LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Your head is full of conflicting ideas and opinions early today, which isn’t much fun — but the afternoon brings a new clarity. You may want to get your people to try for consensus one last time.
Laura’s Log:
I was invited into a team meeting on a new campaign this morning. An honor, according to Tamara (who, by the way, is talking to me again, having gotten over my weekend escapade with Katherine—things still unresolved with Nadia). I get it. I’m the lowly new assistant. I should be grateful to be included even if my role was simply to record every brainstormed idea, good, bad or completely off topic.
I just wish my first team meeting involved something more exciting than toilet paper. Things began with an attack on the animated commercials with the bear and quickly went down Memory Lane with Mr. Whipple. YouTube has its purpose in advertising, but it can be just as much of a distracter as Facebook. Under the “off topic” column, I had to note the group’s viewing of Crystal Bowersox’s “People Get Ready” performance on Idol last night. Sure, she’s good, but I had things to take care of at my desk—paper clips to untangle and all.
They sent me to London Drugs to pick up samples of all the leading toilet paper brands, including that of our client. At the checkout, I must have looked like either the world’s oldest high school student getting ready to TP all my friends’ yards or a sad woman with a severe diarrhea problem. Yea, team. Thanks for that.
Back in the meeting room, they sniffed, squeezed and unraveled roll after roll and got into an intense argument about how direct you could be about TP residue on arses in an ad campaign. Shortly after someone said, “Just shave your ass and the problem’s gone” the meeting devolved into a discussion about manscaping before petering out altogether. I was thrilled to return to my desk area—right after I cleaned up the TP, including the mess left from when Cal and Warren decided to mummify Lenny. They give out college degrees to easily these days.
When they decided to reconvene after lunch, I tried my best to get out of attending. Turns out team players can’t defect. They fell into a conversation about symbols of softness: bunnies, cotton balls, Lenny’s belly. That last idea was my cue to jump in. “Guys, the softness thing has been done to death. I’m sorry, dearly departed Mr. Whipple, but nobody squeezes toilet paper in the grocery store. People EXPECT it to be soft. Find something else to make the product stand out.”
Silence. People stared at me. I’d spoken when I wasn’t supposed to. And then Lenny (of all people) said, “Laura’s got a point.” Validation. Sure, Lenny was probably just tired of being the target of sophomoric jokes and pranks, but it was good enough for me.
KEN’S JOURNAL:
5:30 A.M. & I WAS WIDE AWAKE. SHOULD I GO FOR A JOG? YEAH, WEDNESDAYS ARE MY RUNNING GROUP EVENING, BUT I DIDN’T FEEL LIKE PART OF THE GROUP DURING THE LAST SESSION. I LOATHE LOGAN.
I GOT UP, PUT ON SHORTS & A T-SHIRT, STARTED TO STRETCH. BIGGEST STRETCH CAME FROM MY MOUTH. ALL THAT YAWNING AND I DECIDED TO GO BACK TO BED. I’D FACE THE LADIES (AND LOGAN) AFTER ALL.
SURE ENOUGH, HE SHOWED AGAIN. HOW COULD HE NOT AFTER A HAREM FAWNING OVER HIM LAST WEEK? ONE OF THE MELISSAS ACKNOWLEDGED ME WHEN I ARRIVED, EVEN ASKED IF I HAD DECIDED ON THE SUN RUN. TRUTHFULLY, I WASN’T PLANNING ON SIGNING UP BUT SHE ROPED ME INTO PAYING AND BEING PART OF “OUR” TEAM. ANYTHING JUST TO FEEL PART OF THE CONVERSATION.
GOD, THEY PUBLISH YOUR RESULTS IN THE PAPER, DON’T THEY? AH, WHY WORRY? WHO DO I KNOW THAT WLD BOTHER TO LOOK UP MY NAME?
Showing posts with label American Idol. Show all posts
Showing posts with label American Idol. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Thursday, April 15, 2010
LOVE DON’T LIVE HERE ANYMORE
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You are in a really good place right now — especially if you are seeking to reinvigorate your love life! You look and act as appealing as anyone could ask for, so make sure the right person is watching.
Laura’s Log:
Head scratcher of a horoscope today. Couldn’t be more off if it had told me to pull out the hammer and nails and start a birdhouse building hobby. Strange emotional episodes notwithstanding, I’m not looking to “reinvigorate” things with Gabriel. And I’m having a really bad hair day and I (once again) spilled my latté on my white blouse so I don’t get the comment that I “look and act as appealing as anyone could ask for”. Is the Laura standard that low?!
I’m in a snit at the moment. It’s part Pity Party, part Divorce My Family reverie. After Tuesday’s disastrous attempt at mediating the latest sisterly feud, Lucy and Estelle peppered me with phone calls yesterday, not requesting another round of peace talks, but wanting to persuade me that the other sister was the insane, inflexible, insensitive one. Can’t we just call it a tie?
Just as I sat down with a bowl of organic, low-fat popcorn to find out which Idols were getting the boot, the phone rang yet again. Which one this time? Unfortunately, it was neither. That’s right: unfortunately. Sister crazy is at least predictable. Don’t really have to say anything. Let ’em rant.
“Uh, hi there. Is this Laura Nebergall?” Shaky voice. Male. I could sense the nervous sweat oozing through the airwaves.
“Who’s calling?” A first time telemarketer? A repentant Derrick? The creepy neighbor who sneezes and hugs the wall every time I pass him in the hall? Did he have my mail? Please tell me he didn’t paw my Entertainment Weekly!
“Uh, well, you don’t, uh, know me, but my mom told me to, uh, give you a call. Your mom gave, uh, my mom your, uh, number. My mom said you’d be, uh, expecting, uh, my, uh, my, uh, you know,…my call.”
Ah, the highly desirable Betty Ng’s son. Still didn’t have a first name.
Ten minutes later, he finally thought to introduce himself. Jacky Uh Ng. Not sure if he meant to divulge the middle name. Probably spilled it in a fit of anxiety. Didn’t find out what he does for a living, but he’s big on backgammon, Ping Pong and Céline Dion. The last fact came as her version of “All By Myself” blared on repeat in the background. Okay, it could be my theme song too, but who advertises that when calling to ask someone out?
He finally got the courage up to ask me to “coffee or a ride on the Skytrain.” Since when was a ride on Skytrain a date? Skytrain as a destination, not a mode of transportation! As odd as Jacky came across, it was painful to have to decline. “I’m just getting out of a relationship. I’m not ready to date again.”
“Oh, uh, of course. I’m uh sorry.” And cue dial tone. Poor guy. I’m sure he had to go shower.
Maybe rejecting Jacky explained today’s bad karma: my bad hair, my stained blouse, my lingering tummy lump from last night’s entire bag of mini chocolate brownies scarfed down as I bid adieu to (Ugly) Betty, my cruel horoscope. Indeed, maybe I needed to start seeing the world from the low Laura standard.
KEN’S JOURNAL:
DECENT RUN LAST NITE. I’VE FIRMLY ESTABLISHED MY PLACE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE PACK. MIGHT AS WELL HAVE RUN ON MY OWN THOUGH. MADDIE AND THE OTHERS BARELY ACKNOWLEDGED ME.
A NEW GUY SHOWED UP. LOGAN. PERFECT NAME BECAUSE CLEARLY THIS WAS LOGAN’S RUN. BLOND, BLUE-EYED AND LANKY WITH NO TRACE OF AN AFFINITY FOR BEER, HE HAD THE WOMEN SWOONING ALL OVER HIM.
I INSTANTLY HATED LOGAN. OF COURSE, MY OPINION WASN’T WHAT MATTERED. HE SPED OFF WITH THE FRONT GROUP, ALREADY DONE HIS COFFEE BY THE TIME I HOBBLED IN. MARGIE BOUGHT HIM ANOTHER. NOT EVEN COFFEE—EFFIN’ STEAMED NONFAT MILK!
“OOH, THAT SOUNDS SO GOOD!” ONE OF THE MELISSAS COOED. SUDDENLY EVERYONE WAS SIPPING HOT WATERY MILK. IT WAS THEN I REALIZED I WAS LACTOSE INTOLERANT. I POURED MY CAPPUCCINO INTO A TO-GO CUP AND LEFT.
NOT THAT ANYONE NOTICED.
YEP, I LOATHE LOGAN. RUNNING GROUP CRASHER!
Laura’s Log:
Head scratcher of a horoscope today. Couldn’t be more off if it had told me to pull out the hammer and nails and start a birdhouse building hobby. Strange emotional episodes notwithstanding, I’m not looking to “reinvigorate” things with Gabriel. And I’m having a really bad hair day and I (once again) spilled my latté on my white blouse so I don’t get the comment that I “look and act as appealing as anyone could ask for”. Is the Laura standard that low?!
I’m in a snit at the moment. It’s part Pity Party, part Divorce My Family reverie. After Tuesday’s disastrous attempt at mediating the latest sisterly feud, Lucy and Estelle peppered me with phone calls yesterday, not requesting another round of peace talks, but wanting to persuade me that the other sister was the insane, inflexible, insensitive one. Can’t we just call it a tie?
Just as I sat down with a bowl of organic, low-fat popcorn to find out which Idols were getting the boot, the phone rang yet again. Which one this time? Unfortunately, it was neither. That’s right: unfortunately. Sister crazy is at least predictable. Don’t really have to say anything. Let ’em rant.
“Uh, hi there. Is this Laura Nebergall?” Shaky voice. Male. I could sense the nervous sweat oozing through the airwaves.
“Who’s calling?” A first time telemarketer? A repentant Derrick? The creepy neighbor who sneezes and hugs the wall every time I pass him in the hall? Did he have my mail? Please tell me he didn’t paw my Entertainment Weekly!
“Uh, well, you don’t, uh, know me, but my mom told me to, uh, give you a call. Your mom gave, uh, my mom your, uh, number. My mom said you’d be, uh, expecting, uh, my, uh, my, uh, you know,…my call.”
Ah, the highly desirable Betty Ng’s son. Still didn’t have a first name.
Ten minutes later, he finally thought to introduce himself. Jacky Uh Ng. Not sure if he meant to divulge the middle name. Probably spilled it in a fit of anxiety. Didn’t find out what he does for a living, but he’s big on backgammon, Ping Pong and Céline Dion. The last fact came as her version of “All By Myself” blared on repeat in the background. Okay, it could be my theme song too, but who advertises that when calling to ask someone out?
He finally got the courage up to ask me to “coffee or a ride on the Skytrain.” Since when was a ride on Skytrain a date? Skytrain as a destination, not a mode of transportation! As odd as Jacky came across, it was painful to have to decline. “I’m just getting out of a relationship. I’m not ready to date again.”
“Oh, uh, of course. I’m uh sorry.” And cue dial tone. Poor guy. I’m sure he had to go shower.
Maybe rejecting Jacky explained today’s bad karma: my bad hair, my stained blouse, my lingering tummy lump from last night’s entire bag of mini chocolate brownies scarfed down as I bid adieu to (Ugly) Betty, my cruel horoscope. Indeed, maybe I needed to start seeing the world from the low Laura standard.
KEN’S JOURNAL:
DECENT RUN LAST NITE. I’VE FIRMLY ESTABLISHED MY PLACE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE PACK. MIGHT AS WELL HAVE RUN ON MY OWN THOUGH. MADDIE AND THE OTHERS BARELY ACKNOWLEDGED ME.
A NEW GUY SHOWED UP. LOGAN. PERFECT NAME BECAUSE CLEARLY THIS WAS LOGAN’S RUN. BLOND, BLUE-EYED AND LANKY WITH NO TRACE OF AN AFFINITY FOR BEER, HE HAD THE WOMEN SWOONING ALL OVER HIM.
I INSTANTLY HATED LOGAN. OF COURSE, MY OPINION WASN’T WHAT MATTERED. HE SPED OFF WITH THE FRONT GROUP, ALREADY DONE HIS COFFEE BY THE TIME I HOBBLED IN. MARGIE BOUGHT HIM ANOTHER. NOT EVEN COFFEE—EFFIN’ STEAMED NONFAT MILK!
“OOH, THAT SOUNDS SO GOOD!” ONE OF THE MELISSAS COOED. SUDDENLY EVERYONE WAS SIPPING HOT WATERY MILK. IT WAS THEN I REALIZED I WAS LACTOSE INTOLERANT. I POURED MY CAPPUCCINO INTO A TO-GO CUP AND LEFT.
NOT THAT ANYONE NOTICED.
YEP, I LOATHE LOGAN. RUNNING GROUP CRASHER!
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
HIGHS & LOWS
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Your mood could swing all over the map today, but remember to check your assumptions if you find yourself sliding into depression or boredom. You may just need to see things from a fresh perspective.
Laura’s Log:
You know it’s bad when you sit down with sisters in a packed coffeehouse and, five minutes later, all the surrounding tables are vacant. Lucy came out swinging: “Admit it. You have never been comfortable with the fact I’m a lesbian. And you have a fear that I’m going to turn Gretel that way, too.”
Estelle was flabbergasted, but managed to be articulate. “What you’re right about is I’m not comfortable around you. I know it disgusts you, but I’m uncomfortable about a lot of things. Tiger Woods. Ryan Seacrest. Even—I know this will shock you—Sarah Palin. I don’t care that you’re a lesbian. I care that you’re an angry person—not just an angry lesbian. You’re angry about everything. Laura and I wanted to meet at Starbucks, but going to a big corporate entity would have sent you over the edge. Although you seem to already be there.”
Lucy didn’t hear much of what Estelle had to say. She picked out the “angry lesbian” and went for the jugular. “Listen to you! Demonizing lesbians! We’re all angry! We’re the serial killers in movies! We’re Rosie O’Donnell going ballistic on that cute, petite Elizabeth puppet on ‘The View’.”
Ahem. My turn to step up as mediator. “Listen, let’s just calm down and—”
But Elizabeth was seething. “Yeah, all lesbians are angry. That’s exactly what I said. That Ellen Degeneres, why does she have to be so mean on ‘Idol’?”
A few more heated exchanges and Lucy stormed out. Not a moment too soon. A timid barista was edging toward our table, likely coming to ask us to keep it down. Pretty please. With Lucy’s grand exit, the worker retreated safety behind the counter, no doubt wondering if minimum wage was worth it. (Later, as we were leaving, I tossed an extra Toonie in the tip jar.)
It took Estelle twenty minutes to unwind. Would’ve been longer but then she remembered her digital camera in her purse. She pulled it out and showed the pics she’d snapped at Gretel’s last Taps for Tots session. All 117 of them. I really felt like I was there.
* * *
Woke up at 4:15 this morning, Tupper throwing up again. After some mopping and a walkie, I couldn’t get back to sleep. Dangerous thoughts came to mind. I’d lost Gabriel. Had I expected too much? What if he was my last shot? And what about Tupper? Was he in pain? How much longer did he have? Would I know when it was the right time to take him to the vet one last time? Would I do it? Why was Tim Urban still on “American Idol”? Why was I still watching? And what would I do after “Ugly Betty” was all over? Why didn’t I have a real life?
I tried to deceive myself with happy thoughts. But Häagen-Dazs coffee ice cream only brings a smile when it’s stocked in the freezer. Bland low-fat vanilla frozen yogurt? Meh.
I thought of Lucy’s rage. We all knew it was pathological and needed treatment, but who would dare to bring it up? How did Carl(a) deal with it? I thought of Dad. Weeks (months?) ago, he’d said they were trying to force his retirement. He’d looked despondent. How was he doing? Unlike Lucy, or Mom even, he was so hard to read. Would he open up if I tried to go there or would he just be embarrassed for sharing in the first place and build a taller, thicker wall?
I looked to Tupper for comfort, but he was back to snoring. Oh, to be a dog. Why couldn’t I just vomit?
KEN’S JOURNAL:
WHEN SARA ASKED IF WE COULD MEET @ GRANDVIEW PARK THIS MORNING, I KNEW THERE HAD TO BE TROUBLE. SHE COULDN’T BE IN HER RIGHT MIND—WHY ELSE WLD SHE SUGGEST MTG WHERE WE CLD WATCH DERELICTS SHOOT UP & BEG FOR “BUS FARE”?
I SPED OVER B/C I DIDN’T LIKE THE IDEA OF HER SITTING THERE ALONE, BUT SHE WAS ALREADY ON A BENCH WHEN I PULLED UP. HADN’T EVEN SAT DOWN WHEN SHE SAID, “IF IT COMES TO IT, WLD YOU TAKE IN TRAVIS?”
I REALLY NEEDED TO SIT. “WHERE’D THAT COME FROM?”
“HE & JERRY HAD AN AWFUL WEEKEND. STARTED IN THE CAR ON THE WAY BACK FROM YOUR PLACE.”
“I DIDN’T MEAN TO—”
“NO, IT’S NOT YOU AT ALL. YOU WERE GREAT W/TRAVIS. REALLY! I SHLD’VE CALLED YOU ON THE WEEKEND TO SAY THANKS. THERE WAS JUST SO MUCH GOING ON. I ACTUALLY TOOK ETHAN & RUDY & BELLA TO THE AQUARIUM ON SATURDAY JUST TO GET THEM AWAY. AND ME AWAY. SUNDAY WAS MUCH BETTER. TRAVIS BARRICADED HIMSELF IN HIS ROOM GETTING HIGH & JERRY WAS HOLED UP IN HIS OFFICE.” SHE LOOKED @ ME & HER EYES WELLED UP. “HE’S 13, KEN. HOW DO WE MAKE IT ’TIL 18? IF HE STICKS AROUND THAT LONG. I HONESTLY DON’T KNOW.”
I DIDN’T HAVE ANY ANSWERS. I JUST PUT MY ARM AROUND SARA & SHE LEANED IN & BAWLED. TEARS WERE COMING SO EASILY OF LATE. AND TRAV WAS JUST THE 1ST TO HIT ADOLESCENCE. WHAT CHALLENGES WLD THE OTHER 3 BRING?
AFTER SHE’D CALMED—AN HR LATER!—I KNEW I CLDN’T LEAVE HER ALONE FOR THE DAY. I’D JUST HAVE TO TRUST THAT CARL WASN’T MESSING UP THE RENO, IGNORING ALL MY REQUESTS (“DEMANDS”, AS HE CALLED THEM). I TOOK HER TO VAN DUSEN GARDENS & LUNCH @ SHAUGHNESSY RESTAURANT. SOMETIMES WHEN THINGS GET TOO BIG, A LITTLE RESPITE IS THE BEST YOU CAN HOPE FOR.
Laura’s Log:
You know it’s bad when you sit down with sisters in a packed coffeehouse and, five minutes later, all the surrounding tables are vacant. Lucy came out swinging: “Admit it. You have never been comfortable with the fact I’m a lesbian. And you have a fear that I’m going to turn Gretel that way, too.”
Estelle was flabbergasted, but managed to be articulate. “What you’re right about is I’m not comfortable around you. I know it disgusts you, but I’m uncomfortable about a lot of things. Tiger Woods. Ryan Seacrest. Even—I know this will shock you—Sarah Palin. I don’t care that you’re a lesbian. I care that you’re an angry person—not just an angry lesbian. You’re angry about everything. Laura and I wanted to meet at Starbucks, but going to a big corporate entity would have sent you over the edge. Although you seem to already be there.”
Lucy didn’t hear much of what Estelle had to say. She picked out the “angry lesbian” and went for the jugular. “Listen to you! Demonizing lesbians! We’re all angry! We’re the serial killers in movies! We’re Rosie O’Donnell going ballistic on that cute, petite Elizabeth puppet on ‘The View’.”
Ahem. My turn to step up as mediator. “Listen, let’s just calm down and—”
But Elizabeth was seething. “Yeah, all lesbians are angry. That’s exactly what I said. That Ellen Degeneres, why does she have to be so mean on ‘Idol’?”
A few more heated exchanges and Lucy stormed out. Not a moment too soon. A timid barista was edging toward our table, likely coming to ask us to keep it down. Pretty please. With Lucy’s grand exit, the worker retreated safety behind the counter, no doubt wondering if minimum wage was worth it. (Later, as we were leaving, I tossed an extra Toonie in the tip jar.)
It took Estelle twenty minutes to unwind. Would’ve been longer but then she remembered her digital camera in her purse. She pulled it out and showed the pics she’d snapped at Gretel’s last Taps for Tots session. All 117 of them. I really felt like I was there.
* * *
Woke up at 4:15 this morning, Tupper throwing up again. After some mopping and a walkie, I couldn’t get back to sleep. Dangerous thoughts came to mind. I’d lost Gabriel. Had I expected too much? What if he was my last shot? And what about Tupper? Was he in pain? How much longer did he have? Would I know when it was the right time to take him to the vet one last time? Would I do it? Why was Tim Urban still on “American Idol”? Why was I still watching? And what would I do after “Ugly Betty” was all over? Why didn’t I have a real life?
I tried to deceive myself with happy thoughts. But Häagen-Dazs coffee ice cream only brings a smile when it’s stocked in the freezer. Bland low-fat vanilla frozen yogurt? Meh.
I thought of Lucy’s rage. We all knew it was pathological and needed treatment, but who would dare to bring it up? How did Carl(a) deal with it? I thought of Dad. Weeks (months?) ago, he’d said they were trying to force his retirement. He’d looked despondent. How was he doing? Unlike Lucy, or Mom even, he was so hard to read. Would he open up if I tried to go there or would he just be embarrassed for sharing in the first place and build a taller, thicker wall?
I looked to Tupper for comfort, but he was back to snoring. Oh, to be a dog. Why couldn’t I just vomit?
KEN’S JOURNAL:
WHEN SARA ASKED IF WE COULD MEET @ GRANDVIEW PARK THIS MORNING, I KNEW THERE HAD TO BE TROUBLE. SHE COULDN’T BE IN HER RIGHT MIND—WHY ELSE WLD SHE SUGGEST MTG WHERE WE CLD WATCH DERELICTS SHOOT UP & BEG FOR “BUS FARE”?
I SPED OVER B/C I DIDN’T LIKE THE IDEA OF HER SITTING THERE ALONE, BUT SHE WAS ALREADY ON A BENCH WHEN I PULLED UP. HADN’T EVEN SAT DOWN WHEN SHE SAID, “IF IT COMES TO IT, WLD YOU TAKE IN TRAVIS?”
I REALLY NEEDED TO SIT. “WHERE’D THAT COME FROM?”
“HE & JERRY HAD AN AWFUL WEEKEND. STARTED IN THE CAR ON THE WAY BACK FROM YOUR PLACE.”
“I DIDN’T MEAN TO—”
“NO, IT’S NOT YOU AT ALL. YOU WERE GREAT W/TRAVIS. REALLY! I SHLD’VE CALLED YOU ON THE WEEKEND TO SAY THANKS. THERE WAS JUST SO MUCH GOING ON. I ACTUALLY TOOK ETHAN & RUDY & BELLA TO THE AQUARIUM ON SATURDAY JUST TO GET THEM AWAY. AND ME AWAY. SUNDAY WAS MUCH BETTER. TRAVIS BARRICADED HIMSELF IN HIS ROOM GETTING HIGH & JERRY WAS HOLED UP IN HIS OFFICE.” SHE LOOKED @ ME & HER EYES WELLED UP. “HE’S 13, KEN. HOW DO WE MAKE IT ’TIL 18? IF HE STICKS AROUND THAT LONG. I HONESTLY DON’T KNOW.”
I DIDN’T HAVE ANY ANSWERS. I JUST PUT MY ARM AROUND SARA & SHE LEANED IN & BAWLED. TEARS WERE COMING SO EASILY OF LATE. AND TRAV WAS JUST THE 1ST TO HIT ADOLESCENCE. WHAT CHALLENGES WLD THE OTHER 3 BRING?
AFTER SHE’D CALMED—AN HR LATER!—I KNEW I CLDN’T LEAVE HER ALONE FOR THE DAY. I’D JUST HAVE TO TRUST THAT CARL WASN’T MESSING UP THE RENO, IGNORING ALL MY REQUESTS (“DEMANDS”, AS HE CALLED THEM). I TOOK HER TO VAN DUSEN GARDENS & LUNCH @ SHAUGHNESSY RESTAURANT. SOMETIMES WHEN THINGS GET TOO BIG, A LITTLE RESPITE IS THE BEST YOU CAN HOPE FOR.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
TAMING THE BEAST
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): See if you can get your people to move toward something totally new today — you never know what might come of it! Your great social and mental energies are in perfect sync, so go for it!
Laura’s Log:
Anyone wondering where the lions are? I’ve just completed an extensive rundown of all the wildlife game farms, exotic animal rescues and zoos in Canada. We’ve got a lot of grand beasts who are a long, long way from home. Educational? I suppose. Mostly, it leaves me feeling kinda sad.
My brain is mush. If anyone wants to have a conversation about everything Anne on PEI, I’m good. Where’s the nearest roller coaster for folks in Medicine Hat? Just give me a sec. I could plan one extraordinary cross-country summer adventure for my kids! And that’s the problem…I DON’T HAVE KIDS! Oh, believe me, I dreamt I did. A whole elementary school of kids that I’d adopted or something. They kept climbing out the bus windows and onto the roof as our caravan set off for that Canadian Must-See: West Edmonton Mall. (I seem to recall a few kids flying off the roof and becoming roadkill, but isn’t that just a compelling argument for school buses getting seat belts?)
So, in a nutshell, it seems Derrick’s demented research assignment is getting the best of my mind. I stayed until 7:30 last night (“American Idol” called) and resumed at 6:45 this morning—yes, I’ve earned this work break!—and, while I’ve got so much more to do, I’m starting to think I’ll meet his insane deadline tomorrow.
Of course, that gets me to thinking, What’s next? Can he find a way to require that I stay outside in the rain for 48 hours, preferably standing in the middle of the Capilano River? Will he force feed me three plates of spicy enchiladas so I can offer a personal account of the wonders of various diarrhea products on the market? Too demented, you say? My brain may be fried, but one thing is clear: nothing is too sadistic for a spurned office ASSHOLE. Sometimes the bad date never ends.
Break is over. Not sure that it helped.
KEN’S JOURNAL:
JERRY GOT OUT OF TOWN JUST IN TIME. IN TORONTO THIS TIME. SARA GOT A CALL FROM SCHOOL RIGHT AFTER LUNCH YESTERDAY. TRAVIS WAS HIGH IN MATH CLASS. A BAG OF POT & SOME PILLS WERE FOUND IN HIS BACKPACK. SUSPENDED 3 DAYS. POLICE REPORT FILED. WHEN I GOT OVER TO THE HOUSE, SARA WAS STILL HYPERVENTILATING. I FORCED HER TO LIE DOWN WHILE I GOT HER SOME TEA. THEN SHE STARTED SOBBING UNCONTROLLABLY. AFTER 20 MIN, SHE WAS STILL AT IT. SCARED ME. MY ROCK HAD MELTED INTO A GLOB OF OOZY LAVA.
I PUSHED MY WAY INTO TRAVIS’ ROOM. “GET OUT!” HE ORDERED. WRONG MOVE. YOU DON’T MESS W/MY SISTER & THEN THINK THAT, AT 13, YOU’VE EARNED THE RIGHT TO PRIVACY, RESPECT, TRUST.
“PACK UP SOME CLOTHES. YOU’RE W/ME TONITE…AND TOMORROW.”
“WHAT THE FUCK?!”
“HEY, CUT THE SHIT! WHEN YOU’RE ANCIENT LIKE ME, YOU CAN SWEAR ALL YOU WANT. BUT NOT NOW. ESPECIALLY NOT NOW!”
HE GLARED AT ME, FOLDED HIS ARMS & DIDN’T MOVE FROM HIS BED. I PULLED OPEN SOME DRAWERS & STARTED PICKING OUT HIS CLOTHES. THAT GOT HIM UP FAST. UNCLE KEN MAKING FASHION CHOICES? NOT GONNA HAPPEN. I FOUND A DUFFEL BAG IN THE CLOSET & TOSSED IT ON THE BED. “PACK ENUF FOR 2 NITES. NOT SURE HOW LONG YOU’RE W/ME.” HE GLARED AGAIN & OPENED HIS MOUTH TO SPEAK. WHATEVER LOOK I HAD ON MY FACE MADE HIM THINK BETTER OF IT. “DO ME A FAVOR,” I SAID. “DON’T MAKE ME TALK TO YOU A WHOLE LOT RIGHT NOW. I DON’T HAVE A LOT OF PATIENCE OR WARM, FUZZY THOUGHTS RIGHT NOW.”
“FINE!” HE MUTTERED. BUT BEHIND THAT FRONT OF TEEN ANNOYANCE, I COULD TELL HE WAS HURT. UNCLE KEN DIDN’T GET MAD. UNCLE KEN ALWAYS TRIED HARD TO BOND. UNCLE KEN WAS SUPPOSED TO BE JUST ANOTHER KICKING POST.
NOT NOW. I’D SEEN “AN OFFICER & A GENTLEMAN” ENUF TIMES—CLARA’S FAVORITE—& I COULD BE SERGEANT FOLEY IF I HAD TO. NOBODY BREAKS MY SIS & GETS AWAY W/IT.
Laura’s Log:
Anyone wondering where the lions are? I’ve just completed an extensive rundown of all the wildlife game farms, exotic animal rescues and zoos in Canada. We’ve got a lot of grand beasts who are a long, long way from home. Educational? I suppose. Mostly, it leaves me feeling kinda sad.
My brain is mush. If anyone wants to have a conversation about everything Anne on PEI, I’m good. Where’s the nearest roller coaster for folks in Medicine Hat? Just give me a sec. I could plan one extraordinary cross-country summer adventure for my kids! And that’s the problem…I DON’T HAVE KIDS! Oh, believe me, I dreamt I did. A whole elementary school of kids that I’d adopted or something. They kept climbing out the bus windows and onto the roof as our caravan set off for that Canadian Must-See: West Edmonton Mall. (I seem to recall a few kids flying off the roof and becoming roadkill, but isn’t that just a compelling argument for school buses getting seat belts?)
So, in a nutshell, it seems Derrick’s demented research assignment is getting the best of my mind. I stayed until 7:30 last night (“American Idol” called) and resumed at 6:45 this morning—yes, I’ve earned this work break!—and, while I’ve got so much more to do, I’m starting to think I’ll meet his insane deadline tomorrow.
Of course, that gets me to thinking, What’s next? Can he find a way to require that I stay outside in the rain for 48 hours, preferably standing in the middle of the Capilano River? Will he force feed me three plates of spicy enchiladas so I can offer a personal account of the wonders of various diarrhea products on the market? Too demented, you say? My brain may be fried, but one thing is clear: nothing is too sadistic for a spurned office ASSHOLE. Sometimes the bad date never ends.
Break is over. Not sure that it helped.
KEN’S JOURNAL:
JERRY GOT OUT OF TOWN JUST IN TIME. IN TORONTO THIS TIME. SARA GOT A CALL FROM SCHOOL RIGHT AFTER LUNCH YESTERDAY. TRAVIS WAS HIGH IN MATH CLASS. A BAG OF POT & SOME PILLS WERE FOUND IN HIS BACKPACK. SUSPENDED 3 DAYS. POLICE REPORT FILED. WHEN I GOT OVER TO THE HOUSE, SARA WAS STILL HYPERVENTILATING. I FORCED HER TO LIE DOWN WHILE I GOT HER SOME TEA. THEN SHE STARTED SOBBING UNCONTROLLABLY. AFTER 20 MIN, SHE WAS STILL AT IT. SCARED ME. MY ROCK HAD MELTED INTO A GLOB OF OOZY LAVA.
I PUSHED MY WAY INTO TRAVIS’ ROOM. “GET OUT!” HE ORDERED. WRONG MOVE. YOU DON’T MESS W/MY SISTER & THEN THINK THAT, AT 13, YOU’VE EARNED THE RIGHT TO PRIVACY, RESPECT, TRUST.
“PACK UP SOME CLOTHES. YOU’RE W/ME TONITE…AND TOMORROW.”
“WHAT THE FUCK?!”
“HEY, CUT THE SHIT! WHEN YOU’RE ANCIENT LIKE ME, YOU CAN SWEAR ALL YOU WANT. BUT NOT NOW. ESPECIALLY NOT NOW!”
HE GLARED AT ME, FOLDED HIS ARMS & DIDN’T MOVE FROM HIS BED. I PULLED OPEN SOME DRAWERS & STARTED PICKING OUT HIS CLOTHES. THAT GOT HIM UP FAST. UNCLE KEN MAKING FASHION CHOICES? NOT GONNA HAPPEN. I FOUND A DUFFEL BAG IN THE CLOSET & TOSSED IT ON THE BED. “PACK ENUF FOR 2 NITES. NOT SURE HOW LONG YOU’RE W/ME.” HE GLARED AGAIN & OPENED HIS MOUTH TO SPEAK. WHATEVER LOOK I HAD ON MY FACE MADE HIM THINK BETTER OF IT. “DO ME A FAVOR,” I SAID. “DON’T MAKE ME TALK TO YOU A WHOLE LOT RIGHT NOW. I DON’T HAVE A LOT OF PATIENCE OR WARM, FUZZY THOUGHTS RIGHT NOW.”
“FINE!” HE MUTTERED. BUT BEHIND THAT FRONT OF TEEN ANNOYANCE, I COULD TELL HE WAS HURT. UNCLE KEN DIDN’T GET MAD. UNCLE KEN ALWAYS TRIED HARD TO BOND. UNCLE KEN WAS SUPPOSED TO BE JUST ANOTHER KICKING POST.
NOT NOW. I’D SEEN “AN OFFICER & A GENTLEMAN” ENUF TIMES—CLARA’S FAVORITE—& I COULD BE SERGEANT FOLEY IF I HAD TO. NOBODY BREAKS MY SIS & GETS AWAY W/IT.
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.
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.
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.
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!
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 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.
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.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
A KINK IN DATING…OR KINKY DATING?
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Your energy provides all the good times you need today — so run with it! You may acquire a few followers, who are all too likely to make life even sweeter, at least for the time being.
Laura’s Log:
Gabriel has a roommate. It wasn’t a factor during our first date. Chris was in Calgary on business. But Chris staked out the living room last night for “American Idol” and whatever crime show followed. (What is with all the crime shows? How many splattered blood scenes with loitering police detectives do people need to intake each week?)
It felt like university, sneaking off to a dorm room as we continued our elevator foreplay in the bedroom. Even more so on account of the coed atmosphere. Turns out Chris is a woman.
Okay, so I don’t entirely believe Billy Crystal’s assertion in “When Harry Met Sally” that men and women can never be just friends. But still, it was uncomfortable flinging my blouse on the floor as another woman was a wall away. Exchanging forced smiles as I wore Gabriel’s robe and headed for the shower didn’t help. The sex was good, not great. And that’s a major letdown from Opening Night.
I blame Chris. Everything was muted, the motions more contained. (The bed squeaks, after all.) Okay, I blame Gabriel, too. Thirty-five-year-old men should not have roommates and most certainly not of the female variety. What’s cool in college is a potential relationship buster more than a decade later.
I should take a timeout, but we’re on again for tonight. (Did I mention it’s been two years since my last romp?) It’s going to have to wind up at my place though. Sure, Tupper will hump his leg, but I’ll put on “The Dog Whisperer”, toss a rawhide chewie and Gabriel and I can work on our own animal ritual.
KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
WENT BACK TO THE FORERUNNERS GROUP LAST NIGHT. I WAS DETERMINED NOT TO BE LEFT IN THE WOMEN’S WAKE THIS TIME. STRETCHED FOR 15 MIN EVEN B/F HEADING OVER. CALF MUSCLE FELT FINE.
I AM PLEASED TO SAY THAT I MANAGED TO KEEP UP…WITH THE STRAGGLERS, AT LEAST. KATE IS A LOVELY 72 YEAR-OLD GRANDMOTHER WHO TALKED AT LENGTH ABOUT DOING A WATERFALL JIGSAW PUZZLE WITH HER 9 YEAR-OLD GRANDSON WHO BLOCKED ALL CONVERSATION WITH HIS IPOD AND MINERVA IS A 66 YEAR-OLD CHURCH ORGANIST WHO IS RECOVERING FROM HIP SURGERY & PLANNING TO CLIMB MOUNT KILIMANJARO IN LATE SUMMER. (OK, CONFESSION. I MADE UP THE MTN CLIMBING THING. THE EGO IS STILL FRAGILE.) WE MADE A LOVELY RUNNING TRIO. I’M SO GLAD IT STILL GETS DARK EARLY. (DON’T KNOW WHAT I’LL DO W/THE TIME CHANGE NEXT WEEK.)
KATE AND MINERVA HAD TO DASH AFTER THE RUN—SOMETHING ABOUT BRIDGE GROUP AND A GARDENING CLUB SLIDE SHOW—BUT I CAUGHT UP WITH THE REST OF THE WOMEN FOR COFFEE.
“IT WAS SO NICE OF YOU TO STAY BACK WITH THE OLDER LADIES,” MADDIE SAID, DULY IMPRESSED. “SUCH A GENTLEMAN!”
YEAH, THAT’S IT. NO FRICKIN’ WAY I WAS GONNA CORRECT HER. SHE EVEN GAVE ME HER NUMBER AFTER I FEIGNED INTEREST IN THE DA VINCI EXHIBIT AT THE VANCOUVER ART GALLERY. CHECKED THE WEBSITE WHEN I GOT HOME. ANATOMICAL DRAWINGS. SOUNDS LIKE A SNOOZER. DON’T BELIEVE ME? CHECK OUT THIS, RIGHT OF THE SITE, INTENDED TO DRUM UP INTEREST:
INCLUDED ARE THE FIRST KNOWN ACCURATE DEPICTIONS OF THE SPINAL COLUMN AND TWO MAGISTERIAL SHEETS DEPICTING THE MUSCULATURE OF THE LOWER LEGS AND FEET.
ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! WHAT IS SHE, A FOOT FETISHIST?
OKAY, IT LOOKS LIKE I’VE GOT A DATE, BUT HOW CAN SOMETHING GROW FROM GAZING AT SKETCHES OF LOWER LEGS AND FEET? TALK ABOUT A POST-OLYMPICS LETDOWN!
Laura’s Log:
Gabriel has a roommate. It wasn’t a factor during our first date. Chris was in Calgary on business. But Chris staked out the living room last night for “American Idol” and whatever crime show followed. (What is with all the crime shows? How many splattered blood scenes with loitering police detectives do people need to intake each week?)
It felt like university, sneaking off to a dorm room as we continued our elevator foreplay in the bedroom. Even more so on account of the coed atmosphere. Turns out Chris is a woman.
Okay, so I don’t entirely believe Billy Crystal’s assertion in “When Harry Met Sally” that men and women can never be just friends. But still, it was uncomfortable flinging my blouse on the floor as another woman was a wall away. Exchanging forced smiles as I wore Gabriel’s robe and headed for the shower didn’t help. The sex was good, not great. And that’s a major letdown from Opening Night.
I blame Chris. Everything was muted, the motions more contained. (The bed squeaks, after all.) Okay, I blame Gabriel, too. Thirty-five-year-old men should not have roommates and most certainly not of the female variety. What’s cool in college is a potential relationship buster more than a decade later.
I should take a timeout, but we’re on again for tonight. (Did I mention it’s been two years since my last romp?) It’s going to have to wind up at my place though. Sure, Tupper will hump his leg, but I’ll put on “The Dog Whisperer”, toss a rawhide chewie and Gabriel and I can work on our own animal ritual.
KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
WENT BACK TO THE FORERUNNERS GROUP LAST NIGHT. I WAS DETERMINED NOT TO BE LEFT IN THE WOMEN’S WAKE THIS TIME. STRETCHED FOR 15 MIN EVEN B/F HEADING OVER. CALF MUSCLE FELT FINE.
I AM PLEASED TO SAY THAT I MANAGED TO KEEP UP…WITH THE STRAGGLERS, AT LEAST. KATE IS A LOVELY 72 YEAR-OLD GRANDMOTHER WHO TALKED AT LENGTH ABOUT DOING A WATERFALL JIGSAW PUZZLE WITH HER 9 YEAR-OLD GRANDSON WHO BLOCKED ALL CONVERSATION WITH HIS IPOD AND MINERVA IS A 66 YEAR-OLD CHURCH ORGANIST WHO IS RECOVERING FROM HIP SURGERY & PLANNING TO CLIMB MOUNT KILIMANJARO IN LATE SUMMER. (OK, CONFESSION. I MADE UP THE MTN CLIMBING THING. THE EGO IS STILL FRAGILE.) WE MADE A LOVELY RUNNING TRIO. I’M SO GLAD IT STILL GETS DARK EARLY. (DON’T KNOW WHAT I’LL DO W/THE TIME CHANGE NEXT WEEK.)
KATE AND MINERVA HAD TO DASH AFTER THE RUN—SOMETHING ABOUT BRIDGE GROUP AND A GARDENING CLUB SLIDE SHOW—BUT I CAUGHT UP WITH THE REST OF THE WOMEN FOR COFFEE.
“IT WAS SO NICE OF YOU TO STAY BACK WITH THE OLDER LADIES,” MADDIE SAID, DULY IMPRESSED. “SUCH A GENTLEMAN!”
YEAH, THAT’S IT. NO FRICKIN’ WAY I WAS GONNA CORRECT HER. SHE EVEN GAVE ME HER NUMBER AFTER I FEIGNED INTEREST IN THE DA VINCI EXHIBIT AT THE VANCOUVER ART GALLERY. CHECKED THE WEBSITE WHEN I GOT HOME. ANATOMICAL DRAWINGS. SOUNDS LIKE A SNOOZER. DON’T BELIEVE ME? CHECK OUT THIS, RIGHT OF THE SITE, INTENDED TO DRUM UP INTEREST:
INCLUDED ARE THE FIRST KNOWN ACCURATE DEPICTIONS OF THE SPINAL COLUMN AND TWO MAGISTERIAL SHEETS DEPICTING THE MUSCULATURE OF THE LOWER LEGS AND FEET.
ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! WHAT IS SHE, A FOOT FETISHIST?
OKAY, IT LOOKS LIKE I’VE GOT A DATE, BUT HOW CAN SOMETHING GROW FROM GAZING AT SKETCHES OF LOWER LEGS AND FEET? TALK ABOUT A POST-OLYMPICS LETDOWN!
Friday, February 26, 2010
YOU CAN’T CHOOSE YOUR COWORKERS…OR CAN YOU?
February 26, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You are naturally social -- though that doesn't mean you see yourself as a natural leader. Still, today you rise to the challenge and end up surprising a lot of people, including yourself.
Laura’s Log:
Just got word from the temp agency that today is my last day at Deer Lake Auto Shop. Feel like singing “Hallelujah” (more the forgettable, first-person-kicked-off-“American Idol” version than the supreme kd lang version, but still…). Delores should be back Monday, barring another trip to the curling rink. Mindy with the temp agency was booking me for a stint at a funeral home—keep me clear of the crematorium and I’m fine (I think)—and was surprised Sergi had not told me yet. That makes one of us.
I continued to be a nonentity at the auto shop and, since hell had apparently frozen over, I decided it was time to defrost the environment. I’d done all the tasks I could decipher on the lists thrust on my desk whenever I turned away and I decided to harass Sergi about the chicken scratch that continued to confound me. Don’t ever accuse me of riding the time clock. If I’m at work, the last thing I want to do is start updating my Facebook page or surfing for earsplitting first week “Idol” performances on YouTube.
“Sergi!” He set his coffee cup down and shuffled to the storage room. I followed. Drawing my heretofore unknown inner Rocky Balboa, I hollered, “Yo! Sergi!” He bolted out the back door and I chased him down the alley. As Sergi is 6’4” and 280, it was ridiculous for me to yell, “Don’t make me tackle you!” but absurdity seemed to be the norm at Deer Lake Auto Shop. To my surprise, he stopped and held his hands up as if to say, Don’t shoot!
Turns out he wasn’t so much afraid of me as of his wife. The Great Ice War had been mere subterfuge. Apparently, Tatiana, who worked the cash register, felt he was a little too excited during some Monday night lovemaking and she accused him of fantasizing about me. “You’re beautiful,” he noted. (That’s not entirely relevant, but I retain the right to document whatever I choose. And I also opt to repress any creepy subtext.) Judging from the way his eyes popped out and kept darting in every direction, our alley conversation was too dangerous to continue. He begged me to meet him at the front register, with Tatiana bearing witness. And then, with sweat already painting his brow, he said, “Wait ten minutes” and then ran around to the front.
Ten minutes. I looked at my watch. 11:40. I walked to my car and drove away. You know that expression, You just can’t pay me enough? I decided to start the weekend early.
KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
THE BOSS IS AWAY TODAY. THANK GOD. THE BASTARD SCORED TIX TO THE CANADA-SLOVAKIA GAME & DECIDED, W/ALL THE STRESS I’D CAUSED HIM, HE DESERVED A 3-DAY WEEKEND. I SHLD BE THE OFFICE HERO, BUT PEOPLE HAVE BEEN COOL TO ME ALL WEEK. WHILE I’M THE TARGET OF THE BOSS’ WRATH, HE HAS A TENDENCY TO LET HIS IRE SPILL OVER. WON’T MISS HIM ONCE I GET OUT OF HERE.
CONVINCED RAJ TO GO TO LUNCH W/ME. SAID HE WAS GOING TO STAY IN & ENJOY HIS PEANUT BUTTER SANDWICH SO I HAD TO OFFER TO TREAT HIM AT THE IRISH HEATHER. HE’S A CHEAP MF, BUT HE’S FREAKIN’ AMAZING W/REAL ESTATE. NEED TO LURE HIM TO JOINING MARTY & ME WHEN WE START THE NEW VENTURE.
IMMEDIATELY HE STARTED TO FREAK AS I MENTIONED THE POSSIBILITY OF BREAKING OUT ON OUR OWN. “BUT I’VE GOT A WIFE & TWO KIDS…” COME ON, DUDE. HAVE SOME GUTS. ENJOY MORE CONTROL. HELP YOUR FAMILY GET MORE OF WHAT IT DESERVES. MY PITCH SLOWLY STARTED TO WORK. (I THINK THE GUINNESS HELPED!) I HAVE NO DOUBT HE’LL HAVE A PANIC ATTACK AS HE TALKS IT OVER W/THE WIFE ON THE WEEKEND, BUT I’LL KEEP PUSHING. THERE ARE PLENTY OF PUBS IN THE AREA. I’LL CLOSE THE DEAL.
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You are naturally social -- though that doesn't mean you see yourself as a natural leader. Still, today you rise to the challenge and end up surprising a lot of people, including yourself.
Laura’s Log:
Just got word from the temp agency that today is my last day at Deer Lake Auto Shop. Feel like singing “Hallelujah” (more the forgettable, first-person-kicked-off-“American Idol” version than the supreme kd lang version, but still…). Delores should be back Monday, barring another trip to the curling rink. Mindy with the temp agency was booking me for a stint at a funeral home—keep me clear of the crematorium and I’m fine (I think)—and was surprised Sergi had not told me yet. That makes one of us.
I continued to be a nonentity at the auto shop and, since hell had apparently frozen over, I decided it was time to defrost the environment. I’d done all the tasks I could decipher on the lists thrust on my desk whenever I turned away and I decided to harass Sergi about the chicken scratch that continued to confound me. Don’t ever accuse me of riding the time clock. If I’m at work, the last thing I want to do is start updating my Facebook page or surfing for earsplitting first week “Idol” performances on YouTube.
“Sergi!” He set his coffee cup down and shuffled to the storage room. I followed. Drawing my heretofore unknown inner Rocky Balboa, I hollered, “Yo! Sergi!” He bolted out the back door and I chased him down the alley. As Sergi is 6’4” and 280, it was ridiculous for me to yell, “Don’t make me tackle you!” but absurdity seemed to be the norm at Deer Lake Auto Shop. To my surprise, he stopped and held his hands up as if to say, Don’t shoot!
Turns out he wasn’t so much afraid of me as of his wife. The Great Ice War had been mere subterfuge. Apparently, Tatiana, who worked the cash register, felt he was a little too excited during some Monday night lovemaking and she accused him of fantasizing about me. “You’re beautiful,” he noted. (That’s not entirely relevant, but I retain the right to document whatever I choose. And I also opt to repress any creepy subtext.) Judging from the way his eyes popped out and kept darting in every direction, our alley conversation was too dangerous to continue. He begged me to meet him at the front register, with Tatiana bearing witness. And then, with sweat already painting his brow, he said, “Wait ten minutes” and then ran around to the front.
Ten minutes. I looked at my watch. 11:40. I walked to my car and drove away. You know that expression, You just can’t pay me enough? I decided to start the weekend early.
KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
THE BOSS IS AWAY TODAY. THANK GOD. THE BASTARD SCORED TIX TO THE CANADA-SLOVAKIA GAME & DECIDED, W/ALL THE STRESS I’D CAUSED HIM, HE DESERVED A 3-DAY WEEKEND. I SHLD BE THE OFFICE HERO, BUT PEOPLE HAVE BEEN COOL TO ME ALL WEEK. WHILE I’M THE TARGET OF THE BOSS’ WRATH, HE HAS A TENDENCY TO LET HIS IRE SPILL OVER. WON’T MISS HIM ONCE I GET OUT OF HERE.
CONVINCED RAJ TO GO TO LUNCH W/ME. SAID HE WAS GOING TO STAY IN & ENJOY HIS PEANUT BUTTER SANDWICH SO I HAD TO OFFER TO TREAT HIM AT THE IRISH HEATHER. HE’S A CHEAP MF, BUT HE’S FREAKIN’ AMAZING W/REAL ESTATE. NEED TO LURE HIM TO JOINING MARTY & ME WHEN WE START THE NEW VENTURE.
IMMEDIATELY HE STARTED TO FREAK AS I MENTIONED THE POSSIBILITY OF BREAKING OUT ON OUR OWN. “BUT I’VE GOT A WIFE & TWO KIDS…” COME ON, DUDE. HAVE SOME GUTS. ENJOY MORE CONTROL. HELP YOUR FAMILY GET MORE OF WHAT IT DESERVES. MY PITCH SLOWLY STARTED TO WORK. (I THINK THE GUINNESS HELPED!) I HAVE NO DOUBT HE’LL HAVE A PANIC ATTACK AS HE TALKS IT OVER W/THE WIFE ON THE WEEKEND, BUT I’LL KEEP PUSHING. THERE ARE PLENTY OF PUBS IN THE AREA. I’LL CLOSE THE DEAL.
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