBER WATCHING ON TV THE DAY VANCOUVER GOT THE BID. IT’S HERE. LET THE GAMES BEGIN!

Thursday, February 11, 2010

V-DAY ATTACK ON THE HORIZON

February 11, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You're a bit moony over something or someone from your past, but it's not good for you to dwell on stuff like that right now. You may want to stay in touch with your closest friends and family now.

Laura’s Log:

Forget all the hype in Vancouver over the Olympics. Everything I stumbled on television involved the V-Day invasion. Make it go away!

This year I will be strong. I will not buy myself half a dozen boxes of pity chocolate. I will not visualize mutant aphids devouring every red rose petal in the city in the wee hours of the 14th and I will refrain from carrying a pin with me if I near any florist, gift shop or grocery store. (My pop the balloon rampage last year was exhilarating, but expensive. I don’t have the funds this time around.)

Yes, V-Day makes me crazy. The Haves gloat with abandon. The Have Nots relive that salt-in-the-wound sensation, heads bowed. If we’re lucky we might find a nickel on the sidewalk.

Had to channel all my resentment of flaunting Haves into something positive. Decided to attempt to refocus my energy by going for a run through False Creek and Kitsilano. I was actually pleased it was raining. Made the path less crowded. Ran as far as Jericho before turning back. Stopped in my tracks by the Kits Pool as I spotted a most disturbing sight. Heading toward me was Harvey Burns. No time to hide in the bushes or go for a belated polar bear swim. No choice but to smile and say, “Hi Harvey” while starting to run in place. Thought that would be a sign that I needed to get on with the run.

Harvey never was good at reading signs. And, in truth, I wasn’t that great at speaking my mind. “How ’bout a coffee?” he asked, nodding toward the spot across the street. It was one of those times I wished Vancouver didn’t actually have a Starbucks on every corner. Maybe it was the rain, maybe it was lingering frustration over V-Day that I hadn’t managed to burn off, maybe it was the fact that, due to my bleak employment picture, I had been depriving myself of Starbucks lattés, but I said, “Sure.” Meant to say something less enthusiastic like “OK” or “Well, at least the coffee will be good.”

While we waited in line, Harvey confessed that his mother found out from Mavis Benson who found out from Mom that I jog through Kits fairly regularly and Harvey’s been jogging over the Burrard Street Bridge for the past two weeks to try to stalk me. Good ol’ Harv—still no filters. “I’ve lost three pounds,” he beamed. Good for something, I suppose.

He kept mentioning things about Us, that entity that imploded eight years ago, and I kept asking about his wife. “We’re getting a divorce,” he noted.

“Ah, ‘getting’. That means you’re still married.” I smiled as if I wasn’t trying to be intentionally hurtful. Just needed his puppy dog eyes to read my signal: Down, boy!

Slowest line EVER at a Starbucks. Some doofus ahead of us had the nerve to order muffins and tubs of coffee for his entire workforce. Didn’t even catch the name of the company. Would have Googled to see if they had any openings. Harvey kept going on and on about the time we went to Hawaii (I burned the first day and spent the rest of the trip shrouded in bathrobes), that weekend we biked the Kettle Valley (I tumbled, broke my leg and had to be helivac-ed to hospital) and the romantic dinner at Stepho’s (when I first learned I was deathly allergic to eggplant). Good ol’ Harv had a way of making me pine for the past.

Decided the chat in line was plenty. I thanked him for the latté and said I had to dash. More work to do on my résumé, you know. Coffee in hand, I walked up to 4th and made the journey home, trying (unsuccessfully) to block out the V-Day displays in the shop windows. The only thing sadder than being a Have Not at this time of year is being a Had. I will not go there, Harvey.


KEN’S JOURNAL (via iPhone):
TURNED ON THE TV LAST NIGHT & SOME CHEF WAS TALKING ABOUT THE PERFECT MEAL FOR YOUR VALENTINE. BLECH. FLIPPED OVER TO SOME SITCOM FOCUSED ON THE SAME FREAKIN’ DAY. GOT IN THE CAR & DROPPED IN ON SARA. GOT TO READ BELLA A BEDTIME STORY ABOUT SOME MOUSE WITH A PLASTIC PURPLE PURSE, THEN READ RUDY A PRETTY GRIPPING CHAPTER ABOUT A LONE BAT BEING PREYED UPON BY A COUPLE OF CANNIBAL BATS. THAT DID IT FOR GETTING LOVE OFF MY MIND.

SARA & I CHATTED AFTER THE KIDS WERE ALL IN BED. LOTS OF TALK ABOUT JERRY NEVER BEING AROUND. LOTS OF WORRY ABOUT TRAVIS WHO SEEMS TO HAVE FOUND THE WRONG CROWD IN 8TH GRADE. CLAIMS THE JOINT SHE FOUND IN HIS POCKET WAS FOR SHOW. SHE’S NOT BUYING IT & NEITHER AM I. WILL SEE IF I CAN GET TRAVIS TO GO TO ROCK CLIMBING AT THE EDGE THIS WEEKEND. WLD BE GOOD FOR BOTH OF US. AND SARA NEEDS A BREAK. IT’S THE LEAST I CAN DO FOR MY BIG SIS.

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

THE NEED TO PURGE

February 10, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Your home life is somewhat off-kilter right now, but you can tell that it's temporary. Someone needs their space, and if you give it to them, then you should find everything rosier in a day or two.

Laura’s Log:
The past few days have been all about the boyfriends. Not mine, of course. The words Laura and boyfriend seem incompatible.

I did the good thing and called Tamara just to check in and she’d gone from teary to hostile, spewing venom about Edmonton like it was The Other Woman. “The place has black flies. Nothing’ll get rid of them!” “People aren’t serious when they move to Edmonton. Maybe they’re attracted to a better salary, but then they tire of the snow…in May!” Tamara handles anger SO much better than grief. I do pity Andy though. He’s in for it. Should never have given Edmonton a second look.

Dinner last night with Nadia and Bradley. Another big boyfriend reveal. I’d known Bradley a few years ago when I was stupid enough to join a coed volleyball league. Bradley—or Brad, then—was on my team. The guy only wanted to spike the ball. Especially when women were the target. Yep, hard to believe he’d stayed on the market long enough for Nadia to scoop him up. He was the classic Nadia boyfriend: loud, ill-mannered, a total ass. Still, as I waited inside Joey for their late arrival, I tried to imagine a new improved Brad.

Nadia seemed stressed as they walked in. She started to apologize for being fifteen minutes late, but Bradley cut her off. “Nothing can speed up Nadia. Went in and redid her hair like fifteen times. Looked the same every frickin’ time. Only person I know who has to wipe down the counters before going out.”

I waited for Nadia to put him in his place, but she just bowed her head, forced a thin smile when she looked up and then studied the menu like there would be a test on it. We ordered and ever thoughtful Bradley interjected as Nadia chose the seafood pesto linguine. “Can they go easy on the garlic?” he asked the waitress. Then, to Nadia, “You know how bad you reek when there’s too much.”

Whack him! The menu has some weight to it. Let ‘im have it! Self-defense. Nadia just took his cue and switched to the maple salmon.

Dinner was painful. All I wanted to do was ask Nadia what the hell she was doing. Could the real Nadia please come out and play? In the month since I’d last seen her, my friend had gone from feisty to diminutive. I couldn’t eat my meal. It didn’t help that “Badly” dominated the conversation, loudly whining about the Olympics killing his business while he savagely gnawed on ribs, licking his fingers and picking bits out of his teeth. Was this all that was left for single women in their thirties? I wanted to call Tamara and say, “Do it! Move to Edmonton! Don’t let Andy go!” But more importantly, I needed to find a way to get Nadia alone and ask her what the hell she was doing.

Got home to find Tupper had redecorated the apartment. The puddle in the kitchen was nothing new. (Wish I’d turned on the light before wading in it though.) The living room had little piles of vomit scattered about. Chronic renal failure is a bitch. Of course, I was out of paper towels.

Barely slept. Kept hearing sounds, thinking Tupper was getting sick again. Kept worrying about Nadia.

KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):

I MAY NEVER GET CLARA COMPLETELY OUT OF THE CONDO. THIS MORNING I PULLED OUT THE PHONE BOOK TO LOOK FOR A PHYSIOTHERAPIST—SEARING PAIN FROM KNEE AT 3 A.M.—AND CAME ACROSS A PHOTO OF US AT WHISTLER & A FRIED TOFU SANDWICH RECIPE SHE’D HANDWRITTEN IN PURPLE INK. (DON’T KNOW HOW I KEPT THAT MEAL DOWN! GUESS WE’LL DO ALMOST ANYTHING FOR LOVE.) TOOK THE PIC & THE PAPER AND RAN THEM THRU THE SHREDDER. I YELLED AS THE MACHINE DID ITS THING. MILDLY THERAPEUTIC.

PLEASE, NO CLARA MEMORIES FOR THE NEXT MONTH. SHE HAUNTS ME.

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

NURSING WOUNDS

February 9, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Revisit an old injury today -- emotional or physical. You should find yourself better equipped to handle it, and even to heal it, but you may find that you have to move through some difficult territory first.

Laura’s Log:
Coffee with Tamara this morning. I hopped on the Canada Line and met her downtown as she took an extended coffee break. Who knows what important meetings she rescheduled? When you’re newly dating, you’re dying to know what your friends think.

“He’s really nice.”

Apparently, I shouldn’t have said that. It was just my opener, but Tamara pounced. You’d think I’d said he was a cross between Donald Trump (without the money) and a pile of horse manure.

“See, that’s why I put off having you meet him. You always look for the worst.” Ouch. “No wonder you’re single.” Owphh. “I don’t know why I’ve kept you as a friend all these years. Pity, I guess.” And TKO.

“I said he was nice.”

She started to cry. Wail, actually. Tamara always likes to be noticed. The woman beside us took her mug to the counter and asked for a to-go cup. Wish I’d had that option.

I sat and waited. Sipped my coffee. The dash of cinnamon added flavor. Got up and grabbed a wad of napkins. Tamara wound down to sobbing and I gently eased back into the conversation. “What’s going on?”

“He wants to take a job in Edmonton. Edmonton!” Poor city. She said it like it was a cross between Chernobyl and, well, a pile of horse manure.

“Does he want you to move with him?”

“He hasn’t even asked!” And Round 2 of wailing.

I managed to convince her we should step outside, walk a little and enjoy the beautiful day. The lady behind the counter telepathed an earnest “Thank you.” After another hour of weeping, recovering and weeping again, Tamara hugged me. “Sorry ’bout what I said. You’re a good friend. The best.”

Yeah. After all these years, I was quite familiar with Tamara’s lash-and-burn tactics. They still wounded, but the recovery was quicker.


KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):

MAYBE I’M NOT CUT OUT TO JOG ANYMORE. I HAD MY 2ND GO AT AN EARLY MORNING RUN & IT WAS WORSE THAN THE 1ST. COLDER, TO START WITH. HAD IT IN MY HEAD THAT WEARING GLOVES WHILE JOGGING WAS THE SIGN OF A WUSS. LOSING THREE DIGITS TO FROSTBITE MIGHT MAKE A MANLY TALE, BUT IT’S DAMN STUPID, TOO. WILL TRY TO PICK UP A PAIR LATER TODAY—AND NOT THE OMNIPRESENT CANADIAN OLYMPIC MITTS.

CONSTANTLY RUBBING ONE’S HANDS TOGETHER ISN’T STANDARD RUNNING FORM. NEITHER IS LIMPING. SADLY, MY LEFT KNEE GAVE OUT SOONER THAN LAST WEEK. I HAD TO HOBBLE BACK FROM SCIENCE WORLD—OR WHATEVER THE RUSSIANS ARE CALLING IT AS THEIR OLYMPIC SITE. SAW THE GUY IN THE WALKER AGAIN. NEVER MANAGED TO CATCH HIM.

FIGURE I’VE GAINED INSTEAD OF LOSING THIS WEEK, THANKS TO THE SUPER BOWL PARTY. SURE, I VOMITED APLENTY, BUT IT LOOKS LIKE I’M REACHING THE 7TH OR 8TH MONTH OF PREGNANCY. IF I CAN’T RUN, THEN WHAT? DON’T THINK I CAN ROUND UP THE OLD GANG FOR TOUCH FOOTBALL THESE DAYS. BIKING? THE COLD’S GOTTA FEEL EVEN WORSE ON WHEELS.

I’LL TRY STRETCHING MORE. HOT TUB THE KNEE TONIGHT. BUY A BRACE. EVEN IN PAIN, JOGGING BEATS SLAPPING ON A PAIR OF RUNNERS AND RACE-WALKING AROUND DOWNTOWN AT NOON WHILE IN A BUSINESS SUIT.

Monday, February 8, 2010

GATHERING MY SENSES & LOSING MY COOKIES

February 8, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You love it when everything is balanced, and today gives you the chance to juggle every element of your life so that they're all weighted more or less equally. You should breathe quite a bit easier as a result!

Laura’s Log:
Being unemployed is not the same as being on vacation. And it certainly doesn’t mean I am suddenly everyone’s personal assistant. Would someone please tell my family?!

Marella called at 6:45 this morning—“Oh, I forgot you’re not working”—to ask me to drive up to Whistler to pick up an Australian guy she picked up Friday night. (Seems she recalled I wasn’t working when it really mattered.) “Oh, come on, sis. He’s absolutely adorable and he’s so energetic in bed. I was just hoping for one more round. You know, celebrate the whole Boxing Kangaroo affair.”

“Can’t he take a shuttle?” No idea what the response was. I hung up. I will not pimp for my sister. Besides, the last thing I need is to sit in a car for a couple of hours with a horny stud who only refers to me as Driver.

Estelle begged me to babysit Gretel and Sven this afternoon. “It’ll only be four hours, maybe a bit longer.”

“What’s it pay?” I asked.

“What?!”

“Relax. Of course I’m kidding. But I may raid your pantry. Name brand labels are so lovely, don’t you think?”

“What?!”

Poor Estelle. She got her sense of humor from Stephen Harper and “According to Jim”.

Lucy keeps calling to get me to join Olympic protests. “But I like the Olympics,” I said.

Lucy sighed dramatically. “That’s just because you’re uninformed.”

“So you’re saying I’m ignorant.” This time she hung up on me. I knew it would work.

Now I have to face my toughest challenge: Mom. She is determined to give me a makeover. “Your roots are showing,” she commented. Good ol’ Mom. Criticism as a form of encouragement.

“But, Mom, you know I don’t dye my hair.”

“That’s what makes it even more appalling.” Yep, thanks Mom. Managed to put her off by saying I’m working on my résumé. I’m learning that, when you’re unemployed, you can always say you’re working on your résumé. People never question you.

My horoscope? A definite head scratcher. My life is not in balance, but I’ve managed to keep family at bay.

That’s what makes me breathe easier.

KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
I BLAME THE COMMERCIALS. TOO MANY OF ’EM. THINK I DOWNED A BEER DURING EACH BREAK. WENT FROM SUPER BOWL TO TOILET BOWL. HAVEN’T DONE THAT IN TEN YRS. MARTY’S STILL GONNA BE A FRAT BOY WHEN HE’S 70. I JUST CAN’T DO IT ANYMORE.

THE GAY GUYS DIDN’T FIT ANY STEREOTYPES. HE’S A MARTIAL ARTS INSTRUCTOR AND HE’S A LONGSHOREMAN. BOTH KNEW WAY MORE ABOUT THE GAME THAN I & BOTH WERE RIVETED BY THE PLAYS. HONESTLY, THE GAME FELT LIKE A SIDESHOW. I COULDN’T SUSTAIN ANY INTEREST. ALL THE MOMENTUM WAS SUCKED DRY FROM THE ADS & THE OVERBLOWN ON-AIR ANALYSIS & THE ENTERTAINMENT.

AND THE BEER.

TYLENOL, BLACK COFFEE,…NOTHING’S WORKING. I HAVE BRUISES ON BOTH SHOULDERS AND MY RIGHT THIGH FROM LOSING MY BALANCE WALKING HOME. TOO MUCH CONCRETE IN YALETOWN. SURPRISED A VANOC CREW WASN’T CALLED TO THE SCENE TO PICK ME UP & DUMP ME IN CHILLIWACK.

THINK I’VE GOT MY BALANCE BACK AND I DON’T THINK I HAVE ANYTHING LEFT TO UPCHUCK. GOTTA GIVE THE HALL CARPET ANOTHER SPONGING SO STRATA DOESN’T GET ON MY CASE & THEN I’LL SHOOT FOR A NOON ARRIVAL AT WORK.

SO GLAD THE SUPER BOWL IS ONLY ONCE A YEAR.

Sunday, February 7, 2010

AWKWARD INTRODUCTIONS

February 7, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Try to reach out to someone new today. It almost doesn't matter who it is, as long as you're expressing something real and they are in a position to take it all in. Things are on the mend!

Laura’s Log:
Typical Tamara. She called at 9 a.m. after ignoring me all week and wanted to know if I’d join Andy and her for brunch at 11. She didn’t pose it as a question. It was more like an ultimatum: You’re having lunch with me and my boyfriend or we really aren’t friends, are we? Typical me. I said sure. Dr. Phil would have a field day with me, spewing country-fried expressions every which way. I’ve known Tamara since I was four. Our relationship is as entrenched as with my sisters, perhaps more. At least she doesn’t (physically) bite anymore.

Typical Tamara. I arrived at Café Zen at 10:58 and stood in the already long line that wound onto the sidewalk. At least it was a decent morning. I didn’t have to strain to eavesdrop as the Kits locals in line loudly made their Super Bowl predictions (Who really cares?!), complained that “Avatar” didn’t have a story (But you still shelled out your money, didn’t you?!) and whined about road closures for the Olympics (Have you EVER tried a bus?!)

I get cranky when I’m hungry and when I have to wait in line on my own.

Tamara and Andy showed up at 11:21, apologizing and sounding out of breath—but not out of breath enough to refrain from smooching as soon as they settled beside me in line. Tongue and all. Going kiss-free in the three-minute walk from the car must have been painful.

I was ready to dislike Andy. And yet, he was charming. Cute in a bespectacled, grey sweater vest, geeky way. A little too much talk about his tech job. (Should have stopped at one sentence instead of two.) I haven’t had a chance to ask Tamara yet, given the fact she abandoned me for the first month of their relationship and then gave me the cold shoulder for the past week, but I’ve got a hunch they’ve already professed their love for one another. They exchanged saliva a dozen times over brunch and even spoon-fed each other their bennies and pancakes to ensure they deserved the Too Much Sharing award for the day.

Andy’s a keeper. I am happy for Tamara. I’m just a little sensitive over my perpetually single status at the moment. (Doesn’t help when I sit alone on one side of a four-top and face Couple Gaga. Should not have watched “The Truth about Cats and Dogs” last night. I was SO relating to Janeane Garafalo until the end when she got the adorable guy with the reel-’em-in accent. Yep, happy for Tamara, happy for fictional Janeane character. So why do I turn it all on me and ask myself the unanswerable: “What happened?”


KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
SUPER BOWL! GOING W/THE SAINTS. LET ‘EM WIN ONE. IS IT JUST ME OR DOES IT SEEM WEIRD THAT THESE BUTCH GUYS GRIND IT OUT IN HOPES OF GETTING A RING? SHOULDN’T THAT BE MORE THE TERRITORY OF CAMERON DIAZ & JULIA ROBERTS IN “MY BEST FRIEND’S WEDDING”? YEAH, I KNOW…IF I’M SO BUTCH I SHOULDN’T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT THAT MOVIE. IT WAS CLARA’S FAVORITE. I OBEDIENTLY WATCHED AND, YEAH, I WAS SMART ENOUGH TO SAY I LIKED IT. THERE ARE WORSE THINGS IN LIFE THAN HAVING TO WATCHING CAMERON & JULIA FOR 90 MINUTES.

IN TRUTH, I’M NOT MUCH OF AN NFL FAN. CFL? A LITTLE. GIMME HOCKEY ANY DAY OVER FOOTBALL. MARTY’S HOSTING A BOWL PARTY AS USUAL. HE DOESN’T GIVE A SHIT EITHER. JUST LIKES AN EXCUSE TO GET A KEG. ALREADY KNOW I’M GONNA BE STUCK TALKING W/HIS NEW GAY NEIGHBORS. HE TOLD THEM I HAD A PORCELAIN DOLL COLLECTION & THAT I WATCH MOVIES LIKE, WELL, “MY BEST FRIEND’S WEDDING”. WHAT THE HELL? WISTERIA LANE’S GOT A GAY COUPLE; I CAN HAVE ONE, TOO. AND THERE YOU HAVE IT. I (SOMETIMES) WATCH “DESPERATE HOUSEWIVES”. ANOTHER ADMISSION I SHOULD HAVE SUPPRESSED.

NOW, GO SAINTS!

Saturday, February 6, 2010

CLEARING THE AIR

February 6, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): It's a really good time for you to deal with that clutter in the basement -- or wherever it may be. Your attachment to things is more thoughtful, so you are more willing to get rid of what you don't need.

Laura’s Log:
Popped by the house first thing this morning to drop off a box of old makeup that had been collecting dust under the sink. Figured Mom might find a home for some of the stuff at the salon. Mom was out “sale-ing” with Gertie Rushman. That’s what they call scavenging at garage sales. Eww. Makes me shudder. Are we really related?

Found Dad in the garage. It kills me that he hides in there even when Mom’s out. I swear, I’m going to find a cot and one of those outdoor shower setups in there one of these days. Dad had the radio on—sports know-it-alls spouting off about the Canucks on a slide. “Are you going in to catch the game when it starts?” I asked.

“Oh, no. Lots to do out here. I’ve got to go through all my electric tools today. Gotta clean them all up, maybe think about giving a few to the thrift shop. See about repairing that edger that puttered out on the second use. Lots to do.”

I didn’t bother to challenge him. He’d said he was going through the electric tools when he hastily excused himself from brunch last week. I wish this were just a winter thing, a hibernation of sorts. But Dad has confined himself to the garage ever since I moved out of the house. Space from Mom. It’s a survival instinct, I suppose. But he’s withdrawn from everyone. Again, a question haunted me: Are we really related?

I took Dad by the arm and escorted him out the garage door. “What are you doing?” he asked nervously. “Where are we going?”

“For a walk, Dad. It’s sunny, it’s gorgeous and it’s time we checked out life on The Drive. Coffee at Café Calabria. On me.”

He tugged gently, wanting me to turn back. Nothing doing. We both needed the company.

KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
TIME TO GO THRU THE CLARA BOX. MY THERAPIST, BRAD, PRACTICALLY FLIPPED OUT ON ME WHEN I SAID I HAD SUCH A THING. GUESS IT’S GIRLY & IT’S DEFINITELY NOT HEALTHY. BACK IN THE CLARA DAYS, SHE THOUGHT IT WAS ROMANTIC. I WAS THAT NICE GUY WHO KEPT TICKET STUBS TO “DR. DOLITTLE 2” (OUR 1ST DATE—HOW DID WE GET PAST THAT?!) & ALL OUR SUN RUN NUMBERS. (WE STOPPED RUNNING 4 YRS AGO. BEER BELLY GREW EXPONENTIALLY EVER SINCE.)

IT TURNS OUT IT’S NOT MUCH OF A TREASURE TROVE. WHAT THE HELL AM I HANGING ONTO A PHOTO OF US GOING AS MARGE & HOMER SIMPSON FOR HALLOWEEN? (BEER BELLY TOTALLY AUTHENTIC BY THEN.) THERE’S A FREAKIN’ CHOCOLATE WRAPPER FROM A VALENTINE’S DAY WAY BACK. A WRAPPER! GAWD, I’M 3 DEGREES AWAY FROM THE BAG LADY UNDER THE GRANVILLE BRIDGE!

AM I A MASOCHIST? HOW ELSE CAN I EXPLAIN GOING THRU ALL THE OLD LOVE NOTES SHE WROTE ME. LOTS FROM THE EARLY YRS. NOTHING FROM THE LAST FEW YRS EXCEPT A QUICK NOTE ON A ROBIN VRBA REAL ESTATE PAD: “DON’T FORGET TO PICK UP THE DRY CLEANING. LOVE YA, C”. I KEPT THAT?! IN FAMINE, I GUESS YOU NIBBLE WHATEVER CRUMBS YOU FIND.

I TOOK OUT A PEN AND STARTED X-ING OUT ALL THE GUSHY COMMENTS IN THE EARLIER CARDS. WON’T SHARE THAT WITH BRAD. CROSSED THE LINE FROM UNHEALTHY TO IN NEED OF SHOCK TREATMENT THERAPY.

FINALLY TOOK THE WHOLE BOX AND PITCHED IT IN THE DUMPSTER. NO MORE TIME TO INFLICT EMOTIONAL PAIN ON SELF. CANUCKS HAVE EARLY GAME IN BOSTON. HERE’S HOPING THEY DON’T ADD TO THE PAIN.

Friday, February 5, 2010

JENNY FROM THE BOG / THERE’S SOMETHING ABOUT MARIBETH

February 5, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You need to deal with a financial issue that feels like a speed bump -- but could actually become a major obstacle! Once you see the depth of it, you should know exactly what to do. It takes time, though.

Laura’s Log:
Good to be home. Catching up with Jenny was wonderful, but I missed my flushing toilet. And my own space. Why is it that I always feel like I’m suffocating after only one night sharing the same space? Maybe I’m more like Marella than I realize. We’ll be two spinsters who move into my parents’ house and all the neighborhood kids will say, in hushed tones, that we’re witches. Marella would love that. Buy a black cat for good measure.

Missed the torch relay in Roberts Creek. Mid-morning Jenny decided it would be fun to walk in the woods, collect leaves and weave natural placemats—a set for her and a set for me. “That way we’ll be connected even though a ferry stands between us.” (I’m assuming she meant ferry, not faerie, but with Jenny I really can’t be sure.) We gathered reeds while Tupper lifted his leg with wild abandon, christening trees, logs, rocks and once, in a moment of delirium, my leg. (Fortunately, he was all peed out by then, doing the lifts just for show.) After forty-five minutes, we headed home and Jenny said, “We really should let them dry out overnight. How about staying longer?”

Awkward.

And so we wove reeds that weren’t ready to weave. I cut my fingers twice. (Paper cuts are nothing!) “Oh, that’s good for you,” Jenny informed. “Very medicinal.”

After three hours, Jenny had four placemats and I had something that looked like a warped coaster. “You can take mine with you. I can always make more.” All I could think was that Jenny would never be able to visit my apartment again because the first thing she’d ask would be, “Where are those placemats I wove?” and our friendship would die when I told her I turfed them at the ferry terminal. No way was I going to bring home a set of nests harboring aphids and invisible insects.

Of course, with no clocks in the cottage, it wasn’t until I peeked at my cell phone that we realized the Roberts Creek festivities were done. Frankly, my entire Sunshine Coast celebration felt done and I just wanted to catch the ferry, but Jenny rushed us into her VW Bug and we glimpsed the torch in Gibsons. Have to admit I got caught up in the moment. Got closer to the flame than I imagined possible and tried to snap a decent photo, but I mostly got a lot of shots of people’s arms raising their digital cameras over their heads. It’s a safe bet that my new career will not involve photography.

Shouldn’t really indulge myself with a latté this morning, but I need a little pampering after my visit with Jenny from the Bog. Must face reality today and check my bank balance. Have a feeling I have to make the (temporary?) switch from Terra Breads to Wonder bread and from Starbucks to, gasp, Folgers.

Maybe I could’ve sold those damn placemats.

KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):

LESSON: A PHOTO CAN BE SO DECEIVING. THAT PICTURE OF MARIBETH SHE POSTED ONLINE THAT I SAID MADE HER LOOK 28, NOT 40? WELL, IT HAD TO HAVE BEEN TAKEN, OH, 20 YRS AGO. TURNS OUT SHE RUNS A TANNING BED BUSINESS. LET’S JUST SAY SHE SHOULDN’T BE IN ANY OF THE ADVERTISING. WASN’T THERE A FREAKISHLY TANNED OLDER LADY IN “THERE’S SOMETHING ABOUT MARY”? I KEPT WANTING TO ASK, “WAS THAT YOU?” RIGHT NOW I AM SO TURNED OFF OF LEATHER. MAY HAVE TO DONATE MY SOFA TO GOODWILL.

TO BE HONEST, I DON’T THINK SHE WAS ANY MORE IMPRESSED W/ME. I WAS BUMMED BY THE CANUCKS LOSING TO THE SENATORS—AND BY THE FACT I LOST $500 ON A BET W/MY COUSIN BLAKE IN OTTAWA—AND I THOUGHT SHE COULD COMMISERATE AS A FAN. NO. SHE KEPT GOING ON ABOUT SOME DEAD ACTRESS NAMED BRITTANY SOMEBODY. NOT SPEARS, I LEARNED AS SHE LAUGHED IN MY FACE. SO I’M NOT THAT UP ON ENTERTAINMENT NEWS?! ONLY EVER WATCHED “ET” TO CHECK OUT MARY HART’S LEGS AND NOW THAT SHE’S, WHAT,…70?, IT’S A LITTLE CREEPY TO STILL SNEAK A PEEK.

SAFE TO SAY THERE WASN’T A LOVE CONNECTION B/W US. IT’S ONLY THE 1ST ONLINE ATTEMPT. LIKE THE SITE SAYS, THERE’S PLENTY OF FISH, RIGHT?

WHAT IS THEY’RE ALL CATFISH?

Thursday, February 4, 2010

SIPPING DANDELION TEA, DIANA ROSS SINGING IN MY HEAD

February 4, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You should attract attention this morning -- but not in an embarrassing way. After the praise-fest is over, you almost certainly turn inward a bit and need to pursue somewhat selfish goals.

Laura’s Log:

Oh, how I love my horoscope! It really must know me. I’ll attract attention, but for once, it won’t be embarrassing in nature. So glad for the clarification. Perhaps I can get through the morning without blueberries stuck between my teeth or toilet paper clinging to my shoe. I feel I can face anything! Even The Drama that Is Jenny.

The weird thing is I’m in a place where attention of any kind really doesn’t matter. Jenny called me out of the blue after I’d had coffee with Estelle yesterday. She’s been in Roberts Creek for eight months and it seems like she moved to Jupiter. Never made it over there last summer and we hadn’t talked since October. I could tell Jenny was feeling down so when she invited me to catch the next ferry over, well, why not?

Tupper is in his glory taking in the new scents. When she picked us up at the terminal, she immediately took us to a beach in Gibsons where Tupper could run around and piddle on logs without other dogs out-marking him seconds later. For the most part, we had the entire expanse to ourselves. Two minutes into our walk, Jenny blurted, “I’m pregnant.” No exclamation mark.

“That’s great!” I said, trying to be cheery. “How’s Gus feel about it?”

“Gus left me three and a half months ago. It’s not his.”

“What?!” I didn’t want to throw in an exclamation mark there, but this was as shocking as things get. I met Jenny and Gus during my last two years at UBC. Harvey hated them. So earthy. Dreadlocks, tie-dye, incense,…everything Harvey and I weren’t. Still, I loved our regular meal gatherings at The Naam, in part to see Harvey squirm: no ties, people reading The Guardian instead of The Wall Street Journal and not a Hilfiger item of clothing in the entire restaurant.

Jenny and Gus were my rock, the standard for an ideal relationship. They were two souls completely intertwined, the poster couple for a good marriage even though they chose to live common law. What had the Sunshine Coast done to them?

Jenny appeared to read my mind, quite possibly a power she’d gained from drinking dandelion tea. “I met a folk singer. Gabriel.” She almost swooned. Was that the morning sickness or love? “At first, Gus and I welcomed him into our union, but then Gus kinda felt awkward.” Make that two. “He just walked away in late October and now he’s in Toronto, studying for his real estate license and going into business with his brother. Can you believe he’s stooped to selling land?”

There were things I couldn’t believe, but Gus’ new career path was far down the list. I didn’t know what to say, but she kept searching my face for a thought or, more likely being as it was Jenny, a feeling. “So,…you’re pregnant.” She nodded. And then I said that thing that all people say, even though I’d never ever actually seen it in anyone: “You glow.”

“Thanks!” Exclamation at last. And, of course, one of Jenny’s all-encompassing Mother Earth hugs. In that moment, I realized something else had changed. She’d given up on deodorant.

As Gabriel had a gig on Vancouver Island, Jenny and I had the rental cottage to ourselves. Well, Jenny, Tupper, the chickens, two geese, some heard-but-not-seen rats and I. We chatted long into the night, drinking an endless supply of natural teas, each of us dashing to the outhouse—yes, outhouse!—at regular intervals.

Around noon today, the Olympic torch is coming through. I’d thought Jenny would be just as anti-Olympics as Lucy, but no, she’s all for it. She’s even knitted a series of scarves and toques with the maple leaf on them. Jenny, profiting from the Olympics. Jenny, making a go of a three-way love fest. Jenny without Gus. Jenny pregnant. My head was spinning. She hadn’t spiked the tea, had she?

KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):

MET W/THE BOSS 1ST THING THIS A.M. HE HAS A REAL (NORMAL) NAME, BUT INSISTS WE CALL HIM “THE BOSS”. GUESS SOMEONE MUST’VE DARED TO TELL HIM KING WAS TOO OSTENTATIOUS. I ACTUALLY LIKE CALLING HIM THE BOSS B/C IT AMUSES ME. MAYBE I’M SUPPOSED TO CONJURE UP SPRINGSTEEN, BUT I PICTURE DIANA ROSS IN HER DISCO PHASE INSTEAD.

BIG MTG THIS P.M. WITH GENERAL CONTRACTORS, ARCHITECTS AND SUCH TO MAP OUT A TIMELINE FOR THE BURNABY DEVELOPMENT. EVERYTHING’S A GO AND THE BOSS WAS HEAPING PRAISE ON ME DURING OUR MORNING MTG. HE’S POURING IT ON NOW B/C HE’LL KEEP THE SPOTLIGHT ON HIMSELF WHEN EVERYONE ELSE CONVENES. (THEY, OF COURSE, GET TO CALL HIM DAVE. AS LONG AS THEY DON’T LOOK HIM DIRECTLY IN THE EYE.) I’M SUPPOSED TO BE SATISFIED THAT HE ACKNOWLEDGES MY CONTRIBUTION IN ANY CAPACITY. BUT I’M NOT HERE FOR LONG. CAN’T BELIEVE HE DIDN’T BACK UP THE PRAISE W/A RAISE. JACKY, LUKE, WENDY & I NEED TO MEET AGAIN TO PLAN OUR NEW VENTURE. MY DAYS OF BEING IN THE SHADOW OF THE BOSS ARE NUMBERED. ANOTHER DIANA ROSS SONG COMES TO MIND: “IT’S MY TURN”. (NOTE TO SELF: ASK THERAPIST IF MY KNOWLEDGE OF DIANA ROSS WARRANTS ANALYSIS.)

BIG DATE TONITE. DECIDED ON BISHOP’S SINCE MARIBETH LIVES IN KITS. I’M THINKING THIS CLD BE THE START OF SOMETHING AMAZING. CAN’T WAIT TO LEAVE CLARA IN THE REARVIEW MIRROR.

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

NEW MORNING START

February 3, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You've got the right kind of energy to get things done today -- and have fun while you're at it! You may surprise some folks who are bumbling along as you pass them by with a smile on your face!

Laura’s Log:
Tupper does not understand that I can be a bum and sleep in until 8 a.m. or noon. Sure, he’s enjoyed having me around much more over the past week, but Taylor Swift will sing an entire live performance on key before Tupper’s internal clock stops giving him the customary 6 a.m. wakeup call. I tuned out his licking and scratching and repositioning circles for as long as I could, but then I realized, Who am I kidding? I’m awake. Decided to take advantage of the fact that my morning rush doesn’t have to be. We drove down to Spanish Banks, my favourite area of Vancouver, and he bounded out of the car, on a mission to run straight to the off-leash dog beach. Well, he got sidetracked sniffing a Doberman’s butt and then a pug’s, but he still made the jaunt from pavement to sand in a record five minutes.

The beach is Tupper’s great equalizer. He regularly stumbles and suffers through unpredictable gooney bird landings. On the uneven sand, it almost looks normal. Like Pee-Wee Herman’s unfortunate bike dismount: I meant to do that! The whole romp was good for Tupper’s ego. He even outran a basset hound. Rather certain he relived that moment when he succumbed to a snoring slumber thirty seconds into the drive.

Must appreciate the freedom that comes from being between jobs. When was the last time I got to Spanish Banks on a weekday morning? And when did I last get to meet up with my sister on Dunbar for coffee? Sven was looking angelic, sleeping in the stroller and Gretel, covered in head-to-toe pink resembled an oversized stick of Hubba Bubba gum. Meanwhile, poor Estelle looked like Rocky Raccoon. “Yeah, he’s an angel now,” she said, glancing down at her four-month-old. “You should’ve heard him in the night.”

“He’s too loud!” Gretel chimed in as colour commentator.

“Better not let Lucy see Gretel bathed in pink,” I whispered as we inched closer to the Starbucks counter.

“Oh, screw Lucy! Gretel likes pink.”

“All those Disney princess videos aren’t helping, I’m sure.”

“Yeah, I’m really blowing it. If Gretel becomes a lesbian, Lucy’ll have to be her tutor. For now, I’m just going to let Gretel enjoy the Teletubbies and Goodnight Moon. Don’t tell anyone, but I might even let her have some of my donut.”

“You’re a bad, bad mommy,” I kidded.

“I know. To tell the truth, the only reason I’d share my donut is so a little less goes to my hips. Can’t work off all this extra baby weight by going to a gym, so Gretel’s just going to have to share the sugar.”

I looked down at Gretel who was seated on the floor, trying to spin in a circle, pushing off the leg of the man in the business suit in front of us. “You think she needs the sugar?”

“Oh, it makes no difference whether I give it to her or not. She breathes it in. God knows what harm I’m doing to her with the coffee aroma thrown in.”

As the gentleman turned and glared at Estelle, I perked up. Jobless and childless? Underrated.

KEN’S JOURNAL (via iPhone):
IT’S DARK AT 5:30 IN THE MORNING. THAT SHOULD COME AS NO SURPRISE, BUT SOMEHOW I HADN’T FACTORED THAT IN WHEN I SET MY ALARM LAST NITE. LOOKED OUT THE WINDOW & ALMOST WENT BACK TO BED. THEN I REMEMBERED MY DATE ON THURS W/MARIBETH. MUST GET UP. MUST GET RID OF MY BEER BELLY IN 2 DAYS. MUST JOG.

ALL RIGHT, THE BELLY ISN’T GOING ANYWHERE IN THE SHORT RUN. BUT I GOTTA START SOMEWHERE. HAVE NEVER GONE ON A DIET & THE THOUGHT OF COTTAGE CHEESE & LITE BEER MIGHT CAUSE AN UNSIGHTLY PIMPLE OUTBREAK B/F MY DATE. DEFINITELY MUST JOG.

AS I HEADED OUT ALONG DAVID LAM PARK, I WAS SHOCKED TO SEE SO MANY DERANGED INSOMNIACS & FITNESS FREAKS. THEY FLEW BY ME, NOT EVEN SOUNDING WINDED AS THEY GLIBLY ANNOUNCED “ON YOUR LEFT” OR “ON YOUR RIGHT” B/F THE PASS.

VERY HUMBLING. I WAS ON THE TRACK TEAM IN HIGH SCHOOL. NOW I’M BEING OVERTAKEN BY AN 80-YEAR-OLD WOMAN IN A FLOURESCENT GREEN RUNNING ROOM UNITARD. “IT’S GOING TO BE A SUNNY DAY!” SHE BEAMED, GIVING ME A HEAD TURN AS SHE PASSED. YEAH. IN 2 FREAKIN’ HOURS! I THINK SHE NEEDED TO SAY SOMETHING TO EXPLAIN THE FLASHING OF HER DENTURES. WASN’T BUYIN’ THE “SUNNY DAY” CRAP. SHE WAS GLOATING. GOSH GOLLY, THOSE WHIPPERSNAPPERS DON’T HAVE MUCH IN THEM THESE DAYS, DO THEY?

I AM NOT PROUD, BUT I GATHERED ALL THE ENERGY I HAD 10 MINUTES LATER WHEN I SPOTTED A MAN AHEAD OF ME IN A WALKER, OUT FOR A PRE-DAWN STROLL. PASSED HIM W/EASE! 2 MINUTES LATER I WAS HACKING AWAY, LEANING OVER A SEAWALL RAILING. WAS THAT VOMIT OR BLOOD TRYING TO MAKE ITS WAY UP?

AND I STILL HAD TO TURN AROUND & MAKE THE RETURN LEG HOME. W/THE SUDDEN UNPLEASANT AWAKENING OF MY LEFT KNEEE, IT WAS MORE HOBBLE-WALK THAN RUN.

REWARDED MYSELF BY PICKING UP A DOZEN DONUTS FROM TIM HORTONS—FOR MY COLLEAGUES—ON THE WAY TO WORK. ONLY 4 LEFT BY THE TIME I GOT OFF THE ELEVATOR. (WLD’VE BEEN 5, BUT HAD TO GIVE THE NEW CANADA DONUT A TRY. AFTER ALL, I LOVE MY COUNTRY.)

GUESS I HAVE SOME KINKS TO WORK OUT IN MY WORKOUT.