Wednesday, March 31, 2010

TREADING LIGHTLY

LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): It’s time to really plumb the depths of something — maybe a relationship, maybe an idea, but definitely something that means quite a bit to you. It may not be fun, but it is sure to be rewarding.

Laura’s Log:
The one good thing I can say about “American Idol” this season is it allows Nadia, Tamara and me plenty of time to talk. No need to wait for commercial breaks. Really, there’s not much I can recall about last night’s show except for a lingering need to track down Anita Baker and give her a big hug. Come back, Anita! Don’t let Ab Boy slaughter your legacy!

We had plenty to talk about. Nadia felt things out about Tamara and me sharing the same workplace. Funny, but I don’t see Tamara at all during the day so we really hadn’t had a chance to compare notes. Basically, we agree that Barry Lisduff is a sweet bumbler. Tamara contends he’s sharper than he appears. “Don’t think it’d work for anyone else,” Tamara opined, “but he’s made it to partner by exceeding low expectations. One look at him—rumpled shirt with a jelly stain, eternal fountain of sweat—and people get ready to roll their eyes when he presents. Then he says something that’s slightly above mediocre and it’s like they’re wowed. A lot of those annoying local TV ads came from Barry. It’s like people think he’s actually got something now.”

Didn’t know Barry’s work well enough to know if Tamara was bang on, but I had no reason to counter. Yes, Barry had a way of making me want to defend him against ANY criticism, but Tamara’s assessment was more marvel than moan.

When I confessed that I thought Derrick was out to get me fired, Tamara let out an angry sigh that prompted Tupper to flee to the bedroom. “Ass! Capital A, capital S, capital S. Don’t worry about him. He’s an ass with coworkers, an ass with clients, an ass with random people on the elevator. Rumor was they were trying to let him go last summer but he threatened legal action and they could never agree on severance. One of these days he’s going to go too far and make it easy to can him without coughing up a huge wad of money.”

Okay, so it wasn’t just me. Tamara’s assessment sort of put me at ease until she added, “Maybe you’ll be the one to finally send him over the edge.” I’d already been in one toxic work environment—and gotten canned along with the office lout. This time around, someone else could be the fall “guy”. (“Idol” side note: Am I the only one who still gets irked that Randy Jackson cannot seem to distinguish between gender (or can, but doesn’t give a damn)? You might be Didi or Crystal or Queen Elizabeth, but to Randy you’re still “dude”, “man”, “guy”. Bad dawg!)

Nadia hinted at some tension with Bradley. Something about an upcoming weekend trip where he’s refusing to check out a vineyard. Tamara and I just looked at one another. It’s hard when you despise your friend’s boyfriend. When do you speak up? What comes off as supportive in the moment becomes an act of sabotage a day later after they kiss and make up. Neither of us waded into it. There’s something to be said for being a good listener.

Next, Tamara talked briefly about a new guy at the gym. Blaine. Blessed with biceps. “Just not sure if he’s straight or gay.” That led to Nadia’s rapid-fire questionnaire, running down every stereotypical gay mannerism and interest. The results: inconclusive. (And I still say Céline Dion doesn’t belong on the questionnaire.)

Finally, it turned to my dating life. I didn’t rush it. We’d already talked about my work so I didn’t want to dominate the night. And we still had four more singers to talk over. That said, I got right to the point. “It’s great sex. That’s all.”

Silence. Katie Stevens made me long for Aretha…big bows in the hair and all.

Nadia finally jumped back into the conversation after throwing a pillow at the TV when Randy compared Katie to Christina Aguilera. “He’s not a sex addict, is he?”

I laughed. “No. Or, if he is, I’m keeping up.”

“Latent nympho tendencies,” Nadia diagnosed. “Good on ya!”

Tamara sought clarification. “Is good sex a problem? Or are you just trying to make me feel bad?”

It was like I was talking to a couple of guys. Clearly, Randy wasn’t the only one suffering gender confusion. I was going to have to work through my Gabriel issues on my own.

KEN’S JOURNAL:
THANK GOD THE CANUCKS WON! ’K, I’M NOT 1 OF THOSE SPORTS FANS THAT THINKS GOD’S GOT A FAVE TEAM (BUT GIVEN A CHOICE B/W “IDOL”, THAT CELEBRITY DANCING SHOW & THE CANUCKS GAME, HE HAD TO BE WATCHING, RIGHT?). THE WIN IS ALSO SWEETER WHEN I GET TO SEE IT LIVE, BUT THE REAL REASON TO CHEER IS THAT IT GAVE TRAVIS & ME SOMETHING TO BOND OVER. AFTER THE HOW’S SCHOOL? WHO YA HANGIN’ WITH? AND HOW YA MAKIN’ OUT W/YOUR MOM? QUESTIONS FELL FLAT ON THE WAY TO THE GAME, IT WAS A RELIEF TO SEE THE CANUCKS COME OUT AND SCORE ON THE 1ST 2 SHOTS. TOTALLY CHANGED THE MOOD. ACTUALLY SAW TRAV SMILE. I’D FORGOTTEN HE EVEN HAD BRACES.

LOOKING BACK, IT’S DEPRESSING. HOW IS IT THAT A KID WHO’S STILL GOT BRACES IS INTO DRUGS? AS MUCH AS I WANTED TO, I DIDN’T GO NEAR THE SUBJECT. GOTTA BOND 1ST. BUT IT KILLS ME TO THINK HE MIGHT BE BEHIND SOME BUSHES @ LUNCH TODAY SMOKING CRACK. MAYBE I DON’T HAVE TIME TO BOND. MAYBE I GOTTA BE DIRECT. BUT I’M NOT HIS DAD. I DON’T HAVE THE STANDING. IT’S A FINE LINE. PUSH TOO HARD, TOO SOON & IT COULD BE 10 YRS B/F WE TALK AGAIN.

WHOSE DEALIN’ TO 13 YEAR OLDS ANYWAY? HOW FUCKED UP IS THAT? I CAN’T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT. CAN’T REALLY THINK ABOUT THE DESIGN FOR THE NEW OFFICE EITHER. IT’S TIME FOR MINDLESSNESS: DAYTIME TV. ANIMATED PICKLE, OCTOMOM ON “THE VIEW”, A DEMO ON MAKING A SNOWSHOE. IS IT TOO MUCH TO ASK FOR MINDLESSNESS TO BE MILDLY ENTERTAINING?

NO CHOICE BUT TO GO BACK TO SURFING OVERPRICED CONDO DUMPS ON MLS.

Tuesday, March 30, 2010

ROCKIN’ IT OUT

LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You’re feeling even more playful than usual, and you may be able to get your friends or colleagues to join you in taking life a little less seriously. It’s a good day to flirt with customers or neighbors.

Laura’s Log:
Dinner at Raincity was a qualified success. The food was amazing, the conversation, less so. Did I find any common ground? Turns out we’re both perversely fascinated with Lady Gaga. That’s about it. “Bad Romance” played in my head all through dessert.

He likes Ultimate Fighting. At first, I thought he was kidding. Turns out we don’t have the same sense of humor. He talked passionately for five minutes (seemed like an hour) about how terrible it will be for the city of Vancouver if we pass on some fight convention in June. Apparently an Olympic legacy gets completely obliterated by backing out of a UFC event. In what world?!

I countered by talking about my love of “American Idol” and “Project Runway”. And here’s where he thought I was joking. While I talked, he quietly chewed his beef. Didn’t look like he was enjoying it.

By the time we left the restaurant, it was clear that we were both out of sorts. What the hell did we have between us? What was the point of carrying on? And then we stopped by his place. Chris was out. The sex started in the living room, blinds wide open, an exhibitionist endeavor I’d never thought would be so exciting. Then, another round in the shower. I drove home with an exhilarated feeling of being a slut.

To recap: food, amazing; conversation, meh; sex, amazing. Two out of three ain’t bad.

KEN’S JOURNAL:
PUDDLES EVERYWHERE ON MY MORNING JOG. TOO DARK TO DODGE THEM. WASN’T A PUDDLE PLAYER AS A KID & I’M NOT MEANT TO BE ONE NOW. I DIDN’T CUT MY RUN SHORT EVEN THO MY FEET WERE COLD & WET. GOTTA BE TOUGH, MAN. DECIDED TO REWARD MYSELF W/A DOUBLE CHOCOLATE MUFFIN. (COUNTERPRODUCTIVE? WHATEVER.) I’VE NOW LOST FIVE POUNDS SINCE I STARTED—I’M THE ONLY ONE WHO’D NOTICE, BUT IT’S A START. NO SENSE GOING CRAZY; MIGHT END UP ANOREXIC. (THE 210 LB ANOREXIC, NOT EXACTLY MOVIE OF THE WEEK MATERIAL.)

I SHOWED UP @ SARA’S BRIGHT & EARLY AFTER MY JOG. 7:20 A.M. PLENTY OF TIME TO BOND W/TRAVIS. MARTY SCORED A COUPLE CANUCK TIX FOR TONITE & CAN’T GO SO I’M TAKING TRAVIS.

NOW I KNOW TEENS HAVE AN INSATIABLE NEED FOR SLEEP & WLD PREFER TO LEAVE MORNINGS TO THE DWEEBS WHO HAVE TO MAKE A LIVING, BUT I WAS EXPECTING MORE THAN A SHOULDER SHRUG WHEN I ASKED TRAVIS IF HE WAS UP FOR THE GAME. WTF?! A FEW YRS AGO HE WANTED TO BE TREVOR LINDEN. I WAS SO TEMPTED TO SNAP AND TELL HIM TO FORGET IT. NO DOUBT, RUDY’D LOVE TO GO. HAD TO REMIND MYSELF THAT THIS WAS MORE THAN A GAME. I NEEDED TO RECONNECT W/MY NEPHEW AS A START TO GET HIM OFF DRUGS. START W/A SHOULDER SHRUG & IT CAN ONLY GET BETTER FROM THERE.

GOD, LET’S HOPE.

WALKED RUDY & BELLA TO SCHOOL AGAIN THIS MORNING. I HEARD ONE OF RUDY’S FRIENDS ASK, “IS THAT YOUR DAD?” RUDY SEEMED EMBARRASSED AS HE QUICKLY SHOOK HIS HEAD. I WONDER WHEN THE LAST TIME WAS THAT JERRY STEPPED FOOT ON SCHOOL GROUNDS. AGAIN, ETHAN WAS WAITING @ HOME FOR HIS TURN TO WALK W/ME. MUST ADMIT MY EGO NEEDED THAT AFTER THE EXCHANGE W/TRAVIS. GUESS I CAN BE THE ROCK STAR UNCLE & THE CRINGE-INDUCING UNCLE @ THE SAME TIME.

AFTER SENDING THE KIDS OFF, I TOLD SARA WE WERE GOING ON A LITTLE ADVENTURE. “NOT TODAY,” SHE SAID, LOOKING ONLY SLIGHTLY LESS SOUR THAN TRAV. “I’VE GOT TO PICK UP SOME DOCUMENTS FOR JERRY, ATTEND A PARENT FUNDRAISING MTG @ SCHOOL & RUN AROUND TOWN BUYING ABOUT $300 IN USED SKI EQUIPMENT FOR RUDY’S SCHOOL SKI TRIP. WHY THE HELL ARE THEY GOING SKIING ON SCHOOL TIME ANYWAY? I SUPPOSE I COULD BE THE ONE PARENT TO REFUSE TO SIGN THE PERMISSION FORM—I HAVE TO SIGN OFF THAT I’M AWARE RUDY COULD SUFFER SERIOUS, PERMANENT INJURY OR DEATH AND PROMISE TO HOLD THE SCHOOL HARMLESS. WHY NOT HAVE 2 BOYS DESPISING ME?”

“YOU’RE WOUND UP, SARA.” SHE GLARED @ ME. JUST LIKE WHEN WE WERE KIDS. SOMEHOW SHE RESISTED A FULL-BLOWN TANTRUM. I CONTINUED: “YOU DON’T NEED TO GO TO A FUNDRAISING MTG. WRITE THEM A NICE CHECK & FORGET ABOUT AGREEING TO MAKE 5 DOZEN CUPCAKES. BUY A DOZEN @ SAFEWAY IF YOU MUST.”

“WE CAN’T SELL CUPCAKES ANYMORE. THEY’RE NOT HEALTHY. NOW WE HAVE TO TAKE FOOD HANDLING COURSES AND MAKE SUSHI AND THEN WE HAVE—”

“SARA, STOP. YOU’RE NOT GOING TO THE MTG. YOU’RE NOT GOING TO BE JERRY’S ERRAND BOY. NOT TODAY. YOU’RE COMING W/ME. NO ARGUMENTS.”

SOMEHOW I MANAGED TO GET HER IN THE CAR. SHE’S STUBBORN BUT I’M WORSE. I REFUSED TO TELL HER WHERE WE WERE GOING. WHEN WE PULLED INTO THE ROCK CLIMBING CENTER, SHE LOOKED @ ME LIKE I WAS CRAZY. “WHAT ARE WE DOING, KEN? I’M NOT CLIMBING A WALL. I DON’T LIKE HEIGHTS, YOU KNOW THAT.”

IT WAS MY TURN TO LOSE IT—JUST A BIT. “JUST SHUT UP & STOP BEING SUCH A PILL. YOU’RE CLIMBING. I’M CLIMBING. YOU NEED A RELEASE. AND YOU NEED TO BOND W/TRAVIS. THIS IS JUST A PRACTICE CLIMB. YOU CAN BE AS HOPELESS AS YOU WANT W/ME. WORK IT OUT. BUT BY THE TIME YOU TAKE TRAV HERE, YOU’RE GONNA ROCK THE ROCK WALL.”

SHE SMILED. HADN’T SEEN THAT IN AGES.

MAYBE RUDY’S NOT THE ONLY ONE WHO THINKS I’M A ROCK STAR.

Monday, March 29, 2010

GOING UNDER?

LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Your love life is sparkling today — even if it feels old or dull. You just need to see things — or people — in a new way, and that’s your specialty. It’s a great time to be the object of your affections.

Laura’s Log:
It’s hard to stay on board when it feels like the ship is sinking. Okay, maybe it’s not sinking. But my brain says it’s sinking. Perception is reality. Really, I’ve got a sinking feeling that there is nothing substantial keeping my relationship with Gabriel afloat. One final nautical reference: How do I turn the tide after getting that idea in my head?

Did it really all start with “Star Trek”? I sent Gabriel home last night before sex. Crazy, perhaps. Why give up the best part? But I want to see if we’ve got something more than just sex.

It might help if I shared my thoughts with Gabriel. Maybe we could figure out together what other things bind us. But last time I shared a concern with Gabriel—his female roommate—he was ready to end things. It just proves that there isn’t enough established yet to ground our relationship. He can get second thoughts when I bring up the roommate; I start questioning things when he reveals his inner sci-fi geek.

For tonight, we’re going for dinner. Can’t believe I’ve never been to Raincity Grill. I’m hoping I can pin down some common interests without coming across as an interviewer. I don’t even know what to ask. Only know what not to ask: favorite color, favorite ice cream flavor, reason for having a female roommate.

KEN’S JOURNAL:
HAD A POWER OUTAGE IN MY BLDG SO I OVERSLEPT & MISSED THE OPP TO WALK MY NIECE & NEPHEWS TO SCHOOL AGAIN. MADE UP FOR IT BY “WALKING” THEM HOME. WHY IS IT THAT KIDS WALK TO SCHOOL BUT SKIP HOME? (NOT A REAL QUESTION, IS IT?)

I SHOWED UP @ SARA’S W/LUNCH FROM TERRA BAKERY. FIGURED SHE COULD USE A TREAT. SHE WAS TIGHT-LIPPED ABOUT THE WEEKEND & JERRY—A CLEAR SIGN NOTHING HAD BEEN DISCUSSED. I SWITCHED TO ASKING ABOUT THE APPTMENT W/THE SCH COUNSELOR. “SHE SAYS WE’VE GOT TO PULL TRAVIS AWAY FROM HIS FRIENDS. HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO DO THAT?” I NOTED SHE SAID I NOT WE. YEP, JERRY’S NOT IN ON IT.

“WHO ARE HIS FRIENDS?” I ASKED.

“THAT’S PROBLEM NUMBER 1. I DON’T EVEN KNOW THAT. HE SHARES NOTHING W/ME ANYMORE. AND WHAT DO I DO? BAN HIM FROM ALL SOCIAL INTERACTION? I JUST GOT THE BATHRM BACK AFTER HIS OBSESSIVE MASTURBATION PHASE.”

“OVERUSED BATHRM OR DRUG-ABUSED SON. ISN’T THE CHOICE OBVIOUS?”

“YEAH, I KNOW. BUT IT’S NOT LIKE IT’S AN ACTUAL CHOICE B/W THE 2.”

“WANT ME TO BUY HIM SOME PLAYBOYS? PENTHOUSE? SOMETHING RAUNCHIER?”

“I’LL LET YOU KNOW IF IT COMES TO THAT. THANKS.”

TRUTH IS, I DON’T KNOW ANY MORE THAN SHE DOES HOW TO GET TRAV BACK. CRACK, XTASY, WHATEVER ELSE @ 13?! SHOULD HE BE GROUNDED & GIVEN A WEEKLY WEED ALLOWANCE AS A COMPROMISE? PARENTING IS STRESSING ME OUT. AND I’M JUST THE UNCLE.

Sunday, March 28, 2010

HOLD THAT THOUGHT!

LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): It’s a good time for you to meditate or otherwise get in touch with all your inner voices. You are basically a democracy, and right now you need to take a pretty important vote. Take all the time you need!

Laura’s Log:
I’ve got a job (for now) and a boyfriend (for now). I know I should just be thankful and not do anything to mess up a good thing. But as Tupper snored in the middle of the night and Gabriel softly blew air out his nose, I did that terribly annoying thing. I started thinking.

I tried to quash it, but that’s always hard to do when I’m groggy. How are the thoughts so clear but the button to disable the process so hard to find? Basically, here’s what it came down to: What do I have in common with Gabriel? Can a relationship exist (long-term) based solely on physical and sexual attraction?

He’s very nice. Yep, great. But we don’t do anything except eat and have sex. Both are important, no doubt. It’s not enough though. (I can’t believe I’m saying that!) Maybe we can still find other ways to connect. It hasn’t even been a month yet. Maybe I’m just annoyed that I had to sit through the movie he picked to rent last night: “Star Trek”. That’ll give any woman doubts!

Must give it more time. Right?

KEN’S JOURNAL:
WELL, I FOUND A CONDO I LIKE. SORT OF. THAT’S PROGRESS. MARTY IS ITCHING FOR ME TO MAKE AN OFFER. I THINK I’M HIS CLIENT FROM HELL. 3 OPEN HOUSES, 5 INDIVIDUAL SHOWINGS YESTERDAY. MARTY INFORMED ME THAT I’VE SEEN 37 PLACES SO FAR. NEEDLE IN A HAYSTACK, I THOUGHT. (DIDN’T DARE SAY IT ALOUD. MARTY MIGHT HAVE DRIVEN THE CAR INTO A POLE. ON PURPOSE.)

“WHY HASN’T IT SOLD?” I ASKED OF THE FAINT RAY OF HOPE ON MAIN. “IT’S BEEN ON THE MARKET FOR 3 WEEKS.” (NOT MUCH BY THE SOUNDS OF IT, BUT AN ETERNITY IN THE VANCOUVER MARKET.)

“I DON’T KNOW,” MARTY SNAPPED. “JUST MAKE A FUCKIN’ OFFER!”

“I’LL THINK ABOUT IT” WAS THE BEST I COULD GIVE HIM. (I WAITED UNTIL WE WERE PARKED.)

TRUTH IS, I’M THINKING MORE ABOUT SARA. WHEN IS SHE GOING TO TELL JERRY THINGS AREN’T WORKING WITH HIM FLYING OFF EVERY WEEK WHILE SHE TRIES TO MANAGE THE KIDS? I’VE ALWAYS WANTED TO ASK WHY THE HELL THEY HAD 4 KIDS WHEN I NEVER GOT THE IMPRESSION JERRY EVEN WANTED 1. I’M A TOTALLY NON-VIOLENT GUY BUT SOMETHING ABOUT JERRY JUST MAKES ME WANT TO POUND THE SHIT OUT OF HIM. MY SISTER DESERVES BETTER. TOO BAD SHE DOESN’T REALIZE IT.

LIKE ALWAYS, I’LL HAVE TO WAIT ’TIL HE BOARDS ANOTHER PLANE TOMORROW MORNING & THEN GIVE SARA A CALL. SEE HOW TO PICK UP THE PIECES AFTER ANOTHER WEEKEND OF DENIAL.

Saturday, March 27, 2010

TAKING A STEP BACK

LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You feel better able to handle your people today — in fact, you may decide that the best thing for you to do is to let them wander off on their own while you take care of the stuff that’s better done alone.

Laura’s Log:
First day on the job went without a hitch. Well, almost. I spent the morning filing and taking notes on Internet ads for bakeries (background research for a new account). Barry Lisduff called me into his office after a meeting about a new ad campaign for an adult contemporary radio station and I commented, “Just tell me they’re not going to shoot another commercial with old Phil Collins songs.”

Barry’s mouth dropped. Oops. Obviously that was the plan. “What’s wrong with Phil Collins?”

“Nothing, I guess. But all the people who still want to hear ‘Sussudio’ are already listening to the station. To all the other people watching the commercial, it comes off as an oldies station.”

“What would you suggest?” He wasn’t being defensive. In fact, he smiled and seemed genuinely interested.

“Focus on the DJs.”

“But they want to highlight the music.”

“With ‘Sussudio’?! Or something by Michael Bolton?! Or old Mariah Carey? People don’t need radio for that. There’s YouTube, iTunes, Sirius Radio. Songs on demand. No DJs. Or very little. It’s the DJs make radio different. Personally, I don’t like all the talk, but others do.”

Barry’s smile broadened. He nodded. He wanted more. “So what do we shoot?”

“Not the hokey stuff. You know, like DJs mugging with a pet monkey against a white background. That’s been done. Just film bits of the morning show. Two DJs laughing it up, raising a coffee mug, informally talking to each other and us looking on. Nothing cute. Just real. Fun.”

“Something to think about,” he said. That was the cue. Thank you very much. We’ll call you. (And, by that, we mean we won’t.) Still, I sensed he liked the fact I gave it a shot, thinking on my feet. A good start.

Walking out of his office, I nearly collided with Derrick. Hello, hitch.

“What the fuck are you doin’ here?” he asked. He made a face like I was a massive pile of feces. (Sorry. Really no other way to describe it.)

I offered an undaunted grin and announced, “I work here. I’m the new assistant.”

More horrid reaction. Like that massive pile of feces was lunch. “How the fuck did that happen? What moron hired you?”

“Talk to Barry,” I said as I deked him and headed back to my desk.

“Count on it.”

I tried not to worry, but I had a three-month probationary period. Something told me Derrick wouldn’t let up until I was shown the door. Or maybe a fourth floor window.

KEN’S JOURNAL:

“I’M COMIN’ OVER.”

“NO, KEN. LEAVE IT.”

“YOU TALK TO JERRY? ABOUT THE POT?”

“YES.” IT WAS TOO QUICK & TOO QUIET. MY SISTER WAS A HORRIBLE LIAR.

“BULLSHIT. I’M COMIN’ OVER, SARA.”

“NO!” SHE SOUNDED MORE DESPERATE THAN EMPHATIC. AND IT WORRIED ME.

“YOU GONNA TALK TO HIM? I MEAN, TODAY?”

“YES.” QUICK & QUIET.

SURE, I’VE GOT LOTS OF MY OWN SHIT TO DEAL W/TODAY. MORE BUTT-UGLY, OVERPRICED CONDOS TO SEE. A MTG W/CARL(A) & MARTY OVER THE RENOS. I HAD TO LET SARA BE. FOR NOW.

Friday, March 26, 2010

DINNER THEATRE

LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You can skip over at least some of the details today — they aren’t nearly as important as the big picture. It’s a good time for you to make sure that you’re focusing on the right goals.

Laura’s Log:
Bought a new outfit at Hill’s of Kerrisdale right after the interview. Too pricey, but so cute. What else was I supposed to do with all that nervous energy? Had a big celebratory dinner at Grub with Marella, Tamara, Nadia and Bradley and Gabriel. It was more nerve-racking than the actual interview! Gabriel meets everyone. Marella attempts to be cordial to Tamara and Nadia. They, in turn, attempt to ignore her—not an easy undertaking.

Marella didn’t seem phased by the cold shoulder. She’s always more focused on the men. Bradley got a mild grilling—the why-the-hell-are-you-with-Nadia angle, not so subtle—but zoomed in on Gabriel for most of the evening. “Hot!” she whispered to me when he got up to say hello to a friend at another table. Nice to have her approval. And then: “How’d you ever get him?”

Sisterly love is a prickly thing.

And then there’s Bradley. Just a prick. At a table of women, he latched onto Gabriel and tried to butch up the conversation, opening with a crude Tiger Woods joke, then making a lewd comment about the waitress (which Nadia pretended not to hear; I noticed her face redden before she took cover behind the menu) and going into a five-minute diatribe about how the no head shots rule was going to make the NHL a sissy league.

Poor Gabriel. He actually welcomed Marella butting in to question him about whether he’d ever been engaged (“Once”) and why that had fallen through. (Bless Gabriel for his raw, honest response: “She didn’t think I was good enough.”)

As everyone dispersed after dinner, Gabriel and I were left standing on the street corner. I looked at him. He crossed his eyes and pantomimed being choked. Yep, it had been a brutal Meet the Piranhas session. I said, “I owe you—”

“Big time!” he chimed in.

“What then? Dinner with Chris?”

“Heck, no. You’re going to meet Hal and Tobias.” There was something ominous about the way he said it. Friends as a weapon. How was it that we even have that ilk in our social circles?

Back at my place, we had I Got a Job sex. Definitely good. But on a time clock. A solid night’s sleep is essential before the first day.

Of course, we might as well have shagged all night. Would have been much more fun than my tossing and turning. I even got up and moved to the sofa at 3 a.m. as Gabriel let out a huge sigh/groan, peeved by my restlessness. (“No way!” he claimed come morning. “I slept right through.” Sweet Gabriel.)

Off to a new job. A little tired, but I can make it through the first day on sheer adrenaline. Must. Not. Bogart. The. Coffee.


KEN’S JOURNAL:
GOT TO WALK BELLA & RUDY TO SCHOOL THIS MORNING. A FIRST! WLD’VE GIVEN TRAVIS A LIFT TO SCHOOL TOO, BUT NO WAY HE WANTED TO BE SEEN W/UNCLE KEN. HE DIDN’T SAY IT; JUST GAVE THE LOOK: TEEN SCOWL. OUCH. AT LEAST BELLA & RUDY WERE EXCITED. EACH OF THEM SHOWED ME THEIR CLASSROOMS & INTRODUCED ME TO THEIR TEACHERS. BELLA WENT ON TO GIVE ME A FULL SCHOOL TOUR. THE HIGHLIGHT WAS “THIS IS THE WATER FOUNTAIN WHERE MY BEST FRIEND HONEY THREW UP.” (SELF-FULFILLING PROPHECY: WHEN YOU HAVE STUPID PARENTS WHO NAME YOU “HONEY”, NAUSEA’S GONNA COME OFTEN.)

BEAUTIFUL MORNING FOR A WALK. WHEN I GOT BACK TO SARA’S, ETHAN WAS STILL THERE. HE’D THROWN A FIT OVER NOT GETTING TO GO TO PRESCHOOL W/UNCLE KEN. HE BOUNDED OFF THE SOFA AS SOON AS I RETURNED. YOU GOTTA FEEL GOOD WHEN YOU CAN LURE A KID AWAY FROM THE 268TH VIEWING OF “THE LITTLE MERMAID” W/O SAYING A WORD.

BACK @ SARA’S, I WAS SURPRISED WE WEREN’T HANGING OUT FOR COFFEE. “GOD, NO!” SHE EXCLAIMED, KEYS IN HAND AS I WALKED UP THE DRIVEWAY. “I NEED TO GET OUT OF THE HOUSE ANY CHANCE I GET.”

WE DROVE TO KITS. “LOOK @ ALL THE CIVILIZED PEOPLE,” SHE OBSERVED AS WE DROVE DOWN 4TH. “PEOPLE W/O KIDS. REMIND ME WHAT IT’S LIKE.”

I GOT AN EARFUL B/F WE EVEN ORDERED @ CAFÉ ZEN. “I CAN’T GET ETHAN TO STOP WATCHING ‘THE LITTLE MERMAID’,” SHE FRETTED.

I FAILED TO SEE THE PROBLEM. SOMETIMES MOMMIES FAIL TO KNOW WHAT A REAL PROBLEM IS. (LIKE GETTING FIRED AFTER GETTING DRUNK @ WORK.) BUT I PLAYED ALONG. “IT’S A GOOD MOVIE. THAT CRAB IS COOL.”

SHE SIGHED. “IT’S NOT THE CRAB HE LIKES. IT’S PRINCESS ARIEL.” I LOOKED UP FROM THE MENU. NO, NOT—. SHE READ MY MIND. “IT’S NOT A CRUSH THING. LAST WEEK, HE SAID, ‘WHEN I GROW UP, I WANNA BE A PRINCESS, TOO.’”

“OH. SO WHAT DID JERRY SAY?”

SHE LAUGHED. NOT A HA-HA LAUGH; MORE LIKE AN IRKED, EXASPERATED CACKLE. “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! JERRY’S IN DENIAL THAT TRAVIS SMOKES POT. HE CAN’T EVEN GO THERE ABOUT GENDER IDENTITY.” THEN SHE IMPERSONATED JERRY: “‘MAKE HIM PLAY W/THE DUMP TRUCK. STOP LETTING HIM PLAY DOLLS W/BELLA.’ AS IF I CAN CONTROL THAT. I SET THE DAMN TRUCK IN FRONT OF HIM & HE JUST PRETENDS IT’S BARBIE’S LIMO. TRIED TO DRAW FLOWERS ON IT W/CRAYON.”

YEAH, I’D WONDERED ABOUT ETHAN. SIGNS WERE EVERYWHERE. ON THE WAY TO PRESCHOOL, HE TALKED NONSTOP ABOUT WHEN BUTTERFLIES WLD COME BACK, ADDING, “I’M GONNA BE A BUTTERFLY FOR HALLOWEEN.” JERRY’LL TRY TO TALK HIM INTO SPONGEBOB AGAIN. MONTHS TO COME UP W/A PLAN TO SELL IT. I WAS BETTIN’ ON THE BUTTERFLY. HOW EARLY IS GAY IDENTITY ESTAB’D? ETHAN IS WHO HE IS. I SAY LET ’IM BE.

BUT THERE WAS A BIGGER ISSUE. AFTER THE WAITRESS TOOK OUR ORDER, I PIPED UP. “TRAVIS IS SMOKING POT?”

“EVERY DAY. IT’S LIKE A MARIJUANA CLOUD IS SWIRLING AROUND HIM WHEN HE WALKS IN THE DOOR. HE’S GOT THESE NEW FRIENDS & THEY’RE ALWAYS WASTE CASES. JERRY JUST PUTS HIS HEAD IN THE SAND. I HAVE AN APPOINTMENT W/THE SCHOOL COUNSELOR THIS AFTERNOON.”

THEN SHE BROKE DOWN. A WAITRESS BROUGHT MORE NAPKINS AND, IN 5 MIN, SARA’D SOBBED OR BLOWN THRU THE WHOLE STACK. WHEN SHE PULLED HERSELF TOGETHER, SHE SAID, “I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO. HE’S 13. HE’S FAILING HALF HIS CLASSES. AND LAST YR HE GOT THE MATH AWARD. OUR FUTURE ENGINEER. NOW ALL I THINK ABOUT IS, HOW’S HE EVER GOING TO MAKE IT TO 12TH GRADE?”

IT WAS A JOYLESS MEAL. THE BLUEBERRY BUCKWHEAT PANCAKES OFFERED NO COMFORT. HER EGGS BENNY SAT IGNORED. WE TALKED—WELL, I MOSTLY LISTENED—& FILLED OURSELVES W/BOTTOMLESS CUPS OF COFFEE.

I WASN’T SO WORRIED ABOUT ETHAN. TRAVIS, YEAH, A BIG WORRY. BUT, MORE THAN ANYTHING, I WAS CONCERNED ABOUT MY SISTER. SHAKY, EMOTIONAL, TOTALLY FRIED. SHE’D ALWAYS BEEN STRONGER THAN ME. AND NOW SHE WAS CRUMBLING. NO, SHE WAS BEYOND THAT. I TOOK HER HOME & MADE HER GET INTO BED. “I’LL CLEAN THE HOUSE,” I SAID WHEN SHE PROTESTED & LISTED EVERYTHING THAT HAD TO BE DONE B/F JERRY’S RETURN.

“I CAN’T SLEEP,” SHE SAID. “NOT AFTER ALL THAT COFFEE.”

I TUCKED HER IN AS SHE GAVE UP THE FIGHT. 5 MIN LATER, SHE WAS SNORING SOMETHING FIERCE.

I WAS THE BUG-EYED ONE.

Thursday, March 25, 2010

POP THE CORK!

LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Let your creative energy lead the way today — you’ve got fewer limits than you think! See what’s possible by trying, rather than worrying, and you may find yourself in a brand new position by tomorrow.

Laura’s Log:

How much time should you put into preparing for a job interview? I’m guessing it’s somewhere between less than a week and, well, more than thirty seconds while waiting for the light to change on the corner of Broadway and Cambie. Guess which end of the spectrum I was on.

Yeah, I was sitting at home with Tupper curled up on my lap watching “The View”, empathizing with poor Dame Edna with nothing to say as the others ranted on American healthcare and wondering how many people didn’t realize it wasn’t Barbara Walters, when my cell rang.

“What are you doing right now?”

“Nothing.” Even with Tamara, I wasn’t about to confess to watching “The View”.

“Well, get over here. One of the partners says he’ll interview you for the assistant position. But you gotta get here in twenty minutes. He’s in meetings the rest of the day.”

With traffic, I was fifteen minutes away. Thankfully, I’d showered after my morning jog, but that left me with five minutes to tame my hair and pick out the “professional” outfit least in need of ironing. Forget the makeup. I rushed to the car, muttering hateful thoughts about Tamara. Maybe she still didn’t want me work at the firm after all.

A friendly receptionist escorted me right into Barry Lisduff’s office. “He’ll be with you in just a moment.” I stood in front of a framed photograph of an impossibly green pastoral setting, using the reflection in the glass as an aid for a collar adjustment and a final battle with a defiant tuft just above my left ear.

“Have you been?”

I turned and there stood a smiling, portly, balding man in his late thirties. His forehead glistened from the overhead lighting. Florescent? It didn’t seem fitting for a trendy advertising firm. But then neither did the image of Barry Lisduff. I needn’t have worried about ironing. He appeared to have been sleeping in his striped Hilfiger for at least the last four days.

“Been where?” I asked as I forced a congenial look. Never did tame the tuft.

“Ireland. Snapped that a half hour outside of Cork. Lovely place.”

“It looks amazing.” I cringed. Amazing. This was an ad firm. Was that the best I could come up with? Hadn’t I made fun of Ellen DeGeneres’ critiques on “Idol” for overusing the imprecise word as praise? Perhaps watching TV is indeed bad for you. (Horrid thought, no?)

After official introductions, we assumed our seats and Barry began his stream of consciousness interview. He’d say a word and ask for my first thought. Shoelaces: the bane of preschoolers and joggers alike. Rain: Vancouver plays the yang to Southern California’s yin. Justin Bieber: a live version of Alvin the Chipmunk. Bowling: who still does that? those shoes?! Sledge hockey: grit, guts, no glory for Canada. He shot out two dozen terms. I got the point. He was trying to determine if I could think on my feet and if I was up on current Pop Culture. It was an adrenaline rush of an interview, sort of like Password for Hire. I appreciated the quick succession of terms being thrown at me; it prevented me from beating myself up for a poor response. (I really don’t know how “hunky” slipped out when he said David Hasselhoff. Had I meant to say “hairy”?)

He paused, glanced at my résumé on his desk, took a sip from his coffee mug. In my head, I tried to formulate a response for “Why do you want to get into advertising?” He was bound to ask.

Barry Lisduff stared quizzically at me. Was my renegade patch of hair bothering him? I continued to smile under the pressure. Then he glanced at his watch, looked back at me and said, “Job’s yours. Can you start tomorrow?”

I bounced up off my chair. Thank God for the massive desk in between us or I would have hugged him. After two rounds of my saying, “Really?!” and him nodding, I accepted.

Tamara was in a meeting so I couldn’t immediately share the news with her. Driving home, it all seemed too good to be true. How did I pull that off? What about other candidates? What about my lack of training? What about what others in the firm were looking for?

What the hell was I getting myself into?


KEN’S JOURNAL:
GOT THE CALL FROM DENTON @ 5:30 LAST NITE, JUST AS I WAS HEADING OUT FOR MY WEEKLY RUN W/THE LADIES.

“THEY BLINKED.”

“WHAT?”

“I GOT YOU 5 WEEKS OF VACATION TIME AND 3 MONTHS’ SEVERANCE. CONSIDERING YOU WERE DRUNK ON THE JOB, THAT’S A COUP.”

“MAN, THAT’S AMAZING!” I SAID. “I OWE YOU, MAN.”

“DAMN RIGHT. YOU’RE TAKING ME TO LA TERRAZZA FOR DINNER NEXT WEEK. AND I’M DRINKING. YOU, I MIGHT ADVISE AGAINST IT.”

WHAT A LOAD OFF. I WAS SO PSYCHED, I SWEAR IT AFFECTED MY RUN. I KEPT UP W/THE MIDDLE PACK, WOMEN IN THEIR FORTIES (& A 23 YR OLD COMING OFF KNEE SURGERY). TOTALLY ROCKED IT!

THE SEVERANCE, THE RUN, THE CANUCKS’ WIN,…I’VE GOT A WHOLE NEW MINDSET TODAY. TWEAKED OUR BUSINESS PLAN, READ SOME INTERNET ARTICLES ON BEING A WINNING (aka WEALTHY) REAL ESTATE AGENT & THEN DROVE OVER TO LOOK @ OUR FUTURE REAL ESTATE OFFICE B/F CRUISING THRU THE DUNBAR NEIGHBOURHOOD & THE POSH POCKETS CLOSER TO UBC. SO MANY GORGEOUS HOMES, SO MUCH $$ TO BE HAD. MAN, I CAN DO THIS. MARTY & I CAN EFFIN’ DO THIS.

RE/MAX, WATCH YOUR BACK!

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

OUT WITH THE OLD

LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): This is not the time to add any work to your list. If your boss, mate or teammates try to get you to start on something new, do whatever it takes to let them know how crazy you feel already!

Laura’s Log:
I’m being punished by my temp agency. This is the third day in a row when I haven’t had work. No doubt it’s because of my unfortunate reaction to caffeine at the funeral home. Did Theodore overreact and give the agency an earful? Probably. I guess he’s not used to that much life in his line of work. But I don’t mean to blame him. I am Laura and I am a coffee junkie. Is it a problem? Only when I start on my third pot of coffee. It would be a bit severe to say I need to quit cold turkey; it’s all about knowing when to say when.

Mom doesn’t seem the least bit surprised that I haven’t gotten any work this week. “It’s your own fault. You’ve always been reckless with your coffee.” Uh, thanks for that. Do supportive mothers only appear in Hallmark movies of the week? Still, Mom did see me in my most caffeinated state so it’s impossible for me to minimize the incident. I just hate it when she has real evidence to support her attempts to crush my self-esteem.

“I’ve decided to redo your bedroom. Turn it into a sewing/scrapbooking room. How ’bout you join me at Home Depot and the fabric store? Help me pick out material for the new curtains.”

Why my room? What about Estelle’s? Or Marella’s? Did Lucy know Mom was stripping away all memories of our room? Why did I care? And when did Mom get interested in scrapbooking?

I knew that if I joined her on this shopping expedition, I’d be on the hook for the fifty-three other trips she’d make before making the final decisions on the redecorating venture. A mother-daughter tag team. No thanks.

“Sorry, Mom. I’ve got an interview today,” I fibbed.

“Oh, that’s wonderful, dear! Is it with that dentist I told you about? I think you’d have a real knack for getting people to floss. Could you have a talk with your father about that? Although I do think you are selling yourself short. Why don’t you give that handsome mayor of ours a call? I think you’d be able to make a real difference at city hall. Of course, he’d want you to ride your bike to work. Your father will have to give that old bike of yours a servicing. I hate the thought of you out on the busy streets and having a tire fall off. You know how the drivers—”

“Sorry, Mom. Gotta go.” She so seldom ever gave me an option other than the abrupt hang up. And to think I was the one who had problems handling her caffeine.

KEN’S JOURNAL:

5 WEEKS’ VACATION TIME. THAT’S WHAT THEY OWE ME. NO WONDER I’M FRIED. THE BOSS NEVER LET ME TAKE MORE THAN 2 DAYS AT A TIME. ALWAYS MORE WORK. ALWAYS A PROJECT THAT WAS URGENT. AND I ALWAYS SUCKED IT UP FOR THE TEAM. NOW THEY THINK THEY DON’T OWE ME COMPENSATION FOR THAT?! CHRIST! THANK GOD MY FRIEND DENTON IS A LAWYER & IS TAKING UP MY CAUSE FOR FREE. (THAT’S ASSUMING A FORMAL LETTER & A BALLS-TO-THE-WALL PHONE CALL ARE ENUF TO MAKE THEM COUGH UP WHAT’S OWED.) I DON’T NEED THIS SHIT RIGHT NOW.

I’VE BEEN UP SINCE 5 A.M., FREAKIN’ OVER MY (ALMOST) IMMINENT HOMELESSNESS. SURFED CONDOS ON MLS UNTIL MY EYES GLAZED OVER. ACTUALLY, I KEPT GOING. CAN’T SAY I RECALL A THING ABOUT THE LAST 90 PLACES I SUPPOSEDLY LOOKED AT. GOT A LIST OF 14 PLACES I’D AT LEAST LOOK AT. NOW MARTY’S GOT TO SET UP THE VIEWINGS.

IT WORRIES ME THAT I LOSE INTEREST IN BROWSING CONDO LISTINGS. HERE I AM HEADING INTO THE MARKET AS AN AGENT. MY LIFE WILL BE RULED BY MLS. IT SOUNDS WEIRD BUT IT’S NEVER AS FUN SHOPPING W/MY OWN $$. IN FACT, IT’S PAINFUL. SPENDING OTHER PEOPLE’S MONEY? ON MULTIMILLION DOLLAR HOUSES ON THE WEST SIDE? NOW THAT EXCITES ME.

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

SOMETIMES YOU CAN SKIP THE SHAVE

LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Lie low and let others take the heat today — even if you can’t tell when or where the heat is coming! You just need to make sure that you’ve got your own bases covered, as things shouldn’t take long.

Laura’s Log:
Nadia came over right after work. Things have been spotty in us hanging out lately, but all I had to say was “He dumped me” and she moved heaven and earth—well, she canceled a rendezvous at Subway with Bradley—to console me. Tamara was on business in Kelowna, but she Skyped in.

“Guys having female roommates is just wrong,” Nadia concluded. “He’s in denial. If he can’t see the problem with that, how’s he able to have any perspective on anything in life? Where’d you say he works?”

“Best Buy.”

“Exactly!”

Tamara piped in. “He knows there’s a problem with having a ‘platonic’ woman as a roommate. He’s just looking for someone to walk all over.”

Nadia continued her Gabriel-bashing cheerleading. “Exactly! I’m proud of you Laura. You didn’t cave this time. Hang in there! You’ll find a guy with balls.”

Despite their efforts, I wasn’t feeling any better. “What’s so great about a guy’s balls? They’re ugly, don’t you think? Like elbows. Or knees. Only more hair.”

“You get them to manscape,” Nadia advised. “I make it part of foreplay with Bradley. I shave his balls and he thinks it’s kinky. Snaps the pecker ready for service.”

Too much information. As it was, Bradley repulsed me. I didn’t need to conjure up the image of Bradley’s nicked-up scrotum. At least Nadia was right about my not caving. I’d put my foot down about the icky rooming situation and managed to boot myself at the same time.

Is it worth it to take a stand if it means being alone again? How many more chances did I have with men? Would I ever have another shot at sex that good again?

Nadia stuck around so we could make fun of the glitter costumes and bad dancing on “Dancing with the Stars”. She drooled over Jake. Meh.

The buzzer rang five minutes after she left. I buzzed her back in and looked around for whatever item she’d forgotten. Couldn’t spot it. She tapped on the door and I opened it to find Gabriel. Actually, Gabriel and a dozen roses. “I miss you,” he said. “And I’m sorry.”

We hugged, we kissed and, yes, I caved. Never got around to talking about Chris. Or genital grooming. It just felt good to be with him again.


KEN’S JOURNAL:

ONLY HAD TO SPEND 3 ½ HRS @ CITY HALL YESTERDAY. GOT 4 OUT OF 5 PERMITS. THE 5TH IS GOING TO TAKE MORE WORK. STILL, IT WAS A SUCCESSFUL MISSION. “YOU ROCK, MAN!” MARTY BEAMED. NICE TO HEAR HIM BEING UP AGAIN. I KNOW I’D BEEN GRATING ON HIM LATELY.

SPENT A COUPLE OF HRS THIS MORNING DOING SOME GROUNDWORK ON THE FINAL PERMIT, BUT IT’S BEEN A LOW KEY DAY FOR THE MOST PART. GOTTA SAY I LIKE IT. HAVING A COFFEE @ URBAN FARE @ 11 A.M. ON A WEEKDAY? AWESOME! WHO ARE ALL THESE OTHER PEOPLE? HOW DO THEY AFFORD THEIR CONDOS & WORK SUCH LAX HRS? AM I THE ONLY ONE IN YALETOWN W/O AN EFFIN’ DOG?

EVEN HIT THE GYM THIS AFTERNOON. NOT THE PIDDLY CONDO GYM. A REAL GYM. FITNESS WORLD. OR, AS IT’S NOW KNOWN, STEVE NASH SPORTS CLUB AND FITNESS WORLD. (OTHER THAN THE BIGGER SIGN, I CAN’T SEE A DIFFERENCE.) PUMPED WEIGHTS FOR ALMOST 30 MIN. (NO NEED TO STRAIN A MUSCLE THE 1ST TIME BACK.) SPENT ANOTHER 30 MIN ON THE TREADMILL. THE WOMAN BESIDE ME MUST’VE BEEN GOING TWICE MY SPEED. SHE HAD ARMS & LEGS THAT LOOKED LIKE THEY’D SNAP IN 2 IN A STRONG WIND. THAT’S ONE THING I DON’T HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT.

ANOTHER COFFEE ON THE WAY HOME. THIS SELF-EMPLOYMENT THING’S FEELIN’ FINE. TOMORROW I’LL HAVE TO BEGIN BATTLE OVER MY SEVERANCE FROM WORK. THEY’RE TRYING TO SCREW ME OVER MY UNUSED VACATION TIME. EFF THAT.

AH, BUT FOR NOW, I NEED TO ENJOY THE MOMENT. I COULD ALMOST SIT BACK & WATCH “OPRAH”. ALMOST.

Monday, March 22, 2010

THE DEMOLITION PROJECT

LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): There’s quite a bit going on today — and you love it! Your good energy is just right for juggling several balls at once and impressing your audience quite a bit. You may acquire a new patron.

Laura’s Log:

“I’ve got a problem with you having a female roommate.” And with that I’d turned a page. The All New Laura. No more letting an issue fester.

Gabriel had taken the water taxi over to Granville Island and I’d walked down to meet him as the souped up three-men-in-a-tub vessel docked. It was one of those quaint, antiquated scenes you’d expect to see in a remote fishing village, not smack in the middle of the city. Just one of the many reasons I loved living in Vancouver. We hugged but there was a distance between us, tensions lingering from my abrupt retreat home last night. We held hands for a few paces as we headed toward the market but our hands released as we dodged a clueless family preoccupied by the novelty of scavenger sea gulls. (Where were these people from? The concrete jungle that is Moose Jaw?) Neither of us bothered to reestablish the hand holding gesture. After ordering a couple of bland coffees, we sat a table by a window and stared out at the small boats going by. The accompanying uncomfortable silence provoked me to lay the issue on the table.

Gabriel laughed in response. One of those short bursts that projected annoyance—laughter as a weapon. In disgust, he said, “So here we go again.” I gave him a quizzical look which he correctly read as WTF?! I’ve never talked about your roommate before. He elaborated: “It always comes up. I thought you were different. Why are women so insecure?”

Insecure?! Ooh, not the way to begin a heartfelt discussion. I shifted to get a front-on view of the water. I didn’t feel like looking directly at Gabriel. In fact, I blocked him out. Dragon boating season must be starting. There was a team on the water. Always thought about joining a group. Maybe this was the year.

He reached for my hand but I brushed him away, deciding to run my hand through my hair. Maybe the breeze outside had messed it up a bit. He sighed loudly and decided to retreat from his aggressive response. “She’s a good friend. We go back six, seven years. We’re just friends. Always have been. Never anything more. Not even an isolated drunken night or anything like that. Friends. That’s it.”

“It’s just awkward. Any roommate is a little weird. I’m thirty-two, not twenty-two. It feels like I’m visiting you in a dorm. The fact Chris is a woman just makes it weirder.”

As I glanced at him, he folded his arms, bit his lower lip and projected his irritation by glaring at the very loud Mandarin-speaking women at the table beside us. It was a line in the sand moment. Did I really want a female roommate to become a make-or-break issue? I braced as he opened his mouth to speak. “I’m not a lawyer or a doctor. I sell electronics. Having a roommate helps me live a little. I can do things because my entire paycheck isn’t swallowed up as rent money. And it’s nice that I have a roommate I get along with. She’s clean, she’s pleasant, she’s a friend. Sorry, but that’s where I’m at.”

“Well,—”

He got up. “No, no. Don’t say a thing. I’m really tired of this topic always coming up. I don’t feel like defending myself again. I’m sorry, but this just isn’t going to work out.” He looked at me one more time. What did he see? Shock? “Sorry.” He walked away and I sat there in a stupor. What had just happened? That wasn’t much of a discussion, was it?

The All New Laura was off to a shitty start. Perhaps this was indeed the year for dragon boating. It sure looked like I had the time.

KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):

THANK GOD I’VE GOT THE HASSLE OF DEALING W/THE CITY TODAY. DON’T THINK I’D HANDLE MY 1ST DAY OF UNEMPLOYMENT SO WELL SITTING @ HOME EATING A PACKAGE OF STALE WHEAT THINS & SURFING HOROSCOPE SITES ONLINE.

HAD A GREAT MTG W/CARLA LAST NITE. WENT AHEAD & HIRED HER FOR THE OFFICE RENOS. SHE’S A BIT ODD. SOME WEIRD SHIT ABOUT “SOMETIMES I’M CARLA, SOMETIMES I’M CARL” BUT WHATEVER. I’LL CALL HER (HIM?) WHATEVER THAT FREAKIN’ SYMBOL WAS THAT PRINCE WENT W/IN THE EARLY ‘90s IF SHE (HE?) WANTS. HER REFERENCES ARE IMPECCABLE & THE PORTFOLIO SHE BROUGHT ALONG BLEW ME AWAY. EVERYTHING CLICKED. EVEN GOT AHOLD OF THE AGENT & HAD A CHANCE TO CHECK OUT THE SPACE SO CARL(A) CLD HELP ME PIN DOWN EXACTLY WHAT PERMITS WLD BE NECESSARY.

I’M ON A HIGH RIGHT NOW. I’M EVEN EXCITED TO TAKE ON THE BUREAUCRATS @ CITY HALL. HEY, JAMES CAMERON, COUGH UP YOUR CROWN ‘CUZ I’M KING OF THE WORLD. I’M NOT UNEMPLOYED. I’M SELF-EMPLOYED. IT FEELS EFFIN’ GREAT!

DAMN, THAT WAS ONE SMOKIN’ ESPRESSO I GOT @ BEAN AROUND THE WORLD THIS MORNING!

Sunday, March 21, 2010

A FINE BALANCE

LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Try to open up new conversations today — you’ve got lots to talk about, and you should find that others want to join you. It’s a good time to add new team members or recruit new friends.

Laura’s Log:
It gets tricky having a dog and a dating life. I can’t spend the night at Gabriel’s. His building doesn’t allow pets and there’s no way Tupper could (or should) handle an entire night alone. Last night, the dilemma came to a head. We hung out at his place to watch the Canucks game, with Chris sitting down to join us. (“Nope. No plans tonight. My friends are seeing ‘Avatar’ for like the third time. I didn’t get the hype after the first time.” Okay, so if I really wanted to, I could have bonded with Chris on the No Love for Avatar front, but I still didn’t want to like her. The less I saw of Gabriel’s platonic female roommate, the better.)

After the (literally) last-second OT loss, I kept trying to give Gabriel the hint that we should retreat to his bedroom, but Chris channel-surfed and found “The Devil Wears Prada”. Yes, I love the movie. It’s one of those flicks like “Grease” or “When Harry Met Sally” or even “The Sound of Music” that I can sit and watch at any point in progress. But not when I’m sitting with my boyfriend and his female roommate. I wanted a little snuggle time—okay, more than a snuggle—before we went back to my place.

Gabriel, however, acted really into the movie as he’d never seen it. “Meryl’s a bitch,” he said, picking up on the obvious. “I love it!” Chris nuked some popcorn and it was clear that nothing would change until the movie ended. It was then that I gave Gabriel a quick kiss and asked, “Are you ready?”

“Ready for what?”

“To go back to my place. Tupper needs a walk.”

“Oh, yeah, well, I’m just thinking I’d like to sleep in my own bed for a change.” Chris at least had the awareness to get up, clear the popcorn bowl and bang away in the kitchen. “Can’t we just stay here?”

He knew the answer. I resented the fact he even asked. What was he, clueless or an animal hater? I left in a huff. Driving home I chastised myself for turning hurt into huffy. Not attractive. Still, I didn’t pick up the phone to offer a sweet goodnight. He didn’t either. And so I spent the night shifting restlessly as Tupper, snoring louder and taking up more space than usual, gloried in having booted the imposter from the bed.

Made it to Mom’s for brunch even before Estelle and the brood arrived. Everyone was there by 8:20: Lucy and Carl(a), Estelle et al., even Marella. Mom seemed put off by the fact we were punctual. “So now you all finally show up on time. When was the last time that happened? Back when Chrétien was still PM? I don’t even have the muffin batter ready and the waffle iron’s not plugged in yet. The coffeecake took longer than I expected. Thank goodness I decided against my homemade cinnamon buns. I really didn’t expect some of you to even show.” A clear barb against all daughters NOT named Estelle.

“God, Mom. Relax. We don’t need all the carbs anyway. What kind of fruit do you have?”

Mom threw down a mixing spoon and ran to her bedroom. Obviously, one of us should have brought something to supplement the two overripened bananas sitting on the counter. Carl(a) and Marella each reached for car keys to make the obligatory grocery run. “I’ll go,” Carl(a) insisted. “I could use the drive.”

With that, Marella retreated to the deck. She still hadn’t kicked the smoking habit. Lucy went to try to coax Mom out of the bedroom while Estelle and Curtis took the kids to see Grandad in the garage. I decided to join Marella.

She looked at me as she sucked in half the cig in one long inhale. “I can’t make it on time AND bring food. I don’t operate that way this early in the fuckin’ morning,” she said defensively. Had I given her a guilt-inducing look?

I quickly changed the subject. A Mom-Marella misunderstanding is something to avoid at all costs. The fruit fallout would linger for the next six weeks. “Still seeing that lawyer guy from Boise?”

She looked at me as if I was insane. “Oh my God. That was a month ago!”

“Well,…it’s not like I’ve seen you lately.”

“Spare me. I get enough grief from Mom.”

“No, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just saying I’m not up on your dating.”

“Ha! Dating. It’s called fucking. Who am I fucking lately? That’s what you want to know?”

“Jeez, Marella. I was just making conversation.”

Marella started on her second cigarette. “Okay, let’s converse. How’s your dating life, Laura?”

She almost swallowed the entire cigarette when I said, “Very good.”

And then she mellowed. Nothing like some sisterly gossip and a few details about a minor spat about where to spend the night. All it took was my saying, “I haven’t told anyone else yet” for Marella to be totally over the flare-up with Mom. She was getting first shot at a surprising new scoop: Laura dates! I was just relieved to finally share with someone in the family. It felt great. “Just don’t say anything to Mom yet. You know how she gets.” It was like we were teens again, keeping mum about Lucy’s school suspension for making out with a female reading volunteer from SFU or maintaining our solidarity in professing ignorance over the used condom found in the garage. Marella and I both felt gleeful—she even decided against a third cigarette. Marella even marched in to apologize to Mom. Gabriel had worked wonders.

And, God, I missed him!

KEN’S JOURNAL:
CAN’T GET THE CHORUS OF BECK’S “LOSER” OUT OF MY HEAD. WELL, THAT & REAL ESTATE PANIC. EVEN DREAMED ABOUT LOOKING FOR A NEW PLACE. THE ONLY THING I COULD AFFORD WAS TOM SAWYER’S RAFT. SOMEHOW I MANAGED TO CRAM ALL MY PERSONAL POSSESSIONS ON IT W/THE HELP OF CONAN O’BRIEN. (YEAH, I GUESS HE HAD THE XTRA TIME AFTER HE GOT THE AXE, TOO.) AFTER WAVING GOODBYE TO CONAN, I WAS TRAVELING ON THE RAFT TO SOME SORT OF MOORAGE ON BOWEN ISLAND WHEN THE THING CAPSIZED. I AWOKE JUST B/F DROWNING (I WAS TUGGING MY SOFA, REFUSING TO LET IT SINK).

SPENT ALL OF YESTERDAY AFTERNOON LOOKING @ POSSIBLE PLACES TO LIVE. MARTY’S GETTING IMPATIENT. THIS IS WHEN HAVING YOUR BEST FRIEND BE YOUR REALTOR IS A STUPID IDEA. I DON’T GET THE FAKE-SMILING SCHMOOZER AGENT. INSTEAD I GET A LOT OF “WOULD YOU QUIT BEING SUCH A DICK? CHRIST, WHATDOYA THINK YOU’RE GONNA GET FOR THAT KIND OF MONEY?!”

OKAY, IT’S NOT JUST ME THAT’S MAKING HIM TESTY. THE DEAL ON OUR DUNBAR PROPERTY IS STARTING TO LOOK QUESTIONABLE. THERE’S A STACK OF PERMITS WE HAVE TO GET TO MAKE SOME CHANGES & THAT SHIT IS NEVER A SURE THING. I KEEP SAYING I’LL CAMP OUT @ CITY HALL ON MONDAY. I’LL MAKE IT HAPPEN. THEN THERE’S FINDING A GENERAL CONTRACTOR. ALL MY CONTACTS ARE FOR MUCH LARGER PROJECTS. IT’S MUCH MORE OF A CRAPSHOOT TRYING TO FIND A COMPETENT, DEPENDABLE GUY FOR A SMALLER PROJECT. I’VE GOT A GOOD LEAD THOUGH. I’M MEETING W/SOME LESBIAN NAME CARLA THIS EVENING. SHE TOTALLY REDID SARA’S NEIGHBOUR’S HOUSE, ON TIME, ON BUDGET. THAT NEVER HAPPENS. JUST HOPE SHE’S AVAILABLE.

Saturday, March 20, 2010

COMING DOWN FROM IT ALL

LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Things are starting to get pretty heavy today, but you can handle it all. In fact, you probably like where things are going, and if it’s a new romance, your heart feels just exactly right.

Laura’s Log:
After my humiliating dismissal from the funeral home, complete with my mother having to rescue me, I took Tupper for a long walk at Douglas Park. As soon as I got there, I regretted the choice of venue. Douglas Park has been a war zone for years, pitting dog owners against those in the Dog Resistance Movement. I swear the DRMs have a scheduled patrol rotation and I couldn’t be sure who had the assigned duty on this particular afternoon. At whom should I glare? The Filipino nanny rocking an infant in a stroller? The two senior ladies in oversized sunglasses perched on a bench? Maybe it was the teen girl with a spider web tattoo covering the left side of her face. Wasn’t she supposed to be in class? Were facial tattoos a violation of the school dress code?

As the caffeine high worked its way through me, the paranoia and the barrage of questions continued to consume me. I played it safe with Tupper, keeping him on leash and picking up after each of his three poop stops. (Yes, he’s a weird dog. Marks his territory by tiny poo pellets, instead of the traditional urine messaging.) Part Shih-Tzu, part rabbit. I noticed one of the grannies pull out a cell phone the moment an unshaven, unkempt guy in his mid-twenties showed up with his black lab, a tennis ball and one of those plastic ball launcher gadgets. He unleashed Fido and Gran was calling for backup from the DRM.

Tupper was tuckered out so we returned home and I headed out for a jog in a further attempt to work off the jitters. By the time Gabriel came over with “The Hangover” DVD, I was fully recovered.

“We have to talk,” I began. He got this look of panic on his face. My gawd, did he really think I was going to dump him? Come on! “I had an unfortunate caffeine overdose incident today and any thoughts of a long lasting career at a funeral home are dead—not a bad thing, I guess—and we have to start putting some time limits on sex.”

He looked at me and waited for the punchline. I made my adorable (?) shriveled nose / skewed frown expression but said nothing. “Uh,” he said, scrambling for words, “don’t women usually bitch about guys being too quick?”

“Yeah. But it’s a big spectrum. There’s the Kwik-E Martin and there’s you, Mr. Long Day’s Journey into Night. There’s a lot of middle ground.”

“Don’t you like it?” Oh, no. He was taking it personally. Even pouting.

“I love it! But, when I have to work or be semi-conscious for whatever reason the next day, it’s a huge struggle. The sex is amazing! And, when there’s nothing else on the agenda, I’d pick the extended version every time, but—”

“But you’re not working tomorrow.”

“No.”

“Brunch plans?”

“No.”

And, with that, we were back in the sack. “The Hangover” had to wait ‘til morning.

KEN’S JOURNAL:
BY THE TIME THE CAB DRIVER DROPPED ME OFF @ THE CONDO, I WAS DOWN TO A MILD BUZZ. HOW STRONG HAD THOSE RUM & COKES BEEN? HOW HAD THE LIQUOR HIT ME SO HARD & THEN SO QUICKLY EVAPORATED?

FOR A MOMENT, I TRIED TO CREATE SOME HOPE. MAYBE I’D MISINTERPRETED THINGS @ LUNCH. WAS I REALLY CANNED OR DID THE BOSS JUST SEND ME HOME ‘CUZ I WAS DRUNK? OK, EVEN I CLD SEE THE LUNACY IN THAT QUESTION. EVEN IF I HADN’T SAID A THING ABOUT THE NEW BIZ I’D HAVE BEEN FIRED TO EXCESSIVE DRINKING WHILE TECHNICALLY ON THE TIMECLOCK. BUT THAT WAS ONE POINTLESS IF. BECAUSE I HAD ANNOUNCED I WAS DEFECTING. I’D BLOWN MY COVER.

YEAH, HE FIRED MY ASS. NO DOUBT ABOUT IT.

AND SO, AT 2:30 IN THE AFTERNOON, I COPED THE WAY I KNEW BEST. I WENT TO BED. DIDN’T WAKE UP UNTIL 1:20 A.M. I WAS WIDE AWAKE & STARVING. MORE THAN THAT, I WAS ANTSY—I NEEDED A WALK. I HEADED UP DAVIE & STARTED CRAVING PANCAKES & EGGS. HADN’T BEEN TO A DENNY’S IN FIFTEEN YRS BUT I KNEW NOTHING ELSE WLD DO THE TRICK.

I HIT THE PLACE AS THE LOCAL BARS WERE CLOSING & I JUST BEAT THE RUSH. SAT @ A TABLE NEXT TO A BOOTH W/8 GAY GUYS CRAMMED IN. I BRACED FOR SOME CAMPY BANTER & SOME FLIRTATIOUS QUIPS THROWN MY WAY BUT THEY WERE SUBDUED & DID NOT NOTICE ME. SOMEHOW IT BOTHERED ME THAT I DIDN’T EVEN GET A LOOK, MUCH LESS A SNAPPY LINE, FROM ANYONE AT THE TABLE. AS I SCARFED DOWN MY GRAND SLAM BREAKFAST, I GAZED DOWN @ MY GUT. OF COURSE I DIDN’T REGISTER. I WAS FAT. I WAS OLD. I WAS IRRELEVANT.

THE LONG WALK HOME WAS DEPRESSING. SOMEHOW GETTING NO ATTENTION FROM THE GAY GUYS BOTHERED ME MORE THAN THE FACT I’D LOST MY JOB. THE JOG THING WAS A TEMPORARY SNAG. I HAD MY NEXT VENTURE IN THE WORKS. BUT WHAT HAD HAPPENED TO ME? WHERE DID ALL THE FUN GO? WHEN DID I HAVE TO START COUNTING CALORIES? WLD I EVER BE ABLE TO PURGE MY NEW RESEMBLANCE TO JACK BLACK?

ONCE IT WAS OFFICIALLY MORNING FOR ALL THE REGULAR FOLK WHO DIDN’T GO ON LUNCH HOUR RUM BINGES, I CALLED MADDIE TO SEE ABOUT RESCHEDULING THAT OUTING TO THE VANCOUVER ART GALLERY.

“OH, I’M SORRY,” SHE BEGAN. I TENSED UP. WHEN YOU’RE HOPING FOR A DATE, A CONVERSATION THAT BEGINS W/I’M SORRY CAN ONLY GO ONE DIRECTION. “I WENT TO SEE THE DA VINCI EXHIBIT ON THURSDAY W/A FRIEND.”

I TRIED TO BOUNCE BACK. IT WAS A RELIEF NOT TO SEE THE STUPID ANATOMY DRAWINGS ANYWAY. I FORCED MYSELF TO REMAIN UPBEAT. “WELL, THEN. HOW ABOUT GRABBING A COFFEE. OR WE COULD CATCH A MOVIE. OR—”

“I’M SORRY.” GOD, TWICE IN ONE CALL. “I DON’T SEE ANY POTENTIAL W/US.”

“YEAH, WELL,…OKAY,..THAT’S FINE,…THAT’S—”

“I’LL STILL SEE YOU AT RUNNING CLUB.”

THAT WASN’T COMFORTING. THAT WAS JUST A CHANCE FOR SALT IN THE WOUND, EVERY WED. NITE.

GOD, MY LIFE SUCKS.

Friday, March 19, 2010

XTREME DRINKING

LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): It’s really easy to go too far today — you’re having way too much fun to notice when you’re starting to overindulge! Try to keep an eye on yourself or get a friend to do it for you.

Laura’s Log:
After yesterday’s early coffee with Tamara and the past two nights of sex with Gabriel going a few extra rounds, I remained motionless when the clock radio blared this morning. Not even a stinky tongue bath facial from Tupper could get me to move. Finally, after thirty minutes of listening to local and world news on CBC radio, I sat up with a start. It took my neighbor banging on the wall yelling “Turn that fuckin’ radio off” to get me up and moving. As I fumbled around getting ready for work, it occurred to me that the radio was no louder—in fact, quieter—than my sex play with Gabriel. And Mr. Meadows hadn’t bashed my wall over that. It disgusted me to realize the single, always sweaty sixty-year-old was probably getting off to Gabriel and me getting off. I always figured he was the type addicted to Internet porn. Why did he have to taint that simple, relatively wholesome thought?

Had to start the day with another venti…and this time I drank it all. At the funeral home, I added a couple of extra scoops before running the coffeemaker. Although there had been a few people coming and going over the course of the morning, most of the three pots of coffee went to trying to keep me alert. Every time I needed a pee break—which seemed to come in five-minute intervals—the damn phone rang. I think Kearney Funeral Home got a few more dead bodies sent their way after my urine emergency was mistaken for curtness and/or indifference.

By noon, I could not function. Not from fatigue but due to the fact my hands shook wildly from too much caffeine. As much as I love my coffee, when I cross the line it’s dangerous. Theodore stepped out of his office to tell me something or request a document or flash me his privates. Really, I couldn’t tell you. I was lying on the floor behind my desk, phone off the hook and dangling over my head. The ceiling was moving swiftly and I couldn’t process anything.

Unfortunately, he decided to call my mother, whom I’d listed as my emergency contact with the temp agency and she had to cancel three manicure appointments at the salon to come get me. She drove around East Vancouver with me hanging my head out the window like a Golden Retriever (only not nearly so cute). Things started to become clearer—at least to the extent that it dawned on me I was making a fooling out of myself for impersonating a dog. I pulled myself back in the car, looked at Mom, who was silently seething and I said, “I’m better now. Take me back to work.”

“He asked that you not come back.”

Suddenly, I was wide awake and the shakes had vanished. I stared straight ahead as Mom turned the car around so I could retrieve my car from my former place of temporary employment. I’d had a severe caffeine reaction but I’d recovered.

What happened to three strikes?

KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):

THE BOSS WAS ECSTATIC AFTER LANDING A MAJOR DEVELOPMENT DEAL IN CHILLIWACK. I’D ONLY BEEN PERIPHERALLY INVOLVED BUT HE INSISTED I JOIN HIM, RAJ, JASELLYNE & TROY @ HIS FAVE LUNCH SPOT, THE WATER ST. CAFÉ. I WASN’T KEEN ON WATCHING HIM GNAW ON THE RIBS FOR A 2ND CONSECUTIVE FRIDAY, BUT AS WE WERE SEATED, IT BECAME OBVIOUS NO ONE ELSE WANTED TO WITNESS THE EXPERIENCE CLOSE UP. EVERYONE SCRAMBLED TO GRAB ANY SEAT OTHER THAN THE ONE DIRECTLY ACROSS FROM HIM. JASELLYNE ACTUALLY ELBOWED ME. YEP, I WOUND UP W/THE SEAT OF HORROR.

NO WAY WAS I GOING TO TAKE IN THE WHOLE DISGUSTING EXPERIENCE, COMPLETE W/INTENSE TOOTH PICKING, JUICY BITS FLYING AND A FEW FAR-TRAVELING AROMATIC BELCHES, W/O HAVING A DRINK TO CALM ME. FOR SOME REASON, THE KITCHEN WAS BACKED UP AND I WAS ON MY 4TH RUM & COKE B/F THE MEALS CAME. 2 MORE OVER LUNCH & I WAS FEELING GOOD.

THE BOSS CHOSE TO TAKE THE LUNCH OUTING AS THE TIME TO INFORM TROY HE WAS OFF THE ACCOUNT & TO SAY I WAS GOING TO HEAD UP THE PROJECT. YES, I’D BE SPENDING @ LEAST 4 DAYS A WK FOR THE NEXT YEAR & A HALF LIVING IN A MOTEL IN CHILLIWACK. HA! THE BOSS HAD NO IDEA I WAS PLANNING TO WALK FROM THE COMPANY BY MID-MAY @ THE LATEST.

NO WAY I’M GOING TO ROT IN CHILLIWACK. NOT WHEN I’M LEAVING TO START MY OWN REAL ESTATE BUSINESS.

THE ONLY PROBLEM W/THE PREVIOUS SENTENCE WAS THAT IT ACTUALLY WENT LIKE THIS:
“NO WAY I’M GOING TO ROT IN CHILLIWACK. NOT WHEN I’M LEAVING TO START MY OWN
REAL ESTATE BUSINESS.”

YEP, I SAID IT. MEANT TO ONLY THINK IT. IT’S THE RUM’S FAULT. WELL, REALLY THE RIBS’ FAULT.

GOOD NEWS: TROY GOT BACK ON THE PROJECT. BAD NEWS: I GOT CANNED. BARRED FROM THE OFFICE IMMEDIATELY.

AS EVERYONE ELSE LEFT THE RESTAURANT, I HAD TO SIT & WAIT FOR A CAB TO TAKE ME HOME. MY VEHICLE WLD HAVE TO WAIT IN THE COMPANY LOT UNTIL TOMORROW. WLDN’T BE SURPRISED IF THE BOSS KEYED IT.

Thursday, March 18, 2010

THE EARLY BIRD CATCHES THE WORM

LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): See if you can get your best friend or mate to sit down for a one-on-one early today — you need it! Things might start to get crazy (in a good way) later on, so it has to happen soon.

Laura’s Log:

So glad to reconnect with Gabriel last night. He came by to pick me up for dinner at Martini’s Restaurant, but the nice-to-see-you hug became a little too intense and we never made it. In all the time I’ve lived in my apartment, it’s the first time I’ve resorted to a late-night raid on the McDonald’s down the street.

Tamara called at 11:30 p.m. In tears. I was about to hang up, thinking there was no way I was going to talk her through another round of Andy withdrawal after our blowup on Monday. Then, through her sobs she shared something I rarely heard. “I’m sorry.”

She begged to meet me for coffee first thing this morning and, rather than doing what Nadia would do and making her suffer another week or two, I agreed. 7 a.m. is a heckuva early meeting time. Glad it was at Starbucks. Tamara did another rare thing, offering to pay for my drink. I ordered a venti. (Nadia would at least give me points for that.)

“It’s true. I didn’t want you working with me.”

Not the apology elaboration I was hoping for. Was she that pissed I’d supersized my drink?

But then she continued. “I bitch about work all the time. And it’s just that if you started working there you’d see that I’ve got it pretty good. Maybe even better than that.”

“So what’s wrong with that?” I asked. Tamara had a way of making everything a dilemma.

“Well, it’s just that bitching’s kinda my thing. You know, my schtick. Like Miranda on ‘Sex and the City’.”

“Seriously? You think I’m going to go around correcting you? We both saw ‘Up in the Air’ and I loved it and you totally tore it apart. Did I pipe up and say your trivial criticisms were pointless?”

“Well, no.” And then she smiled. “Not until now.”

“I’ve known you long enough, Tamara, to not jump in when you’re in a rant. How often do I contradict you over anything?”

“You don’t. I’m sorry. I’m really really sorry. I mean it.”

“You must be. I didn’t even know ‘sorry’ was in your vocabulary. Really really sorry? It’s like hell just froze over, pigs flew and Paris Hilton said something profound. Never thought the day would come.”

And all was well again. We hugged. We cried. She promised to personally present my résumé. “It would be fabulous to work with you!” she said.

And she meant it.


KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
I’M MOVING TO DUNBAR! OK, NOT TO LIVE, BUT TO WORK. HAD TO DO SOME MAJOR FIBBING—SORRY, SIS, I SAID YOU WERE RUSHED TO HOSPITAL AFTER A WRECK THAT TOTALED YOUR CAR—BUT I GOT OUT OF A 9 A.M. MTG TO VIEW A RETAIL SPACE THAT ISN’T DUE TO BE LISTED UNTIL NEXT WEEK. YEAH, IT NEEDS WORK. BUT OPENING OUR REAL ESTATE OFFICE ON DUNBAR PUTS US SMACK IN THE MILLION-DOLLAR-PLUS HUB OF VANCOUVER. LOCATION, LOCATION, LOCATION.

PAPERS WILL TAKE SEVERAL DAYS TO WORK THRU BUT IT’S REALLY HAPPENING. MARTY & I WILL FINALLY RUN OUR OWN SHOW. FEELS LIKE THE 1ST POSITIVE STEP I’VE SEEN IN AGES.

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

THESE BOOTS WERE MADE FOR WALKING

LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Business matters are on your mind right now, even if you’re not in business yourself. It’s a good time to start one, or to form a partnership to explore such possibilities. You can launch almost anything now!

Laura’s Log:
It goes without saying, but working (temporarily) in a funeral home is a strange experience. After Monday’s unpredictable service, yesterday was a letdown. This morning, I feel blah about even showing up. My number one role is answering the phone and answering “When is the viewing for Insert Deceased’s Name?” A woman yesterday afternoon was upset about a 5-7 p.m. viewing and wanted me to see about extending things until 8 so she could still make her yoga class. I didn’t ask her relationship to the dead guy. My gut told me her response would have been “daughter”.

I really need a new job, something that might go somewhere, something more permanent, something that will actually cover the rent, my lattés and the occasional purchase from Holt Renfrew. While losing interest in Katie Stevens’ performance on “Idol” last night, I began my well-earned whine about my employment situation. Tamara owes me for all the hand holding I’ve had to do for her in the last few weeks. (Nadia owes me for years of bitching about frizzy hair. And that’s just for starters!) So after the tepid reviews over Katharine McPhee 2.0 (to be clear, not meant as a compliment) from the judges, Tamara quietly said, “They’re looking for an advertising assistant at my firm.” Quietly, like she hoped I wouldn’t really hear her. WTF?

Thankfully, Nadia took up the cause. “That’s great! Laura, you’d be so great in advertising! Don’t you think, Tamara?”

At which point Tamara was slow-motion chewing a baby carrot, having cleared the Why Didn’t You Tell Me hurdle and now facing the much more daunting Why Don’t You Want to Work with Me barrier. In the time it took her to eat that mini carrot stick, she could have downed an entire jar of peanut butter and a jumbo package of Twizzlers.

“Is it just me or does it seem like ‘Glee’ hasn’t been on in like a decade?” Tamara said in a blatant topic switcheroo after washing down that pesky veggie stick with a generous swig of Chablis.

Leave it to Nadia to clarify matters. “So by your ‘Glee’ comment, what you’re really saying is there is a position at your firm but you don’t want Laura to apply.” Ballsy. (I suddenly remembered why I’d put up with all those years of frizzy hair whining.)

Tamara lamely attempted to laugh it off. “Don’t be ridiculous. As usual, you don’t know what the hell you’re saying, Nadia.”

It was about to turn into a classic Tamara-Nadia feud and I didn’t want to spend the next month being the go-between. I grew a pair and said, “Actually, I was thinking the same thing as Nadia.”

Tamara sighed, waved her arms as if to surrender and said, “Go ahead, apply. See if I care.”

“’See if I care’? Wow. Not exactly an endorsement. Guess I shouldn’t put you down as a reference.”

“Oh, come on. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just—”

“It’s just that I’d like you to leave.” I stared directly at Tamara—her chin more than her eyes, but semi-ballsy, maybe one testicle removed—and crossed my arms, holding firm.

Tamara looked to Nadia for support. Nothing doing. Then Tamara pleaded. “‘Idol’ isn’t even over. If I leave I’ll miss some of the performances.”

“Catch up at the water cooler tomorrow. At your elitist ad firm.” And, with the adrenaline flowing, I grabbed the bowl of carrots and thrust it at her. “Take this for the road. Something to chew on. You can keep the bowl.”

At that point we didn’t yet know which contestant was going home, but it was clear which friend was getting the boot.

KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):

LAST NITE’S CONDO VIEWINGS IN EAST VAN PROVED AS EXCITING AS THE CANUCKS’ PLAY VS. THE ISLANDERS. NOT WORTH CHECKING OUT.

“IT’S JUST THE BEGINNING,” MARTY REMINDED ME. THE BEGINNING OF A WHOLE LOT MORE OF THE SAME, I FEAR.

7 A.M. BREAKFAST MTG W/THE BOSS & A CLIENT. HOW CAN ANYONE THINK CLEARLY ABOUT A DEVELOPMENT DEAL @ THAT HOUR? THE MTG WAS ENTIRELY UNNECESSARY. AS USUAL, THE BOSS DOMINATED THE CONVERSATION, GIVING HIS TAKE ON TIGER WOODS’ COMEBACK PROSPECTS ALL THRU THE MEAL. ONLY THREW IN A 5 MIN CHAT ABOUT THE DEVELOPMENT WHEN THE BILL CAME. A WAY TO MAKE SURE IT’S A BUSINESS EXPENSE. (PERSONALLY, I THINK THE WIFE BOOTS HIM OUT AT 6 EACH MORNING & HE’S JUST DESPERATE TO SOCIALIZE. COMPEL FOLKS TO A BUSINESS-LITE BREAKFAST. YEP, THAT’LL WIN YA FRIENDS. AND THE DEAL.)

IT JUST ADDS TO THE PRESSURE OF FINDING A NEW PLACE ASAP. THE SOONER I CAN SIGN ALL THE PAPERS, THE SOONER I CAN GIVE MY NOTICE, BECOME BLISSFULLY IGNORANT OF ALL THINGS GOLF & START BEING MY OWN BOSS.

ONE THING’S FOR SURE. I WON’T BE SCHEDULING ANY EFFIN’ 7 A.M. EGGS BENNY GABFESTS.

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

HOLD THE LOVIN'

LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Ease up on the romance a bit — even if you’re just getting involved! It’s way too easy for you to become totally immersed and miss out on other aspects of life — which can be quite important, as they are now.

Laura’s Log:
Well, Whitman Langden-Ogden’s sendoff was indeed a memorable affair. It should come as no surprise that Rufus stole the show. As his dog walker escorted Rufus up the aisle for the big solo, the dog refused to budge once it saw the casket. Awkward silence, followed by people shifting in their seats. The trainer pulled but Rufus had put on his emergency brake. He offered a doggy treat from his pocket. Rufus stood firm. Then, eyes locked on the casket wherein laid his master, Rufus let out the most mournful cry. (Beagles have a haunting howl under normal circumstances, but this was a distinctly different tune. Much darker.) It was more heart-wrenching than any eulogy I’ve ever heard. Those in attendance openly wept. Dogs and babies, they have a knack for getting to us.

The trainer attempted to backtrack with the dog, but Rufus sat firmly, still gazing at the coffin. More crying, lots of people hugging, attempting to provide comfort. I cried, too. I knew nothing of the bond between Whitman and Rufus, but you’d have to be a robot to not react to a simple act of canine love and devotion.

Theodore and I walked up the aisle to try to be of some assistance. Rufus howled again. I crouched down and hugged the poor dog. He rolled over and demanded a tummy rub. And so, as the audience reached for tissues, I reached for the beagle’s belly, scratching as he writhed about. I was fully aware that all eyes were on us, but I tried to stop the sweat gland outpouring by reminding myself that people were drawn to the dog, not me.

We managed to coax Rufus out of the hall and the trainer took the dog for a quick run to work off some stress. (Not sure if he was referring to the dog’s or his own.) After the eulogies, the minister was interrupted as Theodore escorted the trainer and the beagle through a door at the front of the hall. Slight change in the order of things, but the show had to go on. Rufus got through his “Lovin’ You” tribute. Had people not witnessed the earlier episode, they would have considered the dog’s “singing” a crass, laughable moment, but people reached once again for Kleenexes as the dog drowned out Minnie Riperton.

In the most peculiar way, I must admit the dog’s presence was lovely.

Stopping by my place before heading to Estelle’s, I gave Tupper the biggest hug ever. He squirmed to get away. Not quite the Hallmark moment I’d envisioned, but just something I needed to do.

It’s “Idol” tonight with Nadia and Tamara, our old viewing party restored. Gabriel is playing volleyball with friends. Two days’ absence. Feels longer. Must not panic. Maybe this will be an example to Nadia and Tamara: you don’t need to dump your friends when a guy comes along.

So why is it I can’t stop thinking about him?

KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
CANCELLED COFFEE W/MADDIE FOR TONITE. TWO STRIKES ALREADY ON MY PART. I DOUBT I’LL GET A 3RD CRACK. (SHE DOESN’T SEEM THE BASEBALL TYPE.) I’VE GOT MY THERAPY SESSION & THEN HAVE TO MEET W/MY LAWYER OVER THE CONDO SALE. AFTER THAT, MARTY’S SHOWING ME SOME PLACES NEAR MAIN. A DATE WLD BE NICE, BUT FRANKLY I’M TOO DISTRACTED OVER THE PROSPECT OF BEING HOMELESS…OR LIVING IN ABBOTSFORD.

IT ALL GOES BACK TO CLARA. I SOLD THE CONDO TO BE RID OF THE MEMORIES, NOW I’M IN A PANIC & I’M BLOWING A CHANCE TO DATE AN ATTRACTIVE, DECENT WOMAN. WHEN DO THE REPERCUSSIONS END? WHEN WILL “MOVING ON” BECOME OFFICIAL?

THE ONE SHRED OF A BRIGHT SPOT IS I’VE LOST 3 POUNDS. STILL LOOKS LIKE I’M CLOSE TO MY PREGNANCY DUE DATE, BUT IT’S A START. EVEN BOUGHT LITE BEER FOR WATCHING THE CANUCKS TONITE. MARTY’LL RAZZ ME BIG TIME, BUT HE’S NOT THE ONE W/A BOWLING BALL UNDER HIS SHIRT.

SO IT’S COME TO LITE BEER. MAYBE I SHOULD JUST GO W/WATER.

Monday, March 15, 2010

A QUESTION OF TASTE

LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Your instincts for beauty are sharper than ever right now, so it’s the perfect time to redecorate or help someone else make their life a little sweeter. Reach out and see what happens.

Laura’s Log:
How weird is it that I’m looking forward to a funeral? It officially kicks off at 2 p.m., but Rufus is coming in for a dress rehearsal at 9. Seems he needs to familiarize himself with the hall so he doesn’t become too excited and piddle on the red carpet during the service. He’s also supposed to do a howl-through of “Lovin’ You”. It’s all beyond kooky. I wonder if Whitman will be laughing or crying from his grave. The more immediate fascination is in how the funeral goers will react.

Seems Gabriel and I are taking a break today. I have to admit I’m sort of relieved. After being sex-starved for so long, the past week of bed-‘im-and-spread-‘em has me exhausted. Who knew it would be such a quick transition from feeling like a spinster to feeling like a ho?

I’m heading to Estelle’s after work. Pizza dinner and then we’re going to plan a makeover for Gretel’s half of the kids’ room as a birthday present. She’s going to be four. I haven’t done anything with my apartment in the past seven years. (There are so many sad things arising from the last three sentences. I will not go there.)

I think Estelle is in cahoots with Mom. For years, Mom’s been telling me I have an eye; I just don’t use it. (Compliment, followed by insult. Classic Mom.) Now that I’m in between “real” jobs, the family is steering me into interior design. I just don’t think I can make a career out of looking at swatches. I don’t want to learn thirty-seven words for red. And making laundry rooms more luxurious than my entire living space would be painful. Nonetheless, Estelle has dreamed up the first design challenge: redo Gretel’s half of the room, but without any pink. Something tells me I’m going to have a very unhappy little client.

KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):

4 EFFIN’ HRS OF LOOKING @ CONDOS YESTERDAY. BRUTAL. ½ A MIL GETS YOU A SHITHOLE RIGHT ON THE BAD PART OF HASTINGS. “A VIBRANT AREA,” THE AGENT SAID OF ONE SPOT. I’M GUESSING SHE MEANS THE GRAFFITI CHANGES WEEKLY.

I’M THINKING I MIGHT HAVE TO MOVE INTO MY LOCKER IN MINI STORAGE.

MARTY HAD THE NERVE TO BRING UP THE “VALUE” CARD IN SUGGESTING WE LOOK @ SOME LISTINGS IN SURREY & LANGLEY. I FLIPPED OUT, MAN. HE GOT A BIG FREAKIN’ GRIN ON HIS FACE. THE BASTARD WAS TOYIN’ W/ME WHEN I’M THIS CLOSE TO HAVING A BREAKDOWN. WHAT’S IT SAY ABOUT ME THAT MY BEST FRIEND IS SUCH AN ASS?

HE’S LINING UP SOME SHOWINGS AROUND MAIN AND NEAR COMMERCIAL. YEAH, I LIKE THOSE PLACES WELL ENUF WHEN I WANT TO TAKE A TRIP OUT OF DOWNTOWN, BUT LIVE THERE? WHY DO I FEEL LIKE THERE’S A SPOONFUL OF DIRT IN MY MOUTH?

“I GOT TASTE, MAN.”

MARTY SNORTED IN RESPONSE.

YEAH, I’LL START SHOPPING FOR A NEW BFF RIGHT AFTER I FIND A HOME.

Sunday, March 14, 2010

HOLDING ON TO A GOOD THING

LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You should take the time to really appreciate what you’ve got today — you’ve got the capacity for it, certainly, and you might find a way to lift the spirits of those around you if you remind them.

Laura’s Log:
It wasn’t just the time change that made me miss morning brunch with the family, but at 8:07, the phone rang.

“Why are you still at home?! Aren’t you coming? We’re all waiting. I made waffles. They’re getting cold. And I’m trying out a pumpkin spice muffin recipe for the first time. Even your father says he likes them. There won’t be any left.”

I feebly repeated my standard 8 a.m. Is Not Brunch Time speech, but Mom cut me off again to mention that she was missing prime garage sale time for the sake of family and how it would be nice if certain other members of the family could place as much value on the weekly get-togethers.

“Lucy there?” I asked.

“No.”

"Marella?”

“No.”

“We just lost an hour with the time change. It’s—”

“So I’ll see you at 9.”

“N—” She beat me to the dial tone.

Gabriel reached over and hugged me. I could feel he was wide awake, time change be damned. That pecker could outlast the Energizer Bunny.

After another round of sex, I was TKO.

But then Gabriel asked, “Who was that on the phone?”

“Just my mother,” I mumbled in a half-growl that I hoped came off as my sleepy voice.

“What did she want?” I rolled over to face him. Damn those eyes. Even through my squint, they held a dangerous power over me. I propped myself up with a pillow and gave him a five-minute crash course on my family’s insane early bird Sunday brunch tradition.

“So let’s go,” he said, sitting up.

What?! How had he concluded he was invited? I hadn’t yet mentioned him to any of my sisters, much less my parents. Why ruin a good thing?

He got up, headed for the bathroom. I heard the shower running. Oh, my gawd. He was getting ready. Tupper whined from the side of the bed. I looked down to see his tail wagging, those puppy dog eyes begging for a walk. No matter how old he got, his eyes were always that of a pup. I sat up, stretched and decided I’d figure out how to get out of brunch while walking Tupper. He’d been waiting long enough for his morning routine. And as my feet hit the floor, I stepped in a puddle. What was I thinking? Tupper doesn’t wait.

I traipsed to the bathroom to wash my feet, leaving a wet footprint path behind me. As I explained to Gabriel why I had an urgent need to scrub my feet, he grabbed a towel and began drying off. “I’ll walk him,” he said. “Take your time. Enjoy a hot shower. How ’bout I pick you up a latté?”

Oh, my gawd. So this was my sanity amongst the insanity. It had only been a week since our first real conversation and already I felt more connected to Gabriel than almost any other guy I’d dated. Almost made the dry spell and the hideous train wreck dates prior to the dry spell worth it. Almost.

I was finishing mopping when Gabriel and Tupper returned. He kissed me and held me tightly before handing me my morning Starbucks. It was just enough perfection to give me the confidence to say, “We’re not going to my parents’. Not today. I still want you all to myself.”

And, just to underscore the perfection, he took the mop from me, smiled and said, “O.K.”

KEN’S JOURNAL:
FOUR OFFERS ON THE CONDO, THREE ABOVE ASKING, TWO OF THOSE W/O ANY SUBJECTS. ALL FROM A SINGLE OPEN HOUSE. VANCOUVER REAL ESTATE IS INSANE!

ACCEPTED AN OFFER $14K ABOVE LIST. DONE DEAL. MARTY & I CELEBRATED W/BEER & WATCHING AN EXCELLENT FINAL 2 PERIODS OF CANUCKS DOMINATING THE SENS. PRETTY FREAKIN’ PERFECT NITE!

AND THEN AFTER MARTY LEFT, IT HIT ME. FOR ALL THE AWESOMENESS OF BEING A SELLER IN THE VAN MARKET, I NOW HAD TO SWITCH TO BUYER. I HAD TO GIVE UP POSSESSION FOR JUNE 1ST.

GOT UP 3 TIMES IN THE NITE, TURNING ON ALL THE LIGHTS, LOOKING @ MY PLACE, LOOKING @ MY VIEW & THINKING, “WHAT THE FUCK HAVE I DONE?!”

SOMETIMES I DISTORT THINGS & THE PANIC BUILDS IN THE WEE HOURS. COME MORNING, I’M CLEARER & I CAN THINK OF A PLAN TO DEAL W/WHATEVER WORRIED ME. WHEN I FINALLY DECIDED IT WAS TIME TO GET UP FOR GOOD, I SLOWLY WALKED THRU THE CONDO, ADMIRING IT JUST LIKE I HAD THE DAY I MOVED IN.

AND W/THE CLARITY OF MORNING, ONE THOUGHT CONSUMED ME:

WHAT THE FUCK HAVE I DONE?!

Saturday, March 13, 2010

EARNING SOME DOWNTIME

LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Get as much done as you possibly can this morning — your energy may start to wane this afternoon. At that point, progress should be difficult at best, so make the most of what you’ve got.

Laura’s Log:
The meeting with Mrs. Langden-Ogden and Alastair was awesome. Okay, not so much for them, I’m sure, but most entertaining. Funeral preparations shouldn’t be a spectacle, but Whitman Gallagher Langden-Ogden seemed to have lived his life building up to this moment. Thirty-seven years with Mrs. Langden-Ogden (whose first name is DeeDee, but something about her icy glare tells me no one, not even her mother, would speak it), twenty-four with Alastair. Many explosive exchanges over the years, but now a head-on collision.

Alastair arrived early with his attorney and asking me to make copies of the funeral service program as allegedly set forth in Whitman’s will. Mrs. L-O arrived fashionably late, attorney in tow as well. I pulled in extra chairs and we sat around Theodore’s desk. Per Alastair’s request, I passed out copies of the service. Mrs. L-O glanced at her paper for all of 1.5 seconds before ripping it in pieces and tossing it like confetti in Alastair’s face.

Her attorney—young and clearly lacking confidence in a suit three sizes too big—was shushed when he began to speak and Mrs. L-O proceeded to unfold a paper she’d pulled from her sparkly silver purse which clashed with her orange and purple party dress (but then, what wouldn’t?).

Rufus, Whitman’s beloved beagle, would perform a song before the eulogy, howling away as a beat box blasted Minnie Riperton’s “Lovin’ You”.

“Absolutely not!” Alastair interrupted. “No dogs at the service.”

“So am I to presume that your sister can’t make it?”

“And this is precisely why Whitty strayed. You’re insufferable!”

The shenanigans continued for more than two hours. Fascinating tidbits about Whitman Gallagher Langden-Ogden emerged in rapid succession, too many jaw dropping revelations for me to recall. Whitman had amassed his (now dwindling) fortune operating a string of porn shops throughout Western Canada and, just as one might imagine, became acquainted with many colorful characters who clashed with the Shaughnessy set with whom the Langden-Ogdens socialized.

A proud bisexual, Whitman chose not to choose and lived in two Shaughnessy mansions only two blocks apart, one cohabited by Mrs. L-O, the other by Alastair.

At one point Mrs. L-O hired one of Whitman’s porn biz colleagues to kill Alastair, but the colleague revealed the plan to Whitman after Mrs. L-O balked at the would-be assassin’s demand for a significantly larger fee. That escapade, occurring two decades ago, almost landed Mrs. L-O in jail but the business associate died in a skydiving mishap before giving an official statement and Whitman refused to cooperate with authorities. (“Oh, I paid for that in more ways than you’ll ever know!” Mrs. L-O seethed as she lunged toward Alastair. “You’re still here, aren’t you? Clearly, I lost.”)

There were no filters as Theodore and I—and even the attorneys—could do nothing but sit back in shock and awe, watching the two adversaries Ping-Pong insults and scandalous incidents at one another with one session of vitriol going forty-five minutes without a moment’s pause. Somehow Theodore managed to sense when the combatants needed a break and he managed to refocus matters on Monday’s ceremony. Mrs. L-O remained insistent on Rufus’ “Idol” moment and, before any logic could be expressed to shoot down the idea, upped the ante by announcing she’d hired some performers from a current tour of “The Sound of Music” to bring marionettes and a small set to perform Whitman’s favorite, “The Lonely Goatherd”.

Alastair, aghast, sarcastically responded, “No, why not round up some lovely children at the mall and have them sing ‘So Long, Farewell’?”

Not missing a beat, Mrs. L-O smiled and said, “Well, that could be the final number as Whitman is escorted out.” (While I’m still not certain, I believe she was kidding.)

In the end, Theodore more than earned his fee. The balloons would be for the cemetery, released as Whitman is interred. All “Sound of Music” references would be scrapped…although Mrs. L-O promised the musical would have a prominent presence at her reception. (To no one’s surprise (by the time it was announced, at least), Alastair was having his own reception, running concurrently.) Rufus would indeed sing along to “Lovin’ You” right before the eulogies which, in one of the few aspects in keeping with Whitman’s wishes, would be given by one designate of Mrs. L-O and one selected by Alastair. They flipped a coin for whose eulogist would speak first.

By the time everyone had left, my head was buzzing. Both Theodore and I dug into the Tylenol bottle in his desk. “Have you ever seen anything like that?” I asked him.

“Sadly, yes. Even worse.”

Thankfully, Theodore let me close up at 2:30, giving me a head start on the weekend. I wasn’t getting rich from temping, but I decided to dash over to Kerrisdale to pick out a new outfit which Gabriel could disrobe for our evening rendezvous.

Worked better than I’d planned. He was clearly smitten as we dined at Refuel and skillfully used his right foot for some intense foreplay under the table. Back at my place, we went a couple rounds before calling it a night at 4:15 a.m., only to have him aroused again for another go shortly after 8. With more messing around in the shower, I was relieved to see him leave shortly before noon. Time for a loooooong nap.

KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):

GOT UP & HAD A DECENT JOG B/F 7. DETERMINED TO HAVE A BETTER SHOWING W/THE FORERUNNERS GROUP NEXT WED. NEW GOAL IS TO KEEP UP W/SOMEONE UNDER 60. THINK I OVERDID IT AS I HAD TO LIMP/JOG THE LAST 2 KMS HOME. DECIDED I’D EARNED A SOLLY’S CINNAMON BUN TO GO W/A VENTI CAPPUCCINO.

SPENT THE REST OF THE A.M. FRANTICALLY CLEANING THE CONDO FOR THE OPEN HOUSE, SCHEDULED FROM 2-4. WHY DO I NEVER REALIZE HOW FILTHY THINGS HAVE GOTTEN? I’VE NEVER SCRUBBED SO HARD, SO FRANTICALLY. FEEL LIKE I SHOULD BE ON A PALMOLIVE COMMERCIAL NOW, SHOWING OFF MY SCRATCHED UP, DRY HANDS. C’MON, MADGE. WHERE’S THAT FRICKIN’ BOWL I NEED TO BE SOAKING MY HANDS IN?

I’M NOW HANGING OUT @ URBAN FARE, NERVOUSLY SIPPING ANOTHER COFFEE WHILE THUMBING THRU DWELL MAGAZINE. SO TEMPTING TO RING MARTY TO FIND OUT HOW THE OPEN’S GOING. I’M SO NERVOUS, I CALLED MADDIE & POSTPONED THE VANCOUVER ART GALLERY DATE UNTIL NEXT WEEK. SHE SOUNDED DISAPPOINTED. IS SHE REALLY THAT KEEN TO SEE AN ANATOMICAL DRAWING EXHIBIT OR IS SHE SORTA INTO ME? ODDS ARE W/THE DRAWINGS.

Friday, March 12, 2010

CHEWING THE SCENERY...OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT

LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You need to show others how to get along today — though you might make it look too easy! Your ability to get close to people is legendary, but on a day like today, you can make a real difference.

Laura’s Log:
I know it’s a groaner, but I have to say it: things have been pretty dead at the funeral home all week. A service on Tuesday, attended by six or seven people. Sad. Couldn’t someone pay for extras and take it out of the estate? Things, however, started to get interesting yesterday in the case of Whitman Gallagher Langden-Ogden, heart attack victim at a local gym. First, his wife of thirty-seven years came in at 2:30 to meet with Theodore to go over Monday’s service. Ten minutes after she’d left, a stylish older gentleman named Alastair showed up to see Theodore about his lover’s service, set for Monday. Same service. Naturally, Mrs. Langden-Ogden’s plans did not please Alastair who labeled the entire affair “tacky”. Under no circumstances would Alastair allow red balloons to be tied to the back of each chair.

“We’re not making a video for ’99 Luftballons’,” he shuddered. “And this isn’t Valentine’s day or a children’s birthday party. What else does she want,…the organist to lead us all in a round of musical chairs as a stretch break after the eulogy?!”

Suddenly I was quite pleased to be continuing to temp at the funeral home next week. WWE, Funeral Edition.

All giddiness zapped from Theodore due to the pending drama, he had me call Mrs. Langden-Ogden to arrange a meeting for this morning involving Alastair, Theodore and the grieving widow.

Naturally, she bucked. “Not a chance! That man is banned from the service!” she screeched through the phone, loud enough for Alastair to hear without the speakerphone option.

Alastair leaned into me and yelled back, “He knew you’d be like this. It’s in the will!”

Theodore ushered Alastair away from my desk and I listened politely as Mrs. Langden-Ogden railed for the next twenty-five minutes about Whitman’s Other Life, his cruelty, her public humiliation and Alastair’s penchant for wearing tank tops that horrifyingly outlined his sagging man boobs. (Not an image I appreciated having imprinted in my head. In his suit, Alastair looked so dapper. Mrs. Langden-Ogden’s assault wounded ME more than anything.) Somehow just listening cooled the raving widow and she agreed to attend a meeting “as long as you join us, my dear.”

Aside from the Oscar party invitation that led to a shagging streak with Gabriel (three nights and counting), it was the best invitation I’d had all year.

KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
AFTER A WEEK OF THE BOSS AVOIDING ME (NOT THAT I MINDED), I WALKED RIGHT PAST GLORIA (“YOU NEED AN APPOINTMENT!”) & INTO THE HIS OFFICE. I’VE COME TO THE REALIZATION I CAN’T QUIT JUST YET SINCE I’LL NEED STEADY EMPLOYMENT IN TRYING TO GET A NEW MORTGAGE. THE TIME HAD COME TO CLEAR THE AIR. NO DELAYS. MY BLACK EYE WLD BE FULLY HEALED BY MONDAY & I FIGURED I NEEDED THE VISUAL REMNANT AS A NEGOTIATING TOOL.

HE HUNG UP AS SOON AS HE SAW ME, ROSE FROM HIS DESK AND POINTED AT ME. “OUT!”

“WE NEED TO TALK. I CAN STILL PRESS CHARGES, YOU KNOW. OR SUE YOU FOR HARASSMENT. MAYBE BOTH.”

HADN’T PLANNED TO SHOW MY HAND SO FAST BUT PEOPLE POINTING AT ME ALWAYS RUFFLES ME. (I THINK IT GOES BACK TO MARY TOOZE IN 1ST GRADE, RATTING ME OUT FOR PUTTING A ROADKILL SNAKE ON MRS. WHEATLEY’S READING CHAIR.)

THE BOSS SAT BACK DOWN, I TOOK A SEAT & WE HASHED IT OUT FOR AN HOUR AND A HALF. HE MENTIONED A HALF DOZEN TIMES HOW I’D “BLOWN IT” W/THE BURNABY PERMITS & I NODDED W/O DEFLECTING. I LISTED ALL I’D DONE FOR THE COMPANY, ALL THE DEALS I’D LANDED, ALL THE CLIENTS WHO CAME BACK FOR MORE, INSISTING ON WORKING W/ME. HE HAD NO CHOICE BUT TO NOD. YEAH, HE CONTINUED TO BRING UP THE BURNABY BOO-BOO UNTIL I FINALLY CUT HIM OFF FOR GOOD. “BIG PICTURE, I’M AN ASSET & YOU NEED ME.” (MID-SENTENCE, I’D WANTED TO FINISH W/ “& YOU’RE AN ASS”—WOULD’VE HAD SUCH A NICE RING TO IT—BUT I SHOWED RESTRAINT.)

IT ENDED W/A HANDSHAKE, HIM SMILING & SAYING HE WAS TAKING ME TO LUNCH. SHIT, MAYBE I’D OVERDONE IT. I WAS RELIEVED WHEN HE INVITED RAJ ALONG. (HAD TO YANK RAJ INTO THE RESTROOM B/F WE LEFT FOR THE WATER ST. CAFÉ. HE WAS FREAKING OUT, THINKING THE BOSS WAS GOING TO FIRE US SINCE WE’D BEEN TALKING ABOUT DEFECTING. “I CAN’T BE FIRED, I CAN’T BE FIRED.” WASN’T PRETTY. ACTUALLY HAD TO SHAKE THE GUY.)

TALKING ABOUT NOT PRETTY, I HAD TO BRACE FOR WATCHING THE BOSS ORDER HIS FAVE, GINGER BRAISED BEEF SHORT RIBS. ALL THAT GNAWING AND PICKING ALMOST MAKES ME WANT TO BECOME A VEGETARIAN.