LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Your mood is a little down right now, so you might find it easier to just nap or otherwise dawdle the day away. Things are going to get better pretty soon, especially if one special person comes your way!
Laura’s Log:
I am so mad at myself! I fell into a dark funk last night over the fact that stupid Ken didn’t think I was worthy of a second date. Sure, I went through a rage cycle. Screw him! He’s a loser! Still obsessed with a girlfriend from a year ago,…creepy! Putting him down didn’t make me feel any better. A bit worse, in fact. If he was a loser, what did it mean when even losers were summarily rejecting me now? Thirty-two and single, prospects dimming. I walked to the convenience store across the street, bought a tub of Häagen-Dazs Mint Chip and consumed the whole thing in five joyless minutes. Fell asleep right after that and then had to get up at one in the morning to let poor Tupper out. He’s the innocent in all this. My suffering shouldn’t add to his. I’m not worthy of dating and I suck at taking care of my dog.
When my alarm went off, the night’s pseudo rest hadn’t helped my mood or my facial complexion. Raccoon eyes. Datelessness shall extend into perpetuity!
I kept to myself during morning break and lunch. Pretty much worked right through. Background research on savings and loan ad campaigns was infinitely more fascinating than my life. Went home straight after work, let Tupper out and decided to cocoon in bed. Maybe the Canucks will put in another good game and give me a little pleasure.
KEN’S JOURNAL:
SARA CALLED RIGHT AFTER GETTING THE KIDS OFF TO SCHOOL THIS MORNING. “I’M SORRY I DIDN’T CALL YESTERDAY. EVERYTHING WAS…WELL, WHAT IT ALWAYS IS THESE DAYS. HOW’D YOU MAKE OUT?”
“IT SUCKED, SARA. THE MILESTONES SUCK.”
“YEAH.”
NOTHING MORE TO SAY. FOR DIFFERENT REASONS, WE WERE BOTH EMOTIONALLY SPENT.
“I NEED TO GET OUT OF THE HOUSE,” SHE FINALLY SAID. “I’M THINKING OF GETTING BACK INTO MY PHOTOGRAPHY.” GREAT NEWS! SHE NEEDED SOMETHING TO THINK ABOUT BESIDES BEING A WIFE AND MOTHER, ESPECIALLY SINCE NEITHER ROLE HAD BEEN PARTICULARLY SATISFYING LATELY. SHE CAME BY MY PLACE AND WE WALKED UP TO ART BEATUS GALLERY TO SEE A NEW PHOTOGRAPHIC EXHIBIT CALLED STREETHEADS. I TEND TO STRUGGLE IN GRASPING WHAT MAKES A PHOTOGRAPH SO COMPELLING, BUT SARA WAS IN HER ELEMENT. AFTER ONLY A COUPLE OF MINUTES, SHE WAS MOVED TO TEARS. I WONDERED IF IT WAS SOLELY ON ACCOUNT OF THE ART OR IF SHE JUST NEEDED ANOTHER CHANNEL FOR LETTING OUT HER DOMESTIC WOES.
WE ATE LEBANESE FOOD AT NUBA. BOTH OF US WENT BACK TO BEING SUBDUED. AFTER WALKING BACK TO MY PLACE, SHE HEADED HOME AND I CLIMBED BACK INTO BED. I DIDN’T HAVE THE ENERGY TO DO ANYTHING BEFORE THE CANUCKS GAME. EVEN WITHOUT A JOB, MONDAYS SEEM LIKE THE WORST DAY OF THE WEEK.
Showing posts with label Canucks. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Canucks. Show all posts
Monday, May 3, 2010
Saturday, May 1, 2010
TIME FOR FAMILY
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You need to show your family just how much you care — it’s easy! Your good social energy helps you express your innermost emotions with delicate ease, so get in there and start doing some communicating.
Laura’s Log:
Neither Mom nor Dad was home when I stopped by last night. I headed home to find no messages on my voicemail. No call from Ken. It surprised me that I was disappointed.
Got up this morning and headed to my parents’, Tupper in tow. Dad likes dogs and I thought Tupps could bring a little cheer. I found Dad in his usual spot in the garage. He was tinkering with an old clock that I remembered being in the family room when I was a kid.
“Gosh, where did you find that?!” I asked. “And why are you fiddling with it? Just chuck it.”
Dad answered gruffly, “Just ’cuz something’s old doesn’t mean you dump it.” And just like that, we weren’t talking about the clock anymore.
“Are you okay, Dad?”
“No.” I waited for more, but that was it. Tupper wiggled his tail and nudged up against his leg, but Dad ignored the dog. Confirmation that everything was not all right. I suggested a walk with the dog or our regular trek to Café Calabria.
“Pass. I’ve got a clock to fix.”
“That’s it, Dad. We’re going for coffee. I’m just going to hand Tupper over to Mom.”
When I returned, no Dad. It felt like a little kid running away. His car was still in the driveway so I took to the street. As I turned down Commercial, I spotted him ducking into the produce store. Tagged him at the cheese counter. We had an audience, not something either of us likes, but I had to speak my mind before he whacked me in the knee with a can of Roma tomatoes and tried to make another mad dash. “You’re upset. I get it. Hell, I’d be pissed.”
“Watch your language. I don’t like hearing you talk like that.”
“Dad, you’ve lost your job. Right now, I can tell you feel you’ve lost more than that.”
“My honor. My dignity. After all those years…”
I put a hand on each of his shoulders and looked right into his eyes. “So find a silver lining. You’re always working even when you’re not on the clock. Slow down.”
He back up, letting my arms fall to my sides. “You slow down, you die. Albert Festeriga died three weeks after he retired. Joe Baderkowski was let go and died only a week later.”
“So do something new. Hang out with your grandkids. Play Bocce. Stain the back deck.”
And, with a crowd watching, Dad started shaking. He teared up. Then he leaned into me and all I could do was hold him. I started crying, too. Dad gave everything to his work and now they’d sent him out on their timeline with Dad feeling utterly worthless and lacking a sense of direction.
Still holding him, I managed to shuffle us closer to the less crowded freezer section. Once recovered, we headed for coffee. He didn’t want to talk about his predicament so we talked Canucks. And, for some reason, I mentioned my date with Ken.
“Don’t tell Mom,” I cautioned.
“Of course not! I wouldn’t do that to you.” A jest at Mom’s expense only brought us closer.
KEN’S JOURNAL:
ROUNDED UP ETHAN, BELLA AND RUDY TO TAKE THEM TO CAPILANO SUSPENSION BRIDGE THIS MORNING. SARA AND JERRY NEEDED SOME TIME W/TRAVIS. THEY’RE TRYING A FAMILY COUNSELOR.
“I’VE BEEN TO THAT STUPID BRIDGE LIKE 57 TIMES,” RUDY GRIPED. NEITHER BELLA NOR ETHAN HOPPED ON THE BAD MOOD TRAIN.
“WELL, WHERE DO YOU WANT TO GO WHEN WE’RE DONE?”
“HOME. HOW COME TRAVIS RULES EVERYTHING THAT HAPPENS TO ME?” I GLANCED IN THE REARVIEW MIRROR. JUST THE MENTION OF TRAVIS’ NAME MADE THE OTHER TWO TENSE.
BELLA GOT TEARY. “I HAVE TOO MANY BROTHERS. HOW COME I’M THE ONLY GIRL? IT’S NOT FAIR. IF TRAVIS GOT SENT TO JAIL, IT WOULD A BIT FAIRER.”
DID SARA KNOW THIS? DID TRAVIS? THE KIDS RESENTED HIM. HATED HIM…AND NOT IN THE NORMAL SIBLING RIVALRY WAY. HOW MUCH COULD ONE COUNSELOR DO? AND HOW FAST?
AFTER THE BRIDGE, WE DIDN’T GO STRAIGHT HOME. WE HAD LUNCH AT DQ. SURE THE KIDS LOVED IT, BUT IT WAS A SELFISH DECISION. I NEEDED A TREAT.
Laura’s Log:
Neither Mom nor Dad was home when I stopped by last night. I headed home to find no messages on my voicemail. No call from Ken. It surprised me that I was disappointed.
Got up this morning and headed to my parents’, Tupper in tow. Dad likes dogs and I thought Tupps could bring a little cheer. I found Dad in his usual spot in the garage. He was tinkering with an old clock that I remembered being in the family room when I was a kid.
“Gosh, where did you find that?!” I asked. “And why are you fiddling with it? Just chuck it.”
Dad answered gruffly, “Just ’cuz something’s old doesn’t mean you dump it.” And just like that, we weren’t talking about the clock anymore.
“Are you okay, Dad?”
“No.” I waited for more, but that was it. Tupper wiggled his tail and nudged up against his leg, but Dad ignored the dog. Confirmation that everything was not all right. I suggested a walk with the dog or our regular trek to Café Calabria.
“Pass. I’ve got a clock to fix.”
“That’s it, Dad. We’re going for coffee. I’m just going to hand Tupper over to Mom.”
When I returned, no Dad. It felt like a little kid running away. His car was still in the driveway so I took to the street. As I turned down Commercial, I spotted him ducking into the produce store. Tagged him at the cheese counter. We had an audience, not something either of us likes, but I had to speak my mind before he whacked me in the knee with a can of Roma tomatoes and tried to make another mad dash. “You’re upset. I get it. Hell, I’d be pissed.”
“Watch your language. I don’t like hearing you talk like that.”
“Dad, you’ve lost your job. Right now, I can tell you feel you’ve lost more than that.”
“My honor. My dignity. After all those years…”
I put a hand on each of his shoulders and looked right into his eyes. “So find a silver lining. You’re always working even when you’re not on the clock. Slow down.”
He back up, letting my arms fall to my sides. “You slow down, you die. Albert Festeriga died three weeks after he retired. Joe Baderkowski was let go and died only a week later.”
“So do something new. Hang out with your grandkids. Play Bocce. Stain the back deck.”
And, with a crowd watching, Dad started shaking. He teared up. Then he leaned into me and all I could do was hold him. I started crying, too. Dad gave everything to his work and now they’d sent him out on their timeline with Dad feeling utterly worthless and lacking a sense of direction.
Still holding him, I managed to shuffle us closer to the less crowded freezer section. Once recovered, we headed for coffee. He didn’t want to talk about his predicament so we talked Canucks. And, for some reason, I mentioned my date with Ken.
“Don’t tell Mom,” I cautioned.
“Of course not! I wouldn’t do that to you.” A jest at Mom’s expense only brought us closer.
KEN’S JOURNAL:
ROUNDED UP ETHAN, BELLA AND RUDY TO TAKE THEM TO CAPILANO SUSPENSION BRIDGE THIS MORNING. SARA AND JERRY NEEDED SOME TIME W/TRAVIS. THEY’RE TRYING A FAMILY COUNSELOR.
“I’VE BEEN TO THAT STUPID BRIDGE LIKE 57 TIMES,” RUDY GRIPED. NEITHER BELLA NOR ETHAN HOPPED ON THE BAD MOOD TRAIN.
“WELL, WHERE DO YOU WANT TO GO WHEN WE’RE DONE?”
“HOME. HOW COME TRAVIS RULES EVERYTHING THAT HAPPENS TO ME?” I GLANCED IN THE REARVIEW MIRROR. JUST THE MENTION OF TRAVIS’ NAME MADE THE OTHER TWO TENSE.
BELLA GOT TEARY. “I HAVE TOO MANY BROTHERS. HOW COME I’M THE ONLY GIRL? IT’S NOT FAIR. IF TRAVIS GOT SENT TO JAIL, IT WOULD A BIT FAIRER.”
DID SARA KNOW THIS? DID TRAVIS? THE KIDS RESENTED HIM. HATED HIM…AND NOT IN THE NORMAL SIBLING RIVALRY WAY. HOW MUCH COULD ONE COUNSELOR DO? AND HOW FAST?
AFTER THE BRIDGE, WE DIDN’T GO STRAIGHT HOME. WE HAD LUNCH AT DQ. SURE THE KIDS LOVED IT, BUT IT WAS A SELFISH DECISION. I NEEDED A TREAT.
Friday, April 30, 2010
ANYONE FOR SECONDS?
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You can make startling progress today, as long as you keep from starting off in a new direction. There is time for that later, and you’ve got your eye on a few upcoming milestones.
Laura’s Log:
OK, I stayed for more than a drink. After two rounds, drinks became dinner. Ken proved to be refreshing. Not an arrogant ass trying to show he’s above me. In fact, he was funny in a self-deprecating way. It made for comfortable conversation. I was able to keep up with the Canuck talk and I was glad to be able to listen as he shared his disappointment in the dissolution of his long-term relationship with Clara. So many guys act like they’ve moved on without even a superficial wound after a breakup. Ken showed his vulnerability.
Do we have chemistry? Never thought I’d say it but…maybe.
I have to focus more on Dad today. This is his last day of work before he’s unceremoniously booted. And, as far as I can tell, he still hasn’t told Mom. I called her at the salon and pointedly asked “What’s new?” and “How’s Dad?”
“What’s with the inquisition?” she shot back. “Why are you checking up on me? Nothing’s new. But I’ve got a manicure to to do, honey, so I can’t chat with you now. If you’re lonely, call Estelle. I think she goes a little stir crazy dealing with Elmo and Barney and stroller mommies all day.”
I’ll swing by after work. Mom will think I’m losing it and renew her push for me to go out with Betty Ng’s son. I’ll risk it. Dad needs some support right now.
KEN’S JOURNAL:
TOTALLY BLEW THE DATE. I MEAN, SHE STUCK AROUND LONGER THAN I’D THOUGHT. A FULL DINNER! I HAD A SHOT. AND THEN I STRAYED FROM MY GAME PLAN. RAN ON AND ON AND ON AND ON…ABOUT THE CANUCKS. IT’S THE PLAYOFFS. SURE I’M OBSESSED. SHE TRIED TO BE POLITE—EVEN MENTIONED HER DISAPPOINTMENT WITH RAYMOND AND BURROWS IN THE FIRST ROUND. WOMEN ALWAYS TALK ABOUT MASON RAYMOND. SARA SAYS IT’S HIS EYES. WTF?! IT’S SUPPOSED TO BE ABOUT GOAL PRODUCTION!
AFTER I MANAGED TO GET MYSELF OFF THE CANUCKS CONVERSATION, IT ONLY TOOK 10 MIN B/F I WAS GOING ON ABOUT CLARA. NO! DON’T GO THERE! BACK OUT QUICKLY! LAURA KEPT ASKING QUESTIONS AND I KEPT ANSWERING. EVEN I KNOW YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO TALK ABOUT YOUR EX ON A 1ST DATE. SADLY, BRAIN HAD NO CONTROL OVER MOUTH.
AT LEAST I DIDN’T DRINK TOO MUCH.
IS A 2ND DATE IN THE WORKS? DOUBTFUL. DO I CALL HER & HUMILIATE MYSELF? THINKING ABOUT IT…
THANK GOD THERE’S THE NEW BIZ TO WORRY ABOUT. CHECKED ON THE RENOS TODAY & THINGS ARE LOOKING AWESOME. I CAN SEE IT NOW! SHOULD BE DONE IN 4-5 DAYS ACCORDING TO CARL(A). SIGN WENT UP THIS AFTERNOON. MARTY CAME BY FOR THE OCCASION AND CARL(A) SNAPPED SOME PICS OF US. I ADDED THEM TO THE WEBSITE. STILL NO FOLLOWERS (EXCEPT SARA AND MARTY’S MOM) BUT I BLOGGED THE PROGRESS W/THE BIZ. SOUNDED SO ROSY I HAD TO GO BACK & TONE IT DOWN A TAD. DON’T WANT TO COME OFF AS AN OSMOND. LA LA LA LA LA, HAPPY, HAPPY.
Laura’s Log:
OK, I stayed for more than a drink. After two rounds, drinks became dinner. Ken proved to be refreshing. Not an arrogant ass trying to show he’s above me. In fact, he was funny in a self-deprecating way. It made for comfortable conversation. I was able to keep up with the Canuck talk and I was glad to be able to listen as he shared his disappointment in the dissolution of his long-term relationship with Clara. So many guys act like they’ve moved on without even a superficial wound after a breakup. Ken showed his vulnerability.
Do we have chemistry? Never thought I’d say it but…maybe.
I have to focus more on Dad today. This is his last day of work before he’s unceremoniously booted. And, as far as I can tell, he still hasn’t told Mom. I called her at the salon and pointedly asked “What’s new?” and “How’s Dad?”
“What’s with the inquisition?” she shot back. “Why are you checking up on me? Nothing’s new. But I’ve got a manicure to to do, honey, so I can’t chat with you now. If you’re lonely, call Estelle. I think she goes a little stir crazy dealing with Elmo and Barney and stroller mommies all day.”
I’ll swing by after work. Mom will think I’m losing it and renew her push for me to go out with Betty Ng’s son. I’ll risk it. Dad needs some support right now.
KEN’S JOURNAL:
TOTALLY BLEW THE DATE. I MEAN, SHE STUCK AROUND LONGER THAN I’D THOUGHT. A FULL DINNER! I HAD A SHOT. AND THEN I STRAYED FROM MY GAME PLAN. RAN ON AND ON AND ON AND ON…ABOUT THE CANUCKS. IT’S THE PLAYOFFS. SURE I’M OBSESSED. SHE TRIED TO BE POLITE—EVEN MENTIONED HER DISAPPOINTMENT WITH RAYMOND AND BURROWS IN THE FIRST ROUND. WOMEN ALWAYS TALK ABOUT MASON RAYMOND. SARA SAYS IT’S HIS EYES. WTF?! IT’S SUPPOSED TO BE ABOUT GOAL PRODUCTION!
AFTER I MANAGED TO GET MYSELF OFF THE CANUCKS CONVERSATION, IT ONLY TOOK 10 MIN B/F I WAS GOING ON ABOUT CLARA. NO! DON’T GO THERE! BACK OUT QUICKLY! LAURA KEPT ASKING QUESTIONS AND I KEPT ANSWERING. EVEN I KNOW YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO TALK ABOUT YOUR EX ON A 1ST DATE. SADLY, BRAIN HAD NO CONTROL OVER MOUTH.
AT LEAST I DIDN’T DRINK TOO MUCH.
IS A 2ND DATE IN THE WORKS? DOUBTFUL. DO I CALL HER & HUMILIATE MYSELF? THINKING ABOUT IT…
THANK GOD THERE’S THE NEW BIZ TO WORRY ABOUT. CHECKED ON THE RENOS TODAY & THINGS ARE LOOKING AWESOME. I CAN SEE IT NOW! SHOULD BE DONE IN 4-5 DAYS ACCORDING TO CARL(A). SIGN WENT UP THIS AFTERNOON. MARTY CAME BY FOR THE OCCASION AND CARL(A) SNAPPED SOME PICS OF US. I ADDED THEM TO THE WEBSITE. STILL NO FOLLOWERS (EXCEPT SARA AND MARTY’S MOM) BUT I BLOGGED THE PROGRESS W/THE BIZ. SOUNDED SO ROSY I HAD TO GO BACK & TONE IT DOWN A TAD. DON’T WANT TO COME OFF AS AN OSMOND. LA LA LA LA LA, HAPPY, HAPPY.
Monday, April 26, 2010
RUNNING FOR COCOA
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You’re more concerned with beauty than with so-called ‘real life’ today — and that should work out quite well for you! Your amazing energy helps you hit the sweet spot and reel in some new friends too.
Laura’s Log:
For some reason, a morning jog in April feels colder than one in February. I think it’s because this is the time of year when Mother Nature likes to tease us. Little pockets of warmth given, then taken away. In truth, I’ve felt cold all day. Seems I never recovered from the start of the day.
Still, I’m glad I ran. Felt like I’d gained five pounds yesterday. I needed comfort after seeing Derrick at the beach. And, while I know it’s the wrong option, there is no comfort like that which comes in high (sugary) calories. I scarfed down a brownie, a lemon bar and a crème brulée. Damn you, Meinhardt! Having overloaded my sweet tooth, I balanced things by caving to my salty and spicy urges as I emptied a bag of Miss Vickie’s Jalapeño Potato Chips while watching the Canucks leave most of the work to Luongo for the first half of the Canucks game.
As I jogged past the Kits Pool, I noticed an elderly woman lying on the grass. Not the time of day for tanning. I stopped to see if she was all right. Turns out she wasn’t. She’d taken the grass instead of the paved walk as a shortcut down to the seawall and lost her balance on an uneven patch. She couldn’t get up and winced in pain when I tried to assist. I called 911 on my cell and sat on the ground trying to warm Millie who was shaking from cold and perhaps a bit of shock. Another runner stopped and I asked if he could grab Millie a coffee from the Starbucks across the street. “Cocoa,” Millie said. “It’s a cocoa kind of morn.”
“Yes, Millie. Cocoa sounds lovely.” (Obviously my sweet tooth was on the rebound.) The fellow with the drink order was back and stayed with us. He mentioned the Canucks game and Millie perked up. The shivers dissipated. Paramedics were on the scene within ten minutes. I backed away to let them do their thing.
“You really don’t recognize me, do you?” I looked at the Cocoa Canuck and was startled. What was his name? The guy I’d met with Lucy and Carl(a). The guy I spilled beer on last week.
“Of course I do. I’m sorry. I was so concerned about Millie I didn’t notice.”
“How are you, Laura?”
“Good. Well, a bit cold, but good. Yeah. Good.” I was stumbling because I hoped he wouldn’t ask…
“Do you remember my name?”
He asked. Damn. No idea. Frank? Fred? Started with F, didn’t it?
“It’s Ken.” Okay, so K isn’t that far down the alphabet from F. They’re practically neighbors.
As they wheeled Millie off, Ken and I ran alongside her. “You’re going to be fine, Millie,” I said, knowing nothing of the sort. “They’re taking you to VGH. I’ll come visit if they admit you. What’s your last name?”
“Morgan,” she replied, raising her hand in a slight wave as they loaded her in the ambulance. “Thanks, dears.”
“I’m betting you’re not going to remember that,” Ken said. “Just judging from experience.”
Ouch. It wouldn’t be prudent to argue the point. I remembered everyone’s name. Except his.
“How about we call it a day for jogging? Get you a pen so you can write down her name and I’d say we both deserve a hot chocolate.” My entire being said no. Just keep jogging. And then that damned sweet tooth caved. Which tooth was it anyway? Might be worth an extraction.
KEN’S JOURNAL:
I’D WATCHED THE ENTIRE CANUCKS GAME LAST NIGHT GNAWING ON CARROT STICKS. THAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN ENOUGH. BUT I SET THE ALARM FOR AN EARLY JOG ANYWAY. 13 LBS LOST. PEOPLE WERE STARTING TO NOTICE. NO TIME TO LET UP. DON’T PUT IT OFF. BE A CANUCK. DO IT NOW INSTEAD OF IN A GAME 7.
I’VE GOTTEN A BIT BORED WITH THE TREK ALONG DAVID LAM AND OVER TO SCIENCE WORLD SO I OPTED FOR THE BURRARD STREET BRIDGE AND KITSILANO. AND THEN AN ODD SIGHT. A FEMALE JOGGER GROPING AN OLD LADY IN THE GRASS. IT WAS LAURA—AGAIN. TURNED OUT THE OLDER WOMAN HAD FALLEN. I WAS SENT ON A COCOA MISSION. B/C EVERYONE KNOWS THAT’S THE BEST MEDICINE FOR A BROKEN HIP.
OF COURSE, LAURA DIDN’T RECOGNIZE ME YET AGAIN. I SHOULD JUST TELL HER MY NAME IS JOE. JOE AVERAGE.
AFTER THE LADY WENT OFF IN THE AMBULANCE, I INVITED LAURA TO JOIN ME FOR A DRINK AT STARBUCKS AND SHE ACCEPTED. GUESS EXCUSES DON’T COME THAT QUICKLY THAT EARLY. IN LINE, I JOKED, “YOU SHOULD BE PAYING FOR THIS, YOU KNOW. AFTER WASTING MY BEER.”
“YOU’RE RIGHT. BUT I DIDN’T BRING ANY MONEY. IT WAS JUST SUPPOSED TO BE A RUN.”
WE TALKED FOR ABOUT TEN MINUTES. I WROTE DOWN THE OLD LADY’S NAME ON A NAPKIN SINCE I’D JOKED THAT LAURA HAD A TERRIBLE MEMORY FOR NAMES. JOTTED DOWN MINE TOO, ALONG W/MY NUMBER. “THE WAY I SEE IT, YOU NOW OWE ME TWO DRINKS. BUT I’LL SETTLE FOR ONE.”
SHE SMILED POLITELY. SHE’D NEVER CALL. FOR SOME REASON, I’D JUST NEEDED ONE MORE OPPORTUNITY TO PUT MYSELF OUT THERE AS A LOSER.
Laura’s Log:
For some reason, a morning jog in April feels colder than one in February. I think it’s because this is the time of year when Mother Nature likes to tease us. Little pockets of warmth given, then taken away. In truth, I’ve felt cold all day. Seems I never recovered from the start of the day.
Still, I’m glad I ran. Felt like I’d gained five pounds yesterday. I needed comfort after seeing Derrick at the beach. And, while I know it’s the wrong option, there is no comfort like that which comes in high (sugary) calories. I scarfed down a brownie, a lemon bar and a crème brulée. Damn you, Meinhardt! Having overloaded my sweet tooth, I balanced things by caving to my salty and spicy urges as I emptied a bag of Miss Vickie’s Jalapeño Potato Chips while watching the Canucks leave most of the work to Luongo for the first half of the Canucks game.
As I jogged past the Kits Pool, I noticed an elderly woman lying on the grass. Not the time of day for tanning. I stopped to see if she was all right. Turns out she wasn’t. She’d taken the grass instead of the paved walk as a shortcut down to the seawall and lost her balance on an uneven patch. She couldn’t get up and winced in pain when I tried to assist. I called 911 on my cell and sat on the ground trying to warm Millie who was shaking from cold and perhaps a bit of shock. Another runner stopped and I asked if he could grab Millie a coffee from the Starbucks across the street. “Cocoa,” Millie said. “It’s a cocoa kind of morn.”
“Yes, Millie. Cocoa sounds lovely.” (Obviously my sweet tooth was on the rebound.) The fellow with the drink order was back and stayed with us. He mentioned the Canucks game and Millie perked up. The shivers dissipated. Paramedics were on the scene within ten minutes. I backed away to let them do their thing.
“You really don’t recognize me, do you?” I looked at the Cocoa Canuck and was startled. What was his name? The guy I’d met with Lucy and Carl(a). The guy I spilled beer on last week.
“Of course I do. I’m sorry. I was so concerned about Millie I didn’t notice.”
“How are you, Laura?”
“Good. Well, a bit cold, but good. Yeah. Good.” I was stumbling because I hoped he wouldn’t ask…
“Do you remember my name?”
He asked. Damn. No idea. Frank? Fred? Started with F, didn’t it?
“It’s Ken.” Okay, so K isn’t that far down the alphabet from F. They’re practically neighbors.
As they wheeled Millie off, Ken and I ran alongside her. “You’re going to be fine, Millie,” I said, knowing nothing of the sort. “They’re taking you to VGH. I’ll come visit if they admit you. What’s your last name?”
“Morgan,” she replied, raising her hand in a slight wave as they loaded her in the ambulance. “Thanks, dears.”
“I’m betting you’re not going to remember that,” Ken said. “Just judging from experience.”
Ouch. It wouldn’t be prudent to argue the point. I remembered everyone’s name. Except his.
“How about we call it a day for jogging? Get you a pen so you can write down her name and I’d say we both deserve a hot chocolate.” My entire being said no. Just keep jogging. And then that damned sweet tooth caved. Which tooth was it anyway? Might be worth an extraction.
KEN’S JOURNAL:
I’D WATCHED THE ENTIRE CANUCKS GAME LAST NIGHT GNAWING ON CARROT STICKS. THAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN ENOUGH. BUT I SET THE ALARM FOR AN EARLY JOG ANYWAY. 13 LBS LOST. PEOPLE WERE STARTING TO NOTICE. NO TIME TO LET UP. DON’T PUT IT OFF. BE A CANUCK. DO IT NOW INSTEAD OF IN A GAME 7.
I’VE GOTTEN A BIT BORED WITH THE TREK ALONG DAVID LAM AND OVER TO SCIENCE WORLD SO I OPTED FOR THE BURRARD STREET BRIDGE AND KITSILANO. AND THEN AN ODD SIGHT. A FEMALE JOGGER GROPING AN OLD LADY IN THE GRASS. IT WAS LAURA—AGAIN. TURNED OUT THE OLDER WOMAN HAD FALLEN. I WAS SENT ON A COCOA MISSION. B/C EVERYONE KNOWS THAT’S THE BEST MEDICINE FOR A BROKEN HIP.
OF COURSE, LAURA DIDN’T RECOGNIZE ME YET AGAIN. I SHOULD JUST TELL HER MY NAME IS JOE. JOE AVERAGE.
AFTER THE LADY WENT OFF IN THE AMBULANCE, I INVITED LAURA TO JOIN ME FOR A DRINK AT STARBUCKS AND SHE ACCEPTED. GUESS EXCUSES DON’T COME THAT QUICKLY THAT EARLY. IN LINE, I JOKED, “YOU SHOULD BE PAYING FOR THIS, YOU KNOW. AFTER WASTING MY BEER.”
“YOU’RE RIGHT. BUT I DIDN’T BRING ANY MONEY. IT WAS JUST SUPPOSED TO BE A RUN.”
WE TALKED FOR ABOUT TEN MINUTES. I WROTE DOWN THE OLD LADY’S NAME ON A NAPKIN SINCE I’D JOKED THAT LAURA HAD A TERRIBLE MEMORY FOR NAMES. JOTTED DOWN MINE TOO, ALONG W/MY NUMBER. “THE WAY I SEE IT, YOU NOW OWE ME TWO DRINKS. BUT I’LL SETTLE FOR ONE.”
SHE SMILED POLITELY. SHE’D NEVER CALL. FOR SOME REASON, I’D JUST NEEDED ONE MORE OPPORTUNITY TO PUT MYSELF OUT THERE AS A LOSER.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
A WARMING TREND
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Your sweet nature shows up in a big way today and helps you forgive someone who does feel some measure of contrition. In fact, the two of you may move quickly from enemies to close allies.
Laura’s Log:
After a family brunch in which I was the only daughter to show (Lucy and Estelle still not talking, Marella had some sort of work deadline), I took Tupper for a long walk down to Kitsilano. I grabbed a latté at Starbucks and picked out a log to sit against on Kits Beach. Although I let Tupper off his leash, he was too pooped to wander—just laid beside me and soon nodded off.
The logs plopped down on the beach are pretty massive, providing a windbreaker and a bit of privacy. Unfortunately, they don’t completely block out all things unwanted. “Uh, hi Laura.” I looked up, squinted as the sun beamed down and standing only inches away was Derrick. What would he do? Berate me in front of all the logs? Blame me for his involuntary leave of absence? Kick sand in my face?
I wasn’t in the mood to have any sort of conversation with him so I said, “Isn’t there an injunction or something to forbid you from communicating with me?”
He didn’t become enraged, didn’t crack a smile…just kept a blank look on his face and said, “I am sorry for what I put you through at work. I crossed a line.” So monotone. What kind of meds was he on? Based on the apparently heavy dosage, I hoped he was forbidden from driving.
Still, I wasn’t feeling conciliatory. “Crossed a line? You THINK?!” I put Tupper’s leash back on and rose to leave.
“No, stay. Enjoy your day. I don’t mean to interrupt—or ruin—it. Just know that I’m sorry. Really.” And he walked off.
Not the Derrick I knew. Not really any sort of person. Meds? Maybe they’d brought back the lobotomy just for extreme cases like him. Would have been nice to settle back down and enjoy the sunshine, but Tupper was ready to renew his sniffing expedition and I was feeling completely unsettled.
KEN’S JOURNAL:
DROPPED OFF NEW LIGHT FIXTURES AT THE OFFICE THIS MORNING. I FIGURED SUNDAY MORNING WOULD BE A GOOD TIME TO GET IN AND GET OUT WITHOUT DEALING WITH CARL(A) AND HER ACCUSATIONS ABOUT ME HATING WOMEN AND BUTCH WOMEN IN PARTICULAR. UNFORTUNATELY, CARL(A) WAS THERE, PUTTING IN SOME CROWN MOLDINGS. AND I KNEW THINGS WEREN’T GOING TO GO WELL BECAUSE SHE HAD ON AN IGINLA JERSEY.
I SHOULD’VE KEPT MY MOUTH SHUT, BUT WEARING A FLAMES SHIRT IN VANCOUVER WHEN IGINLA ET AL. WERE HONING THEIR GOLF GAME WAS ASKING FOR IT. “NICE SHIRT,” I SAID. “JUST SO YOU KNOW, THE FLAMES DIDN’T MAKE THE PLAYOFFS.”
“AND I COULDN’T BE HAPPIER ABOUT THAT,” CARL(A) SAID. “MY BROTHER LIVES IN CALGARY. THIS WAS MY FRIGGIN’ CHRISTMAS PRESENT. I LIKE TO WEAR IT WHEN I’M DOING MESSIER WORK. I’M PAINTING THE BATHROOM RIGHT AFTER THIS. YOU NEED A TIRE CHANGED OR AN OIL CHANGE TODAY?”
I LAUGHED, SHE LAUGHED. HELL HAD FROZEN. FOR THE NEXT TEN MINUTES, WE WENT HEAD TO HEAD WITH OUR TAKES ON WHAT IT WOULD TAKE FOR THE CANUCKS TO FINISH THE SERIES TONITE. SHE WAS PUTTING MORE FAITH IN BURROWS THAN I FELT WAS REASONABLE AND SHE HOWLED WHEN I SUGGESTED GRABNER MIGHT HAVE ANOTHER BREAKOUT NITE, BUT THINGS NEVER GOT INTENSE. AFTER ALL, WE WERE ON THE SAME TEAM.
YEP, SPORTS COULD BRING PEOPLE TOGETHER. IT COULD HELP TWO STUBBORN ASSES BURY THE HATCHET. JUST ANOTHER REASON THE CANUCKS HAD TO GO FAR IN THE PLAYOFFS. GET US THROUGH THESE RENOS!
“HOW ’BOUT A STARBUCKS?” I ASKED. SHE NODDED. “I’LL PICK IT UP AND BRING IT BACK. NO WAY I’M GONNA BE SEEN WALKING DOWN THE STREET WITH IGINLA.”
Laura’s Log:
After a family brunch in which I was the only daughter to show (Lucy and Estelle still not talking, Marella had some sort of work deadline), I took Tupper for a long walk down to Kitsilano. I grabbed a latté at Starbucks and picked out a log to sit against on Kits Beach. Although I let Tupper off his leash, he was too pooped to wander—just laid beside me and soon nodded off.
The logs plopped down on the beach are pretty massive, providing a windbreaker and a bit of privacy. Unfortunately, they don’t completely block out all things unwanted. “Uh, hi Laura.” I looked up, squinted as the sun beamed down and standing only inches away was Derrick. What would he do? Berate me in front of all the logs? Blame me for his involuntary leave of absence? Kick sand in my face?
I wasn’t in the mood to have any sort of conversation with him so I said, “Isn’t there an injunction or something to forbid you from communicating with me?”
He didn’t become enraged, didn’t crack a smile…just kept a blank look on his face and said, “I am sorry for what I put you through at work. I crossed a line.” So monotone. What kind of meds was he on? Based on the apparently heavy dosage, I hoped he was forbidden from driving.
Still, I wasn’t feeling conciliatory. “Crossed a line? You THINK?!” I put Tupper’s leash back on and rose to leave.
“No, stay. Enjoy your day. I don’t mean to interrupt—or ruin—it. Just know that I’m sorry. Really.” And he walked off.
Not the Derrick I knew. Not really any sort of person. Meds? Maybe they’d brought back the lobotomy just for extreme cases like him. Would have been nice to settle back down and enjoy the sunshine, but Tupper was ready to renew his sniffing expedition and I was feeling completely unsettled.
KEN’S JOURNAL:
DROPPED OFF NEW LIGHT FIXTURES AT THE OFFICE THIS MORNING. I FIGURED SUNDAY MORNING WOULD BE A GOOD TIME TO GET IN AND GET OUT WITHOUT DEALING WITH CARL(A) AND HER ACCUSATIONS ABOUT ME HATING WOMEN AND BUTCH WOMEN IN PARTICULAR. UNFORTUNATELY, CARL(A) WAS THERE, PUTTING IN SOME CROWN MOLDINGS. AND I KNEW THINGS WEREN’T GOING TO GO WELL BECAUSE SHE HAD ON AN IGINLA JERSEY.
I SHOULD’VE KEPT MY MOUTH SHUT, BUT WEARING A FLAMES SHIRT IN VANCOUVER WHEN IGINLA ET AL. WERE HONING THEIR GOLF GAME WAS ASKING FOR IT. “NICE SHIRT,” I SAID. “JUST SO YOU KNOW, THE FLAMES DIDN’T MAKE THE PLAYOFFS.”
“AND I COULDN’T BE HAPPIER ABOUT THAT,” CARL(A) SAID. “MY BROTHER LIVES IN CALGARY. THIS WAS MY FRIGGIN’ CHRISTMAS PRESENT. I LIKE TO WEAR IT WHEN I’M DOING MESSIER WORK. I’M PAINTING THE BATHROOM RIGHT AFTER THIS. YOU NEED A TIRE CHANGED OR AN OIL CHANGE TODAY?”
I LAUGHED, SHE LAUGHED. HELL HAD FROZEN. FOR THE NEXT TEN MINUTES, WE WENT HEAD TO HEAD WITH OUR TAKES ON WHAT IT WOULD TAKE FOR THE CANUCKS TO FINISH THE SERIES TONITE. SHE WAS PUTTING MORE FAITH IN BURROWS THAN I FELT WAS REASONABLE AND SHE HOWLED WHEN I SUGGESTED GRABNER MIGHT HAVE ANOTHER BREAKOUT NITE, BUT THINGS NEVER GOT INTENSE. AFTER ALL, WE WERE ON THE SAME TEAM.
YEP, SPORTS COULD BRING PEOPLE TOGETHER. IT COULD HELP TWO STUBBORN ASSES BURY THE HATCHET. JUST ANOTHER REASON THE CANUCKS HAD TO GO FAR IN THE PLAYOFFS. GET US THROUGH THESE RENOS!
“HOW ’BOUT A STARBUCKS?” I ASKED. SHE NODDED. “I’LL PICK IT UP AND BRING IT BACK. NO WAY I’M GONNA BE SEEN WALKING DOWN THE STREET WITH IGINLA.”
Saturday, April 24, 2010
A LITTLE LESS CONVERSATION
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You’re seeing details everyone else is missing. That could mean that you’re able to take initiative and move ahead, or it could mean that you’re starting to crack! The odds are on the former, though.
Laura’s Log:
I hate having a family secret. Somehow I’d managed to talk Mom down from the insane idea that Dad was having an affair, but she’d soon have a new theory on why Dad’s being particularly distant of late. Dad and I hadn’t gone for Saturday coffee at Café Calabria in awhile, but I made sure to stop by today. He greeted me with an ultimatum: “No talking about your mother, my job or life after my job.” Seemed like our coffee talk would be all about the Canucks.
And, really, it was—Samuelsson finding himself, Demitra reliving the Olympics, O’Brien being an idiot. My mission failed. I’d wanted to better gauge how Dad was coping with forced retirement and perhaps even coax him into making some plans for Life after Work. I suppose his ultimatum proved he wasn’t coping at all. Was he in the denial stage? Or maybe he was too angry to even broach the subject? What if he was planning to go postal on his boss? Did he have a machine gun somewhere in the garage?
See, that’s the thing about my father. He FORCES us to make wild guesses about his thoughts and feelings. The personal revelations come so rarely.
KEN’S JOURNAL:
MARTY’S LITTLE CONFESSION THAT HE WAS CONSIDERING A DEEPER RELATIONSHIP W/A WOMAN MAY HAVE BEEN A MOMENTARY MUSING. HAD HE PASSED BY THE NEW BIOGRAPHY OF OPRAH IN A STORE WINDOW AND FELT HER STARING HIM DOWN? “CAD! HEEL! BASTARD!”
WHEN HE SHOWED UP THIRTY MINUTES LATE AT OUR NEW OFFICE, HE EXPLAINED HIS TARDINESS WITH “COULDN’T GET MARY—OR WAS IT MARIE?—TO GET OUT OF MY PLACE FAST ENOUGH. SHE STARTED CLEANING MY COUNTERS AND THEN ASKED FOR A MOP. FIGURED I MIGHT AS WELL LET HER DO WHAT MAKES HER HAPPY BEFORE BLOCKING HER NUMBER.”
THIS TIME I WAS WITH OPRAH.
CARL(A)’S WORK WAS LOOKING GOOD. THE SPACE WAS STARTING TO TAKE SHAPE. BUT THE LIGHTING WAS TOO BRIGHT. MADE PEOPLE LOOK TOO PALE. MARTY CONSIDERED MY STATEMENT AND RESPONDED, “WHAT ARE YOU, A GIRL?” I HELD MY GROUND AND HE SHRUGGED AN ASSENT TO CHANGE. HE’D TELL CARL(A) (SINCE SHE STILL THOUGHT I WAS A LESBIAN HATER) AND I’D SCOPE OUT SOME ALTERNATIVES.
WE HEADED TO NEW WESTMINSTER TO CHECK OUT A HALF DOZEN CONDOS. I SHOT EACH ONE DOWN.
TOO MUSTY.
TOO KITSCHY.
TOO RETRO.
TOO MODERN.
TOO SMALL.
TOO NOISY.
BY THE TIME WE WERE DONE, MARTY WAS DISGUSTED. “TOO MUCH, MAN. YOU’RE TOO MUCH.” HE CANCELED OUR GAME OF SQUASH, SAYING MARY (MARIE?) HAD SHORTCHANGED HIM ON SLEEP.
NEEDN’T OVERANALYZE THINGS. I’LL GO WITH THAT.
Laura’s Log:
I hate having a family secret. Somehow I’d managed to talk Mom down from the insane idea that Dad was having an affair, but she’d soon have a new theory on why Dad’s being particularly distant of late. Dad and I hadn’t gone for Saturday coffee at Café Calabria in awhile, but I made sure to stop by today. He greeted me with an ultimatum: “No talking about your mother, my job or life after my job.” Seemed like our coffee talk would be all about the Canucks.
And, really, it was—Samuelsson finding himself, Demitra reliving the Olympics, O’Brien being an idiot. My mission failed. I’d wanted to better gauge how Dad was coping with forced retirement and perhaps even coax him into making some plans for Life after Work. I suppose his ultimatum proved he wasn’t coping at all. Was he in the denial stage? Or maybe he was too angry to even broach the subject? What if he was planning to go postal on his boss? Did he have a machine gun somewhere in the garage?
See, that’s the thing about my father. He FORCES us to make wild guesses about his thoughts and feelings. The personal revelations come so rarely.
KEN’S JOURNAL:
MARTY’S LITTLE CONFESSION THAT HE WAS CONSIDERING A DEEPER RELATIONSHIP W/A WOMAN MAY HAVE BEEN A MOMENTARY MUSING. HAD HE PASSED BY THE NEW BIOGRAPHY OF OPRAH IN A STORE WINDOW AND FELT HER STARING HIM DOWN? “CAD! HEEL! BASTARD!”
WHEN HE SHOWED UP THIRTY MINUTES LATE AT OUR NEW OFFICE, HE EXPLAINED HIS TARDINESS WITH “COULDN’T GET MARY—OR WAS IT MARIE?—TO GET OUT OF MY PLACE FAST ENOUGH. SHE STARTED CLEANING MY COUNTERS AND THEN ASKED FOR A MOP. FIGURED I MIGHT AS WELL LET HER DO WHAT MAKES HER HAPPY BEFORE BLOCKING HER NUMBER.”
THIS TIME I WAS WITH OPRAH.
CARL(A)’S WORK WAS LOOKING GOOD. THE SPACE WAS STARTING TO TAKE SHAPE. BUT THE LIGHTING WAS TOO BRIGHT. MADE PEOPLE LOOK TOO PALE. MARTY CONSIDERED MY STATEMENT AND RESPONDED, “WHAT ARE YOU, A GIRL?” I HELD MY GROUND AND HE SHRUGGED AN ASSENT TO CHANGE. HE’D TELL CARL(A) (SINCE SHE STILL THOUGHT I WAS A LESBIAN HATER) AND I’D SCOPE OUT SOME ALTERNATIVES.
WE HEADED TO NEW WESTMINSTER TO CHECK OUT A HALF DOZEN CONDOS. I SHOT EACH ONE DOWN.
TOO MUSTY.
TOO KITSCHY.
TOO RETRO.
TOO MODERN.
TOO SMALL.
TOO NOISY.
BY THE TIME WE WERE DONE, MARTY WAS DISGUSTED. “TOO MUCH, MAN. YOU’RE TOO MUCH.” HE CANCELED OUR GAME OF SQUASH, SAYING MARY (MARIE?) HAD SHORTCHANGED HIM ON SLEEP.
NEEDN’T OVERANALYZE THINGS. I’LL GO WITH THAT.
Friday, April 23, 2010
EMOTIONAL RESCUE
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Expect more than a few questions throughout the day from colleagues, customers and friends. Your social energy is on point, and you’re almost certainly seen as the right person to ask.
Laura’s Log:
I hate drama. Even in movies. Give me “Devil Wears Prada” Meryl over “Sophie’s Choice” Meryl every time. The problem is women can be overly dramatic. Something happens when we hit fifth or sixth grade. Random comments become fodder for killing a friendship. And we never grow beyond that. Why can’t we be (a little) more like men, sit down, watch a hockey game and forget whatever the heck it was that pissed us off? Sure, I’d go crazy if my life revolved on memorizing players’ scoring stats but a dispute about Henrik versus Ovechkin, while intense, isn’t going to doom a relationship. (Talking favorably about the Toronto Maple Leafs is an entirely different matter when you live on the West Coast.)
Nadia and I hadn’t spoken since Sunday night when I mentioned that seeing her boyfriend Bradley once in a weekend was plenty, thank you very much. Best to take dumbasses in small doses. So when Nadia called during her lunch break today to INSIST we go for drinks—just me and her—I braced for an ugly showdown. Hard to focus on work the rest of the afternoon. (Thankfully, the office pace would have made a sloth on antsy as Carmen’s quadruple chocolate cake put everyone in a sugar coma.) While they crashed, I shook.
Women’s intuition is overrated. Or, at least, mine is. Might as well return the damn thing and redeem it for a complimentary packet of Starbucks instant coffee. I’d expected Nadia to attack me as soon as I saw her perched on a stool at the bar at Cactus Club. She’d already ordered my standard lime margarita, no salt, a kind gesture that set me off my defensive game plan. And then she startled me more with the first words out of her mouth: “Bradley’s an ass, isn’t he?”
Dem’s choppy waters we’re headin’ into! What do you say when a friend is down on her boyfriend? It’s always such a risk. I lost Gloria by agreeing with her when she started ragging Milo, her loser of a husband. In the moment, she was grateful for my honesty and support. For two weeks, we were best buds. Then they reconciled and I was unceremoniously shredded along with the divorce papers.
I played therapist, responding with “Why do you say that?” Thankfully, Nadia had plenty of her own evidence. So much so that it was pointless for me to jump in. Her examples were much more offensive. Bradley calls her into the bathroom when he’s taking a shit just to freak her out. (The fact he never flushes after either number was disgusting enough.) Bradley yells in her ear when she’s on the phone too long (in his opinion) with her mother. (The fact Nadia’s mom is going through chemo only makes his infantile Notice Me behavior all the more egregious.) Bradley is relentless about the five pounds Nadia’s put on since Christmas.
I wanted desperately to say, “So why are you still with him?” Instead, I asked, “What are you going to do?”
To my astonishment, Nadia said, “I don’t know.”
As we left, she hugged me and thanked me. And I felt like the worst friend ever.
KEN’S JOURNAL:
MARTY WAS HAVING A SLOW DAY SO HE CALLED ME FOR DRINKS AT 2. WE WOUND UP HITTING MALONE’S DOWNTOWN. SURPRISINGLY CORPORATE CROWD FOR MID-AFTERNOON. VANCOUVER IS NO TORONTO WHEN IT COMES TO WORK ETHIC. MARTY SEEMED DOWN, WHICH IS RARE FOR HIM. HE’S USUALLY THE ONE TRYING TO SNAP ME OUT OF A FUNK. STILL, IT WAS LIKE A GAME OF 21 QUESTIONS TRYING TO GET HIM TALK. MARTY’S ALL ABOUT SPORTS STATS, STOCKS, REAL ESTATE PRICES, WOMEN’S MEASUREMENTS. HE’S AN OPEN BOOK WHEN IT COMES TO NUMBERS. FEELINGS? NOT SO MUCH.
AFTER THIRTY MINUTES OF FISHING AND REELING IN NOTHING, IT CAME DOWN TO WOMEN. MARTY, THE GUY WHO STILL SCORES A COUPLE TIMES A WEEK, WAS TIRED OF ONE-NIGHTERS. “LAST TIME I DATED A GIRL MORE THAN A WEEK? COULDN’T TELL YA. I HAVE ONCE OR TWICE, HAVEN’T I? I WENT OUT WITH CONNIE FOR A WEEK AND A HALF OR TWO, DIDN’T I?”
“WHO?” WRONG RESPONSE. MARTY PUT HIS HEAD ON THE TABLE. I’D ONLY UNDERSCORED THE PROBLEM.
“I THINK I MIGHT PERHAPS POSSIBLY BE SORTA READY TO MAYBE START SOMETHING LIKE A RELATIONSHIP.” WELL, THAT WAS PUTTING IT ALL OUT THERE. HOW BOLD!
OK, BABY STEPS. HE’D ALWAYS SAID RELATIONSHIPS WERE FOR WIMPY-ASSED GUYS WHO MISSED THEIR MOMMIES. HE COULDN’T EXACTLY COME RIGHT OUT AND SAY HE ENVIED THE WIMPY ASSES NOW, COULD HE? THERE WAS NO CHANCE TO ASK ANY KIND OF FOLLOW-UP. MARTY SWITCHED IMMEDIATELY TO LAYING INTO ME ABOUT BEING “THE PICKIEST HEMORRHOID OF A CONDO CLIENT” HE’D EVER HAD. FROM THAT, WE WENT ON TO GIVING OUR SCOUTING REPORTS FOR THE CANUCKS GAME. STILL, BY MARTY OPENING HIS RELATIONSHIP WINDOW JUST A CRACK, I SENSED THAT MY FUCK ’EM & LEAVE ’EM PAL WAS LOOKING TO GROW UP, EVEN SEE WOMEN AS MORE THAN THEIR MEASUREMENTS.
IT JUST GOES TO SHOW, CHANGE IS ALWAYS POSSIBLE…EVENTUALLY.
Laura’s Log:
I hate drama. Even in movies. Give me “Devil Wears Prada” Meryl over “Sophie’s Choice” Meryl every time. The problem is women can be overly dramatic. Something happens when we hit fifth or sixth grade. Random comments become fodder for killing a friendship. And we never grow beyond that. Why can’t we be (a little) more like men, sit down, watch a hockey game and forget whatever the heck it was that pissed us off? Sure, I’d go crazy if my life revolved on memorizing players’ scoring stats but a dispute about Henrik versus Ovechkin, while intense, isn’t going to doom a relationship. (Talking favorably about the Toronto Maple Leafs is an entirely different matter when you live on the West Coast.)
Nadia and I hadn’t spoken since Sunday night when I mentioned that seeing her boyfriend Bradley once in a weekend was plenty, thank you very much. Best to take dumbasses in small doses. So when Nadia called during her lunch break today to INSIST we go for drinks—just me and her—I braced for an ugly showdown. Hard to focus on work the rest of the afternoon. (Thankfully, the office pace would have made a sloth on antsy as Carmen’s quadruple chocolate cake put everyone in a sugar coma.) While they crashed, I shook.
Women’s intuition is overrated. Or, at least, mine is. Might as well return the damn thing and redeem it for a complimentary packet of Starbucks instant coffee. I’d expected Nadia to attack me as soon as I saw her perched on a stool at the bar at Cactus Club. She’d already ordered my standard lime margarita, no salt, a kind gesture that set me off my defensive game plan. And then she startled me more with the first words out of her mouth: “Bradley’s an ass, isn’t he?”
Dem’s choppy waters we’re headin’ into! What do you say when a friend is down on her boyfriend? It’s always such a risk. I lost Gloria by agreeing with her when she started ragging Milo, her loser of a husband. In the moment, she was grateful for my honesty and support. For two weeks, we were best buds. Then they reconciled and I was unceremoniously shredded along with the divorce papers.
I played therapist, responding with “Why do you say that?” Thankfully, Nadia had plenty of her own evidence. So much so that it was pointless for me to jump in. Her examples were much more offensive. Bradley calls her into the bathroom when he’s taking a shit just to freak her out. (The fact he never flushes after either number was disgusting enough.) Bradley yells in her ear when she’s on the phone too long (in his opinion) with her mother. (The fact Nadia’s mom is going through chemo only makes his infantile Notice Me behavior all the more egregious.) Bradley is relentless about the five pounds Nadia’s put on since Christmas.
I wanted desperately to say, “So why are you still with him?” Instead, I asked, “What are you going to do?”
To my astonishment, Nadia said, “I don’t know.”
As we left, she hugged me and thanked me. And I felt like the worst friend ever.
KEN’S JOURNAL:
MARTY WAS HAVING A SLOW DAY SO HE CALLED ME FOR DRINKS AT 2. WE WOUND UP HITTING MALONE’S DOWNTOWN. SURPRISINGLY CORPORATE CROWD FOR MID-AFTERNOON. VANCOUVER IS NO TORONTO WHEN IT COMES TO WORK ETHIC. MARTY SEEMED DOWN, WHICH IS RARE FOR HIM. HE’S USUALLY THE ONE TRYING TO SNAP ME OUT OF A FUNK. STILL, IT WAS LIKE A GAME OF 21 QUESTIONS TRYING TO GET HIM TALK. MARTY’S ALL ABOUT SPORTS STATS, STOCKS, REAL ESTATE PRICES, WOMEN’S MEASUREMENTS. HE’S AN OPEN BOOK WHEN IT COMES TO NUMBERS. FEELINGS? NOT SO MUCH.
AFTER THIRTY MINUTES OF FISHING AND REELING IN NOTHING, IT CAME DOWN TO WOMEN. MARTY, THE GUY WHO STILL SCORES A COUPLE TIMES A WEEK, WAS TIRED OF ONE-NIGHTERS. “LAST TIME I DATED A GIRL MORE THAN A WEEK? COULDN’T TELL YA. I HAVE ONCE OR TWICE, HAVEN’T I? I WENT OUT WITH CONNIE FOR A WEEK AND A HALF OR TWO, DIDN’T I?”
“WHO?” WRONG RESPONSE. MARTY PUT HIS HEAD ON THE TABLE. I’D ONLY UNDERSCORED THE PROBLEM.
“I THINK I MIGHT PERHAPS POSSIBLY BE SORTA READY TO MAYBE START SOMETHING LIKE A RELATIONSHIP.” WELL, THAT WAS PUTTING IT ALL OUT THERE. HOW BOLD!
OK, BABY STEPS. HE’D ALWAYS SAID RELATIONSHIPS WERE FOR WIMPY-ASSED GUYS WHO MISSED THEIR MOMMIES. HE COULDN’T EXACTLY COME RIGHT OUT AND SAY HE ENVIED THE WIMPY ASSES NOW, COULD HE? THERE WAS NO CHANCE TO ASK ANY KIND OF FOLLOW-UP. MARTY SWITCHED IMMEDIATELY TO LAYING INTO ME ABOUT BEING “THE PICKIEST HEMORRHOID OF A CONDO CLIENT” HE’D EVER HAD. FROM THAT, WE WENT ON TO GIVING OUR SCOUTING REPORTS FOR THE CANUCKS GAME. STILL, BY MARTY OPENING HIS RELATIONSHIP WINDOW JUST A CRACK, I SENSED THAT MY FUCK ’EM & LEAVE ’EM PAL WAS LOOKING TO GROW UP, EVEN SEE WOMEN AS MORE THAN THEIR MEASUREMENTS.
IT JUST GOES TO SHOW, CHANGE IS ALWAYS POSSIBLE…EVENTUALLY.
Monday, April 19, 2010
WITH FRIENDS (& FAMILY) LIKE THIS…
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You are spending extra time with your people today — or trying to, at least! Your social needs are pretty strong right now, so you need to make sure that you’re making your desires known.
Laura’s Log:
I’m not generally a spontaneous person so when I make a sudden shopping excursion south of the border and stay overnight, it creates havoc with my Vancouver existence. Mom guilted me pretty hard when I picked up Tupper last night. I’d bought her a lovely pair of hand-blown glass mugs which she accepted by saying, “Hmm. Now isn’t that an odd color. What shade would you say it is dear? A perfect match for lime Jell-O? Well, if I ever serve Jell-O, these will be perfect.”
And she topped that by handing me a bag of Tupperware containers. “Since you missed brunch, I had strawberry rhubarb muffins left over. Strawberries really don’t keep so I had to use them all up. You know how your father isn’t one for berries. Loves his melons though. And I’ve thrown in an omelet you can heat up for breakfast tomorrow. You’re so thin. I swear you only eat when you’re over here.”
Somehow I managed to escape to the car. It helped that Tupper threw up in the hallway. Normally, I would’ve grilled Mom about what “treats” she fed him, but I just wanted to go. Didn’t feel the least bit badly when she said, “Never mind that. I’ll clean it up.” It’s called doggy justice. You feed an old Shih-Tzu on a specialized diet half a quiche, he’s going to give it right back to you.
Nadia was next with the how-could-you-go-on-a-shopping-weekend-with-HER spiel. No excuse but I was caught off guard and lashed back with, “Sorry, but I’d had my fill of Bradley over drinks on Friday.” And, just like that, she hung up.
I didn’t get a chance to call Nadia back to make amends because the calls kept coming. Next came Lucy, followed by Estelle. Both were peeved that I was an unannounced no-show for brunch. Without a mediator, it was a disaster. Lucy and Carl(a) stormed out after ten minutes. (That explains why there were so many extra muffins.)
I didn’t have to deal with Tamara until this morning. She stopped by my desk early with a drive-by snipe: “Gosh, that was so much fun yesterday.” Whatever.
I guess there is some truth to the expression absence makes the heart grow fonder. Some truth. The problem is that everyone is expressing their fondness through anger.
KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
HAD TO CALL MARTY OVER TO THE NEW OFFICE FIRST THING THIS MORNING. CARL & I WERE AT LOGGERHEADS OVER THE BATHROOM INSTALLATION. THE TILE WAS ALL WRONG AND I WANTED IT RIPPED OUT. THE ONLY THING CARL WANTED TO RIP WAS MY FACE OFF. MARTY SAUNTERED IN, ALL SCHMOOZY, AND SMOOTHED THINGS OVER. YES, CARL WOULD TAKE OUT THE TILE. BUT I WOULD HAVE TO LEAVE. FINE. I’DA FIRED CARL BUT S/HE WAS LASHING OUT, ACCUSING ME OF HATING LESBIANS. WTF?!
SARA & I WENT FOR LUNCH. ANOTHER BAD WEEKEND FOR HER. JERRY & TRAVIS WENT AT IT AND BOTH ETHAN & BELLA STARTED GETTING TEARY, ASKING WHY DADDY HATES TRAVIS AND WHY TRAVIS IS YELLING AT EVERYONE. BELLA, IN FACT, HOLED UP IN HER ROOM AND PULLED OUT HER OLD DOLLS. AS SARA EAVESDROPPED FROM THE HALL, SHE HEARD BELLA YELLING AT THE DOLLS. “IF YOU GIRLS DON’T BEHAVE, YOU CAN’T BE IN THE FAMILY NO MORE.” HEARTBREAKING.
AS I SAT ACROSS AND LISTENED, I COULDN’T HELP BUT FEEL SARA HAD SUDDENLY AGED. ONLY 39, BUT LOOKED 50 ALL OF A SUDDEN. I WISH I HAD SOME ANSWERS OR AT LEAST A LITTLE MORE COMFORT FOR HER. IN TRUTH, SHE JUST SEEMED RELIEVED TO HAVE MY EAR FOR AWHILE.
’NUCKS TONITE. MARTY WANTS TO HIT ONE OF THE BARS IN YALETOWN. I LOVE THE PLAYOFF ATMOSPHERE, BUT DON’T KNOW IF I CAN HANDLE A LOSS IN A CROWD. A WIN? NO PROBLEM.
Laura’s Log:
I’m not generally a spontaneous person so when I make a sudden shopping excursion south of the border and stay overnight, it creates havoc with my Vancouver existence. Mom guilted me pretty hard when I picked up Tupper last night. I’d bought her a lovely pair of hand-blown glass mugs which she accepted by saying, “Hmm. Now isn’t that an odd color. What shade would you say it is dear? A perfect match for lime Jell-O? Well, if I ever serve Jell-O, these will be perfect.”
And she topped that by handing me a bag of Tupperware containers. “Since you missed brunch, I had strawberry rhubarb muffins left over. Strawberries really don’t keep so I had to use them all up. You know how your father isn’t one for berries. Loves his melons though. And I’ve thrown in an omelet you can heat up for breakfast tomorrow. You’re so thin. I swear you only eat when you’re over here.”
Somehow I managed to escape to the car. It helped that Tupper threw up in the hallway. Normally, I would’ve grilled Mom about what “treats” she fed him, but I just wanted to go. Didn’t feel the least bit badly when she said, “Never mind that. I’ll clean it up.” It’s called doggy justice. You feed an old Shih-Tzu on a specialized diet half a quiche, he’s going to give it right back to you.
Nadia was next with the how-could-you-go-on-a-shopping-weekend-with-HER spiel. No excuse but I was caught off guard and lashed back with, “Sorry, but I’d had my fill of Bradley over drinks on Friday.” And, just like that, she hung up.
I didn’t get a chance to call Nadia back to make amends because the calls kept coming. Next came Lucy, followed by Estelle. Both were peeved that I was an unannounced no-show for brunch. Without a mediator, it was a disaster. Lucy and Carl(a) stormed out after ten minutes. (That explains why there were so many extra muffins.)
I didn’t have to deal with Tamara until this morning. She stopped by my desk early with a drive-by snipe: “Gosh, that was so much fun yesterday.” Whatever.
I guess there is some truth to the expression absence makes the heart grow fonder. Some truth. The problem is that everyone is expressing their fondness through anger.
KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
HAD TO CALL MARTY OVER TO THE NEW OFFICE FIRST THING THIS MORNING. CARL & I WERE AT LOGGERHEADS OVER THE BATHROOM INSTALLATION. THE TILE WAS ALL WRONG AND I WANTED IT RIPPED OUT. THE ONLY THING CARL WANTED TO RIP WAS MY FACE OFF. MARTY SAUNTERED IN, ALL SCHMOOZY, AND SMOOTHED THINGS OVER. YES, CARL WOULD TAKE OUT THE TILE. BUT I WOULD HAVE TO LEAVE. FINE. I’DA FIRED CARL BUT S/HE WAS LASHING OUT, ACCUSING ME OF HATING LESBIANS. WTF?!
SARA & I WENT FOR LUNCH. ANOTHER BAD WEEKEND FOR HER. JERRY & TRAVIS WENT AT IT AND BOTH ETHAN & BELLA STARTED GETTING TEARY, ASKING WHY DADDY HATES TRAVIS AND WHY TRAVIS IS YELLING AT EVERYONE. BELLA, IN FACT, HOLED UP IN HER ROOM AND PULLED OUT HER OLD DOLLS. AS SARA EAVESDROPPED FROM THE HALL, SHE HEARD BELLA YELLING AT THE DOLLS. “IF YOU GIRLS DON’T BEHAVE, YOU CAN’T BE IN THE FAMILY NO MORE.” HEARTBREAKING.
AS I SAT ACROSS AND LISTENED, I COULDN’T HELP BUT FEEL SARA HAD SUDDENLY AGED. ONLY 39, BUT LOOKED 50 ALL OF A SUDDEN. I WISH I HAD SOME ANSWERS OR AT LEAST A LITTLE MORE COMFORT FOR HER. IN TRUTH, SHE JUST SEEMED RELIEVED TO HAVE MY EAR FOR AWHILE.
’NUCKS TONITE. MARTY WANTS TO HIT ONE OF THE BARS IN YALETOWN. I LOVE THE PLAYOFF ATMOSPHERE, BUT DON’T KNOW IF I CAN HANDLE A LOSS IN A CROWD. A WIN? NO PROBLEM.
Friday, April 9, 2010
CLEAR SAILING
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You need to remember to have fun today — not that you should have much trouble doing so! Your mind is absorbing new information at quite a clip, and you should be able to find new ways to enjoy life.
Laura’s Log:
Turns out I can let go of all that info in my head about Ferris wheels and goat petting farms. By 9:15 yesterday morning, there wasn’t a partner to be found on the floor. They were all convening in the conference room, throwing havoc in the planned meeting agenda for the day. First, Janice was summoned to make an appearance. Then, Derrick. Janice’s session lasted five minutes; Derrick’s, ten times that. When he left, he was flanked by Bryson Byers and Steven Aguilar as he headed straight for the elevator. Bryson boarded with Derrick and the Big, Bad Wolf did not return.
The meeting in the conference room continued another forty-five minutes. By then, the office buzz was palpable. “What did you do to Derrick?” Carmen Liu asked me. She was all sparkly eyed and it looked like she wanted to hug me.
“Nothing,” I answered in complete honesty.
“Right,” Carmen said, not buying it. “I just want you to know, you’re my hero.” She walked away, a skip in her step.
When I grabbed a coffee refill in the lunchroom, several employees were taking a prolonged coffee break, taking advantage of the partners’ emergency session and gossiping over Derrick Matthews. Todd, an obnoxious intern who was usually preoccupied with Tweeting, loudly clapped when he saw me. “We should call you Dorothy,” he said cryptically.
All eyes were on me. “Huh?”
“It’s like your office desk got sucked up in a dust devil and flattened Derrick when it came back down. Ding dong, the dick is dead!”
I quickly returned to my desk. A plain IKEA-variety desk with no wings, no sails. The last thing I wanted was a reputation that I’d taken down Derrick Matthews. I’d seen enough news stories about employees getting the boot and then coming back to settle the score.
At 11:30, my presence was request in the conference room. By then, only Bryson, Barry and Monica Tremont, the firm’s only female partner, were still present. She’s the one who spoke. “We have seen the work memo Derrick Matthews gave you, outlining an assignment with a deadline set for this afternoon. I can say on behalf of the entire firm that the task was…inappropriate. Obviously, it is unfortunate that you had to experience such a…an unusual task at any point with us, but particularly in light of the fact that you are a relatively new hire.”
Barry butted in: “That assignment is dead. You will not report to Derrick in any capacity from now on. Should that change, it would only happen after a careful review, including a discussion with you.”
Monica took over once again. It seemed she desperately wanted to make the next announcement. “Derrick has been undergoing a great deal of stress recently. For that reason, he is taking an indefinite leave of absence.” As formal as she wanted to come across, I saw the corners of her mouth curve upward. Size and status notwithstanding, there were happy Munchkins everywhere.
KEN’S JOURNAL:
AS WE KAYAKED IN FALSE CREEK, I SAW THE KID RETURN TO TRAVIS’ FACE. THE GOOD KID. GOD, I WISH SARA HAD BEEN THERE. HE LAUGHED CRUELLY (YET APPROPRIATELY) AS I ALMOST ROLLED MY BOAT WHEN I TRIED TO SCARE OFF A DOMESTICATED SEA GULL THAT KEPT WANTING TO MATE W/ME OR FIND A WAY TO GET THE TUNA SANDWICHES OUT FROM THE BACKBACK I’D STOWED. TRAVIS OFFERED TO RACE W/ME TO A BUOY NEAR SCIENCE WORLD. UNDER NORMAL CIRCUMSTANCES, HE’D BE BEGGING ME TO GO IN THE OPPOSITE DIRECTION. HE EVEN TALKED ABOUT US MAYBE GOING TO THE BOATHOUSE CABIN ON THE SUNSHINE COAST AGAIN THIS SUMMER. THAT HAD BEEN A WEEKEND FOR JUST TRAVIS & ME 4 YRS AGO. THOUGHT HE’D FORGOTTEN…OR AT LEAST WANTED TO FORGET.
HE HAD FUN LISTENING TO ME RANT ABOUT THE NO-SHOW CANUCKS WHO MAY AS WELL HAVE DEFAULTED LAST NITE’S GAME TO THE SHARKS. AFTER, HE ASKED TO USE MY ROOM TO CALL HIS MOM. THE CONVERSATION ONLY LASTED 5 MIN, BUT I’M GUESSING IT WAS 295 SECONDS LONGER THAN ANYTHING HE’D SAID TO HER IN THE PAST 3 MONTHS. WHEN HE HANDED OFF THE PHONE TO ME, SHE SAID, “GOOD GOD, WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU DONE W/MY SON? WHERE’S THE SNARKY, INSUFFERABLE TEENAGER THAT I KNOW?”
“DO YOU REALLY WANT AN ANSWER?” AND SHE LAUGHED. SARA LAUGHED! SURE, HOCKEY WAS ON MY MIND, BUT I WAS BATTING 1.000!
THIS MORNING WE STOPPED BY THE VANCOUVER ROWING CLUB & SIGNED UP FOR THE TUES/THURS EVENING SWEEP PROGRAM FOR JUNE. TRAVIS SEEMS PSYCHED. HELL, I AM TOO!
Laura’s Log:
Turns out I can let go of all that info in my head about Ferris wheels and goat petting farms. By 9:15 yesterday morning, there wasn’t a partner to be found on the floor. They were all convening in the conference room, throwing havoc in the planned meeting agenda for the day. First, Janice was summoned to make an appearance. Then, Derrick. Janice’s session lasted five minutes; Derrick’s, ten times that. When he left, he was flanked by Bryson Byers and Steven Aguilar as he headed straight for the elevator. Bryson boarded with Derrick and the Big, Bad Wolf did not return.
The meeting in the conference room continued another forty-five minutes. By then, the office buzz was palpable. “What did you do to Derrick?” Carmen Liu asked me. She was all sparkly eyed and it looked like she wanted to hug me.
“Nothing,” I answered in complete honesty.
“Right,” Carmen said, not buying it. “I just want you to know, you’re my hero.” She walked away, a skip in her step.
When I grabbed a coffee refill in the lunchroom, several employees were taking a prolonged coffee break, taking advantage of the partners’ emergency session and gossiping over Derrick Matthews. Todd, an obnoxious intern who was usually preoccupied with Tweeting, loudly clapped when he saw me. “We should call you Dorothy,” he said cryptically.
All eyes were on me. “Huh?”
“It’s like your office desk got sucked up in a dust devil and flattened Derrick when it came back down. Ding dong, the dick is dead!”
I quickly returned to my desk. A plain IKEA-variety desk with no wings, no sails. The last thing I wanted was a reputation that I’d taken down Derrick Matthews. I’d seen enough news stories about employees getting the boot and then coming back to settle the score.
At 11:30, my presence was request in the conference room. By then, only Bryson, Barry and Monica Tremont, the firm’s only female partner, were still present. She’s the one who spoke. “We have seen the work memo Derrick Matthews gave you, outlining an assignment with a deadline set for this afternoon. I can say on behalf of the entire firm that the task was…inappropriate. Obviously, it is unfortunate that you had to experience such a…an unusual task at any point with us, but particularly in light of the fact that you are a relatively new hire.”
Barry butted in: “That assignment is dead. You will not report to Derrick in any capacity from now on. Should that change, it would only happen after a careful review, including a discussion with you.”
Monica took over once again. It seemed she desperately wanted to make the next announcement. “Derrick has been undergoing a great deal of stress recently. For that reason, he is taking an indefinite leave of absence.” As formal as she wanted to come across, I saw the corners of her mouth curve upward. Size and status notwithstanding, there were happy Munchkins everywhere.
KEN’S JOURNAL:
AS WE KAYAKED IN FALSE CREEK, I SAW THE KID RETURN TO TRAVIS’ FACE. THE GOOD KID. GOD, I WISH SARA HAD BEEN THERE. HE LAUGHED CRUELLY (YET APPROPRIATELY) AS I ALMOST ROLLED MY BOAT WHEN I TRIED TO SCARE OFF A DOMESTICATED SEA GULL THAT KEPT WANTING TO MATE W/ME OR FIND A WAY TO GET THE TUNA SANDWICHES OUT FROM THE BACKBACK I’D STOWED. TRAVIS OFFERED TO RACE W/ME TO A BUOY NEAR SCIENCE WORLD. UNDER NORMAL CIRCUMSTANCES, HE’D BE BEGGING ME TO GO IN THE OPPOSITE DIRECTION. HE EVEN TALKED ABOUT US MAYBE GOING TO THE BOATHOUSE CABIN ON THE SUNSHINE COAST AGAIN THIS SUMMER. THAT HAD BEEN A WEEKEND FOR JUST TRAVIS & ME 4 YRS AGO. THOUGHT HE’D FORGOTTEN…OR AT LEAST WANTED TO FORGET.
HE HAD FUN LISTENING TO ME RANT ABOUT THE NO-SHOW CANUCKS WHO MAY AS WELL HAVE DEFAULTED LAST NITE’S GAME TO THE SHARKS. AFTER, HE ASKED TO USE MY ROOM TO CALL HIS MOM. THE CONVERSATION ONLY LASTED 5 MIN, BUT I’M GUESSING IT WAS 295 SECONDS LONGER THAN ANYTHING HE’D SAID TO HER IN THE PAST 3 MONTHS. WHEN HE HANDED OFF THE PHONE TO ME, SHE SAID, “GOOD GOD, WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU DONE W/MY SON? WHERE’S THE SNARKY, INSUFFERABLE TEENAGER THAT I KNOW?”
“DO YOU REALLY WANT AN ANSWER?” AND SHE LAUGHED. SARA LAUGHED! SURE, HOCKEY WAS ON MY MIND, BUT I WAS BATTING 1.000!
THIS MORNING WE STOPPED BY THE VANCOUVER ROWING CLUB & SIGNED UP FOR THE TUES/THURS EVENING SWEEP PROGRAM FOR JUNE. TRAVIS SEEMS PSYCHED. HELL, I AM TOO!
Saturday, April 3, 2010
BOXED UP EMOTIONS
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You don’t usually have a hard time communicating with people — but you might find it hard to reach them today! It’s still worth the effort, especially with those you are already close to.
Laura’s Log:
While Mom was off “sale-ing” at garage sales, Dad and I had our own garage issues. I showed up just after 9, ready to hit Home Depot. Dad was in the garage, sitting in his lawn chair beside the space heater, reading the Sports section of The Sun.
“Ready?” I asked, feeling chipper and naively hoping to complete the reorganization by noon so I could hit a shoe sale with Nadia after lunch.
He didn’t look up from the paper. “For what?”
And sigh. Should’ve seen it coming. Dad will agree to do something just to get people (usually, Mom) off his back. Then, he just hopes the task will go on the never ending To-Do list, taking its place far behind “take down Christmas lights” (from 2001) and “remove dead rhodo bush” (2003).
I glanced around the garage and noticed the pile of discard tools had disappeared, with the broken shovel and the busted hedge trimmer mixed back in with all the clutter. “Dad.” No answer. No movement.
“Dad!” Hoarder still unresponsive.
“DAAAAD!”
He shuffled the paper to turn to the next page. “Heard you the first time.”
Bigger sigh. “The socially appropriate thing to do is respond when someone calls you.” Oh, gawd. I heard my mother’s voice come out. When Dad goes all ostrich-in-sand, it’s hard not to harp.
And it only got worse. I had to yank the newspaper out of his hand—well, after the tear, he retained the bottom portion of the back page—and take away his coffee mug. With the promise of a stop for real coffee on Commercial, I got him he to grab the keys to his truck. Although I really needed the caffeine soothie ASAP, I insisted we hit Home Depot first. No way was Dad going to get me with a feigned headache right after Café Calabria.
Shopping for storage tubs, Dad was like a five-year-old boy having to try on suits. “How do you like these, Dad?” Shoulder shrug. “What about these?” He never looked up, fiddling with a couple loose screws in the palm of his hand. I stopped consulting Dead Dad Walking and we managed to fill the back of the truck with pegboard, two dozen storage bins, three shiny new aluminum trash cans and a new snow shovel. (Granted, he could go many months without a chance of snow, but I figured it was the only way to get him to part with that stump of a shovel back home.)
Our café stop was quicker and quieter than usual. He couldn’t (or wouldn’t?) concentrate on conversation and kept peeking out to see if anyone was stealing his new (unneeded?) goods from the truck. I grabbed a couple To Go cups and we were on our way.
Back at Ground Zero, Dad stood back as I started trying to sort things. Then I baited him with a question about Luongo and he launched into a tirade about lazy goaltending that got him so riled he couldn’t help but use his hands and join in the sorting. His ire toward Luongo shifted to being irked with me. “Those don’t go together!” he said as he took the used paint rollers out of the tub of paint-splattered old clothes. Five minutes later, I was the spectator.
By 12:30, I announced I was leaving after promising (threatening?) to spend all of Easter Sunday redoing the whole thing—maybe even tossing paint rolls back in with old pairs of jeans—if I showed up for brunch and found the job incomplete. He muttered something which I didn’t ask him to repeat. No need for a “French” lesson from Dear Old Dad.
Once back in my car, I let out one more rattled exhale. Bond with Dad, check! Time to reward myself with a new pair of shoes.
KEN’S JOURNAL:
JERRY BUZZED MY CONDO JUST AFTER 8. I WAS GROGGY, STILL IN BED. IN FACT, I THINK HE INTERRUPTED MY DREAM. I WAS ABOUT TO GRAB MY OWN GRABNER MOMENT, TAKING A PASS FROM WILLIE MITCHELL & LOOKING @ A WIDE OPEN NET TO COMPLETE MY HAT TRICK. THE BLARE OF THE BUZZER RUINED EVERYTHING. IT CAN BE HARSH AWAKENING TO REALITY. I WASN’T A CANUCK &, DAMMIT, WILLIE STILL WASN’T EITHER.
“I GOTTA THROW ON SOME CLOTHES. YOU WANNA COME UP?” I ASKED.
“NO. I’LL WAIT.” HE SOUNDED GRUMPY. YOU’D THINK I’D SPOILED HIS CANUCK DREAMS! COURSE I KNEW WHY HE WAS HERE.
WE WALKED OVER TO STARBUCKS W/A LITTLE HOCKEY TALK—HE WAS A FLAMES FAN, ONLY 1 OF THE MANY REASONS I DIDN’T LIKE HIM. COFFEE IN HAND, HE SPILLED IT: “I NEED TO MAKE THIS CLEAR. YOU FUCKIN’ LEAVE MY KIDS ALONE!”
WHOA. HARSHER THAN WHAT I’D EXPECTED. “UH,…I’M THE UNCLE.”
“EXACTLY! I’M THE FATHER!”
“SO ACT IT.”
FOR A SECOND, IT LOOKED LIKE HE’D TAKE A SWING @ ME. GOOD THING HE THOUGHT BETTER OF IT. I AM, AFTER ALL, FIVE INCHES TALLER & 60 LBS HEAVIER. JERRY WAS NO FIGHTER. MIGHT HAVE BITCH-SLAPPED HIS SISTER ONCE, BUT THAT’S ALL. GUESSIN’ SHE MADE HIM LEARN HIS LESSON.
INSTEAD OF PHYSICAL ACTION, HE CHOSE TO GLARE @ ME. YOU KNOW HOW PARENTS TELL YOU NOT TO MAKE AN UGLY FACE? HOW THE WIND IS GONNA BLOW A CERTAIN WAY & THAT LOOK’S JUST GONNA FREEZE ON YOUR FACE? WELL, I DIDN’T FEEL THE GUST MYSELF, BUT I SWEAR IT SWEPT THRU JERRY. THAT WRINKLY GLARE JUST CONTINUED TO STARE ME DOWN. WHATEVER. I GOT UP AND ORDERED A SCONE. EVEN PITCHED IN FOR AN EXTRA 1 FOR JERRY—JUST TO SEE IF HE COULD MOVE THAT FACE ENUF TO CHEW.
MY TIMEOUT HELPED JERRY RECOVER. IN FACT, ANY BRAVADO WAS GONE. “MY SON’S ON DRUGS.” HIS EYES WELLED UP. “HE DOESN’T TALK TO ME. AT ALL. JUST LOOKS @ ME LIKE I’M THE MOST HATED PERSON ON EARTH.”
“IS THAT WHERE YOU GOT THAT LOOK YOU WERE GIVIN’ ME?” MAYBE I SHOULDN’T HAVE MADE LIGHT OF THINGS, BUT THE GUY WAS GONNA BAWL IN THE MIDDLE OF STARBUCKS. A BITCH-SLAP WLD HAVE BEEN MORE WELCOME.
HE CRACKED A SLIVER OF A SMILE. “SORRY.”
“YEAH, WHATEVER.” AND FOR THE NEXT HOUR WE TALKED ABOUT TRAVIS, ABOUT HIS WORK, EVEN ABOUT SARA THREATENING DIVORCE (NEWS TO ME, BUT NOT NECESSARILY UNWELCOME). I HAD AS FEW ANSWERS AS JERRY. I THINK THAT’S WHAT MADE HIM OPEN UP. SOMETIMES WHEN YOU PUT 2 HEADS TOGETHER, YOU DON’T GET A SOLUTION. YOU JUST GET A COLLECTIVE MIGRAINE. BUT IT’S A START.
Laura’s Log:
While Mom was off “sale-ing” at garage sales, Dad and I had our own garage issues. I showed up just after 9, ready to hit Home Depot. Dad was in the garage, sitting in his lawn chair beside the space heater, reading the Sports section of The Sun.
“Ready?” I asked, feeling chipper and naively hoping to complete the reorganization by noon so I could hit a shoe sale with Nadia after lunch.
He didn’t look up from the paper. “For what?”
And sigh. Should’ve seen it coming. Dad will agree to do something just to get people (usually, Mom) off his back. Then, he just hopes the task will go on the never ending To-Do list, taking its place far behind “take down Christmas lights” (from 2001) and “remove dead rhodo bush” (2003).
I glanced around the garage and noticed the pile of discard tools had disappeared, with the broken shovel and the busted hedge trimmer mixed back in with all the clutter. “Dad.” No answer. No movement.
“Dad!” Hoarder still unresponsive.
“DAAAAD!”
He shuffled the paper to turn to the next page. “Heard you the first time.”
Bigger sigh. “The socially appropriate thing to do is respond when someone calls you.” Oh, gawd. I heard my mother’s voice come out. When Dad goes all ostrich-in-sand, it’s hard not to harp.
And it only got worse. I had to yank the newspaper out of his hand—well, after the tear, he retained the bottom portion of the back page—and take away his coffee mug. With the promise of a stop for real coffee on Commercial, I got him he to grab the keys to his truck. Although I really needed the caffeine soothie ASAP, I insisted we hit Home Depot first. No way was Dad going to get me with a feigned headache right after Café Calabria.
Shopping for storage tubs, Dad was like a five-year-old boy having to try on suits. “How do you like these, Dad?” Shoulder shrug. “What about these?” He never looked up, fiddling with a couple loose screws in the palm of his hand. I stopped consulting Dead Dad Walking and we managed to fill the back of the truck with pegboard, two dozen storage bins, three shiny new aluminum trash cans and a new snow shovel. (Granted, he could go many months without a chance of snow, but I figured it was the only way to get him to part with that stump of a shovel back home.)
Our café stop was quicker and quieter than usual. He couldn’t (or wouldn’t?) concentrate on conversation and kept peeking out to see if anyone was stealing his new (unneeded?) goods from the truck. I grabbed a couple To Go cups and we were on our way.
Back at Ground Zero, Dad stood back as I started trying to sort things. Then I baited him with a question about Luongo and he launched into a tirade about lazy goaltending that got him so riled he couldn’t help but use his hands and join in the sorting. His ire toward Luongo shifted to being irked with me. “Those don’t go together!” he said as he took the used paint rollers out of the tub of paint-splattered old clothes. Five minutes later, I was the spectator.
By 12:30, I announced I was leaving after promising (threatening?) to spend all of Easter Sunday redoing the whole thing—maybe even tossing paint rolls back in with old pairs of jeans—if I showed up for brunch and found the job incomplete. He muttered something which I didn’t ask him to repeat. No need for a “French” lesson from Dear Old Dad.
Once back in my car, I let out one more rattled exhale. Bond with Dad, check! Time to reward myself with a new pair of shoes.
KEN’S JOURNAL:
JERRY BUZZED MY CONDO JUST AFTER 8. I WAS GROGGY, STILL IN BED. IN FACT, I THINK HE INTERRUPTED MY DREAM. I WAS ABOUT TO GRAB MY OWN GRABNER MOMENT, TAKING A PASS FROM WILLIE MITCHELL & LOOKING @ A WIDE OPEN NET TO COMPLETE MY HAT TRICK. THE BLARE OF THE BUZZER RUINED EVERYTHING. IT CAN BE HARSH AWAKENING TO REALITY. I WASN’T A CANUCK &, DAMMIT, WILLIE STILL WASN’T EITHER.
“I GOTTA THROW ON SOME CLOTHES. YOU WANNA COME UP?” I ASKED.
“NO. I’LL WAIT.” HE SOUNDED GRUMPY. YOU’D THINK I’D SPOILED HIS CANUCK DREAMS! COURSE I KNEW WHY HE WAS HERE.
WE WALKED OVER TO STARBUCKS W/A LITTLE HOCKEY TALK—HE WAS A FLAMES FAN, ONLY 1 OF THE MANY REASONS I DIDN’T LIKE HIM. COFFEE IN HAND, HE SPILLED IT: “I NEED TO MAKE THIS CLEAR. YOU FUCKIN’ LEAVE MY KIDS ALONE!”
WHOA. HARSHER THAN WHAT I’D EXPECTED. “UH,…I’M THE UNCLE.”
“EXACTLY! I’M THE FATHER!”
“SO ACT IT.”
FOR A SECOND, IT LOOKED LIKE HE’D TAKE A SWING @ ME. GOOD THING HE THOUGHT BETTER OF IT. I AM, AFTER ALL, FIVE INCHES TALLER & 60 LBS HEAVIER. JERRY WAS NO FIGHTER. MIGHT HAVE BITCH-SLAPPED HIS SISTER ONCE, BUT THAT’S ALL. GUESSIN’ SHE MADE HIM LEARN HIS LESSON.
INSTEAD OF PHYSICAL ACTION, HE CHOSE TO GLARE @ ME. YOU KNOW HOW PARENTS TELL YOU NOT TO MAKE AN UGLY FACE? HOW THE WIND IS GONNA BLOW A CERTAIN WAY & THAT LOOK’S JUST GONNA FREEZE ON YOUR FACE? WELL, I DIDN’T FEEL THE GUST MYSELF, BUT I SWEAR IT SWEPT THRU JERRY. THAT WRINKLY GLARE JUST CONTINUED TO STARE ME DOWN. WHATEVER. I GOT UP AND ORDERED A SCONE. EVEN PITCHED IN FOR AN EXTRA 1 FOR JERRY—JUST TO SEE IF HE COULD MOVE THAT FACE ENUF TO CHEW.
MY TIMEOUT HELPED JERRY RECOVER. IN FACT, ANY BRAVADO WAS GONE. “MY SON’S ON DRUGS.” HIS EYES WELLED UP. “HE DOESN’T TALK TO ME. AT ALL. JUST LOOKS @ ME LIKE I’M THE MOST HATED PERSON ON EARTH.”
“IS THAT WHERE YOU GOT THAT LOOK YOU WERE GIVIN’ ME?” MAYBE I SHOULDN’T HAVE MADE LIGHT OF THINGS, BUT THE GUY WAS GONNA BAWL IN THE MIDDLE OF STARBUCKS. A BITCH-SLAP WLD HAVE BEEN MORE WELCOME.
HE CRACKED A SLIVER OF A SMILE. “SORRY.”
“YEAH, WHATEVER.” AND FOR THE NEXT HOUR WE TALKED ABOUT TRAVIS, ABOUT HIS WORK, EVEN ABOUT SARA THREATENING DIVORCE (NEWS TO ME, BUT NOT NECESSARILY UNWELCOME). I HAD AS FEW ANSWERS AS JERRY. I THINK THAT’S WHAT MADE HIM OPEN UP. SOMETIMES WHEN YOU PUT 2 HEADS TOGETHER, YOU DON’T GET A SOLUTION. YOU JUST GET A COLLECTIVE MIGRAINE. BUT IT’S A START.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
FATHER ISSUES
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Focus on the here and now — especially when it comes to your home and possessions! You may need to take inventory for moving or insurance purposes or just reassess everything and chuck what’s not needed.
Laura’s Log:
Dinner with Dad last night. Mom had a Who Is Your Past-Life Mentor? workshop she’d signed up for with friends so it was nice to have time with just Dad. He’s quiet in the best of times, but he’s been completely withdrawn lately. When I tell Mom I’m worried, she brushes it off: “That’s just your father. I’ve had better conversations with the toaster.”
As usual, he was in the garage when I stopped by. Once a year, without Mom’s prodding, I’ll hear him say, “Maybe I could have a go at sorting through some of this.” It never happens. I don’t think he knows where to start. This time when he said it, I offered to help. Gabriel’s off seeing family in Victoria over the long weekend so I’ve got time. To my astonishment, he accepted the assistance. We immediately looked over his broken tool collection and, with some coaxing, he agreed to let some of them go. Broken edger, busted hedge trimmer, snow shovel snapped in two. I swear he got teary and turned away as we created a graveyard pile. What memories go with a wrecked pair of pruners? No way I’d ever get that out of him.
On the way to Milestones, he agreed to go with me to Home Depot on Saturday to pick out matching storage tubs, pegboard, hooks and some shelving. I have little hope that we’ll reduce much of the piles of junk, but at least everything can be tossed in neatly stacked bins. Maybe Mom will nag a little less.
At dinner, I asked him about work. “They still trying to push you out?”
“Yep.” His face reddened. He wouldn’t elaborate.
When I got home, I sat on the sofa, TV off, just hugging Tupper and thinking about Dad. He was in pain. He’d put all his years into that company and now they were trying to push him out. This quiet, conscientious man was defenseless. The battle wasn’t over, but I knew—and, worse, he knew—who would win.
I couldn’t picture Dad in retirement. What the hell would he do with himself? I knew he was asking the same question.
KEN’S JOURNAL:
IT TAKES THE PROSPECT OF MOVING TO MAKE ME HAVE A 2ND LOOK @ THE WORN OUT IKEA DÉCOR. WHY DID I BUY THAT DRAB ARMOIRE? CHEAP PRICE = CHEAP LOOK. NOT FOR EVERYONE, I GUESS. THERE ARE PEOPLE W/AN EYE WHO CAN ALTER A PIECE W/NEW KNOBS OR WHATEVER. I’M NOT ONE OF THEM. THE ARMOIRE, THE BOOKSHELVES, THE OFFICE CHAIR, THE COFFEE TABLE,…IT’S ALL CRAP. DO I HIRE A MOVER TO TRANSPORT CRAP TO A NEW LOCATION? IF I START OVER, WILL I SUDDENLY BE GIFTED W/A NEW EYE OR, MORE LIKELY, WILL I JUST BE REPLACING CRAP W/CRAP? I’LL BE SPENDING A ½ MIL ON A NEW SPACE & FILLING IT W/WHAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE TEMP FURNITURE THAT SOMEHOW BECAME MY STYLE: SHABBY SHIT.
IT’S SAD TO LOOK @ 15 YRS OF AMASSING FURNITURE, ONLY TO REALIZE I’M ONLY A ½ STEP AHEAD OF COLLEGE WHEN I HAD A $15 GARAGE SALE SOFA, A THRIFT SHOP BEAN BAG & A CARD TABLE.
OF COURSE, THE SUDDEN FIXATION W/FURNITURE IS A DIVERSION. DAD’S COMING IN FOR THE EASTER WEEKEND. HE’S STAYING W/ME INSTEAD OF SARA. QUIETER. EVEN MORE SO WHEN HE’S HERE. WE’LL TALK ABOUT THE CANUCKS. THEN WHAT? HE WAS NEVER A TALKER. NEVER HAD TO BE. SINCE MOM DIED THO, THE SILENCE IS PAINFUL.
Laura’s Log:
Dinner with Dad last night. Mom had a Who Is Your Past-Life Mentor? workshop she’d signed up for with friends so it was nice to have time with just Dad. He’s quiet in the best of times, but he’s been completely withdrawn lately. When I tell Mom I’m worried, she brushes it off: “That’s just your father. I’ve had better conversations with the toaster.”
As usual, he was in the garage when I stopped by. Once a year, without Mom’s prodding, I’ll hear him say, “Maybe I could have a go at sorting through some of this.” It never happens. I don’t think he knows where to start. This time when he said it, I offered to help. Gabriel’s off seeing family in Victoria over the long weekend so I’ve got time. To my astonishment, he accepted the assistance. We immediately looked over his broken tool collection and, with some coaxing, he agreed to let some of them go. Broken edger, busted hedge trimmer, snow shovel snapped in two. I swear he got teary and turned away as we created a graveyard pile. What memories go with a wrecked pair of pruners? No way I’d ever get that out of him.
On the way to Milestones, he agreed to go with me to Home Depot on Saturday to pick out matching storage tubs, pegboard, hooks and some shelving. I have little hope that we’ll reduce much of the piles of junk, but at least everything can be tossed in neatly stacked bins. Maybe Mom will nag a little less.
At dinner, I asked him about work. “They still trying to push you out?”
“Yep.” His face reddened. He wouldn’t elaborate.
When I got home, I sat on the sofa, TV off, just hugging Tupper and thinking about Dad. He was in pain. He’d put all his years into that company and now they were trying to push him out. This quiet, conscientious man was defenseless. The battle wasn’t over, but I knew—and, worse, he knew—who would win.
I couldn’t picture Dad in retirement. What the hell would he do with himself? I knew he was asking the same question.
KEN’S JOURNAL:
IT TAKES THE PROSPECT OF MOVING TO MAKE ME HAVE A 2ND LOOK @ THE WORN OUT IKEA DÉCOR. WHY DID I BUY THAT DRAB ARMOIRE? CHEAP PRICE = CHEAP LOOK. NOT FOR EVERYONE, I GUESS. THERE ARE PEOPLE W/AN EYE WHO CAN ALTER A PIECE W/NEW KNOBS OR WHATEVER. I’M NOT ONE OF THEM. THE ARMOIRE, THE BOOKSHELVES, THE OFFICE CHAIR, THE COFFEE TABLE,…IT’S ALL CRAP. DO I HIRE A MOVER TO TRANSPORT CRAP TO A NEW LOCATION? IF I START OVER, WILL I SUDDENLY BE GIFTED W/A NEW EYE OR, MORE LIKELY, WILL I JUST BE REPLACING CRAP W/CRAP? I’LL BE SPENDING A ½ MIL ON A NEW SPACE & FILLING IT W/WHAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE TEMP FURNITURE THAT SOMEHOW BECAME MY STYLE: SHABBY SHIT.
IT’S SAD TO LOOK @ 15 YRS OF AMASSING FURNITURE, ONLY TO REALIZE I’M ONLY A ½ STEP AHEAD OF COLLEGE WHEN I HAD A $15 GARAGE SALE SOFA, A THRIFT SHOP BEAN BAG & A CARD TABLE.
OF COURSE, THE SUDDEN FIXATION W/FURNITURE IS A DIVERSION. DAD’S COMING IN FOR THE EASTER WEEKEND. HE’S STAYING W/ME INSTEAD OF SARA. QUIETER. EVEN MORE SO WHEN HE’S HERE. WE’LL TALK ABOUT THE CANUCKS. THEN WHAT? HE WAS NEVER A TALKER. NEVER HAD TO BE. SINCE MOM DIED THO, THE SILENCE IS PAINFUL.
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.
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.
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?!
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?!
Monday, March 8, 2010
PAST BECOMES PRESENT
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You need to deal with some old, but still pressing issues -- further delay is sure to work against you. Today's big business can wait for a while, so don't hesitate to put it on the back burner.
Laura’s Log:
Of course Katherine wore white. Why do people with tans still look so radiant when we all know the exposure is a bad thing? When will pasty come into vogue? Tilda Swinton, where have you gone?
As much as I love Tamara and Nadia, it felt good to mix with a different crowd for Oscar watching. Must have been close to thirty people crammed into Katherine’s condo. I overlooked the fact they were shameless “Avatar” fans and enjoyed myself. (The Bellinis helped!) And as good as Bradley Cooper, Gerard Butler, Jake Gyllenhaal and Ben Stiller looked—yes, who can resist a man in blue?—I found myself sneaking glimpses of Katherine’s cousin Gabriel more than anything else. For four years, I’ve had sporadic Gabriel sightings and I’ve never been able to say more than “Don’t you hate the rain?” which is really the Vancouver equivalent to “Hi. How are you?”
When I arrived, he seemed to be hanging on a slut named Rachelle. Okay, she was more Tenley than Tila Tequila, but she was dominating Gabriel’s time, something I had hoped to be doing. After my third Bellini, I felt brave (buzzed) enough to approach him. (Rachelle had moved on to showing Katherine how to fold napkins to look like swans. So ’80s, right?) My time with Gabriel started out awkwardly—five minutes about what makes a good hummus (tahini is an especially funny word after a few Bellinis)—but picked up as we shared a common a longing for Nicole Richie and Mariah Carey to go away. Okay, who doesn’t want them to disappear, but I have to choose safe topics when I’m crushing on a guy. Too much at stake to start bashing Sandra Bullock’s acting. We did, however, find more depth as he confessed that he was rooting for “Up in the Air”. (Okay, maybe not much depth, but it was the Oscars, people!) My love for that movie has nothing—or very little—to do with my own recent firing and isn’t even solely based on the fact George Clooney is in almost every frame.
Imagine my shock when I said I hadn’t seen “An Education” yet and he asked if I wanted to go Tuesday night.
Oscar, I love you!
KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
HARD DAY TODAY. WOKE W/A SICK FEELING, THE KIND WHERE YOU WANT TO VOMIT, NEED TO VOMIT, BUT CAN’T. CLARA’S BIRTHDAY. USED TO DO THINGS UP BIG FOR HER. PROBABLY WLD HAVE FLOWN HER TO SAN FRAN OR CHICAGO FOR THE WKEND. AND NOW SHE’S…WHERE? IN JAKARTA? MOVED ON TO THAILAND? WHO HAS SHE FALLEN IN LOVE WITH? HOW THRILLED IS SHE TO BE RID OF ME?
SO MANY GUYS FORGET ANNIVERSARIES, BIRTHDAYS, DRY CLEANING. WHY CAN’T I? WHY CAN’T I KEEP MY BRAIN 100% ON THE CANUCKS. HENRIK’S BOUNCING BACK, DEMITRA’S SHINING,…HECK, EVEN WELLIE’S GETTING POINTS. FOCUS ON THE POSITIVE.
WHAT’LL IT TAKE TO MOVE ON FROM CLARA? ANOTHER WOMAN? MAYBE, BUT I PITY THE NEXT ONE IF I CAN’T FULLY DE-CLARA-FY MY LIFE. CALLED BRAD AS SOON AS HIS OFFICE OPENED @ 9 A.M. HE’S FITTING ME IN FOR AN EMERGENCY SESSION @ 2 THIS AFTERNOON. I’LL JUST TELL THE BOSS IT’S A MEDICAL APPTMT. HE’LL THINK IT’S SOMETHING TO DO W/MY BLACK EYE & THERE’S NO WAY HE’LL QUESTION ME ON IT. THE GUY’S AN ASS, NOT AN IDIOT.
WHAT’S IT TAKE FOR ME TO MOVE ON? LACUNA, INC., I NEED YOU. (SEE “ETERNAL SUNSHINE OF THE SPOTLESS MIND”.)
Laura’s Log:
Of course Katherine wore white. Why do people with tans still look so radiant when we all know the exposure is a bad thing? When will pasty come into vogue? Tilda Swinton, where have you gone?
As much as I love Tamara and Nadia, it felt good to mix with a different crowd for Oscar watching. Must have been close to thirty people crammed into Katherine’s condo. I overlooked the fact they were shameless “Avatar” fans and enjoyed myself. (The Bellinis helped!) And as good as Bradley Cooper, Gerard Butler, Jake Gyllenhaal and Ben Stiller looked—yes, who can resist a man in blue?—I found myself sneaking glimpses of Katherine’s cousin Gabriel more than anything else. For four years, I’ve had sporadic Gabriel sightings and I’ve never been able to say more than “Don’t you hate the rain?” which is really the Vancouver equivalent to “Hi. How are you?”
When I arrived, he seemed to be hanging on a slut named Rachelle. Okay, she was more Tenley than Tila Tequila, but she was dominating Gabriel’s time, something I had hoped to be doing. After my third Bellini, I felt brave (buzzed) enough to approach him. (Rachelle had moved on to showing Katherine how to fold napkins to look like swans. So ’80s, right?) My time with Gabriel started out awkwardly—five minutes about what makes a good hummus (tahini is an especially funny word after a few Bellinis)—but picked up as we shared a common a longing for Nicole Richie and Mariah Carey to go away. Okay, who doesn’t want them to disappear, but I have to choose safe topics when I’m crushing on a guy. Too much at stake to start bashing Sandra Bullock’s acting. We did, however, find more depth as he confessed that he was rooting for “Up in the Air”. (Okay, maybe not much depth, but it was the Oscars, people!) My love for that movie has nothing—or very little—to do with my own recent firing and isn’t even solely based on the fact George Clooney is in almost every frame.
Imagine my shock when I said I hadn’t seen “An Education” yet and he asked if I wanted to go Tuesday night.
Oscar, I love you!
KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
HARD DAY TODAY. WOKE W/A SICK FEELING, THE KIND WHERE YOU WANT TO VOMIT, NEED TO VOMIT, BUT CAN’T. CLARA’S BIRTHDAY. USED TO DO THINGS UP BIG FOR HER. PROBABLY WLD HAVE FLOWN HER TO SAN FRAN OR CHICAGO FOR THE WKEND. AND NOW SHE’S…WHERE? IN JAKARTA? MOVED ON TO THAILAND? WHO HAS SHE FALLEN IN LOVE WITH? HOW THRILLED IS SHE TO BE RID OF ME?
SO MANY GUYS FORGET ANNIVERSARIES, BIRTHDAYS, DRY CLEANING. WHY CAN’T I? WHY CAN’T I KEEP MY BRAIN 100% ON THE CANUCKS. HENRIK’S BOUNCING BACK, DEMITRA’S SHINING,…HECK, EVEN WELLIE’S GETTING POINTS. FOCUS ON THE POSITIVE.
WHAT’LL IT TAKE TO MOVE ON FROM CLARA? ANOTHER WOMAN? MAYBE, BUT I PITY THE NEXT ONE IF I CAN’T FULLY DE-CLARA-FY MY LIFE. CALLED BRAD AS SOON AS HIS OFFICE OPENED @ 9 A.M. HE’S FITTING ME IN FOR AN EMERGENCY SESSION @ 2 THIS AFTERNOON. I’LL JUST TELL THE BOSS IT’S A MEDICAL APPTMT. HE’LL THINK IT’S SOMETHING TO DO W/MY BLACK EYE & THERE’S NO WAY HE’LL QUESTION ME ON IT. THE GUY’S AN ASS, NOT AN IDIOT.
WHAT’S IT TAKE FOR ME TO MOVE ON? LACUNA, INC., I NEED YOU. (SEE “ETERNAL SUNSHINE OF THE SPOTLESS MIND”.)
Sunday, March 7, 2010
OSCARS, I’M A GROUCH
March 7, 2010
OSCARS, I’M A GROUCH
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Your brainpower is sparking new ideas today, so you should be able to get yourself in the right mode for almost anything. Share what you've got with those around you and move forward together.
Laura’s Log:
Whose Oscars are they anyway? Tamara, Nadia and I watched “District 9” last night and couldn’t wait for it to be over. Felt like it should have been a short. After the first ten minutes, it was really nothing more than a sci-fi shoot ’em up flick for boys, with a few teary eyed phone calls thrown in. I am having a hard time accepting the fact that “District 9” and “The Hurt Locker” got nominated over “A Single Man” and “(500) Days of Summer”. I’d be pissed if I were Tom Ford. (Apparently they really don’t like you.) Even the only halfway successful “Julie and Julia” would’ve been a better candidate. Too bad they didn’t edit the title to “Julia”. (Worked for Vanessa Redgrave et al. in the ’70s.)
Maybe I was in a bit of a snit after our foray to the Salsa Festival was a bust. We thought there’d be hour-long workshops, but no. Full day salsa immersion. Sorry, but apparently I have commitment issues after all. Should’ve checked the website. We wanted to see some of the pros rehearsing but we were denied. I was trying to convince an official to let us in, but then Nadia got lippy. Tossed to the curb. We never even got a glimpse of the male-male salsa pair, Eli and Yen. A YouTube clip is just not the same.
It may have been just the movie, but by the time “District 9” was over, Tamara, Nadia and I had had enough of each other. Katherine’s back from Puerto Vallarta and is hosting an Oscar party so I’ll head over there for a new social experience. (Katherine hates—or at least strongly dislikes—Nadia and Tamara so I’ll be forced to mingle.) Aside from my Oscar predictions, I’m betting Katherine will be dressed in something simple, yet elegant in white to highlight her new fab tan. What can I wear to minimize my year-round pasty look? Will there be any single guys in attendance? Desirable ones? How about her cousin Gabriel? He was off the market for much of last year, but then there was that unfortunate breakup just before Christmas. So sad. He’s cleared the Rebound period, hasn’t he? I just hope he’s not a “District 9” fan. Or a “Hurt Locker” gusher. Or an “Avatar” advocate.
Suddenly it’s looking grim that I could meet a guy at the party. Damn you, Oscar!
KEN’S JOURNAL:
OSCARS, SCHMOSCARS. “THE HANGOVER” WAS ROBBED! YEP, I’M WATCHING THE CANUCKS INSTEAD. HERE’S HOPING LOU BOUNCES BACK IN NET. AND HENRIK REDISCOVERS HIS SCORING TOUCH.
REAL ESTATE SHOPPING YESTERDAY WAS A BUST. A SPACE IN A STRIP MALL IN PITT MEADOWS AIN’T GONNA CUT IT. I’M STARTING TO REALIZE THAT WE’RE GOING TO BUILD UP A MASSIVE DEBT B/F WE EVEN OPEN OUR DOORS. SUDDENLY EXCITING HAS TAKEN A BACKSEAT TO FRIGHTENING. WHAT R THE SIGNS OF AN ULCER ANYWAY?
MAY NOT BE SUCH A BAD THING THAT RAJ IS WAFFLING ON JOINING US. I DON’T THINK I CAN GO AROUND HOLDING HIS HAND WHEN MY PALMS R GETTING SO SWEATY.
I COMPLETELY REREAD OUR BUSINESS PLAN THIS MORNING. IT ROCKS. WE ROCK. GAWD, I NEEDED THAT REMINDER.
IT’LL ALL BE GREAT. AFTER THE FIRST 3 YRS OR SO. HEY, I LOVED KRAFT MAC & CHEESE IN UNIVERSITY. I CAN LUV IT AGAIN. ONLY NOW IT’LL COME IN A GENERIC YELLOW BOX W/BLACK PRINT. SAME THING,…RIGHT?
OSCARS, I’M A GROUCH
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Your brainpower is sparking new ideas today, so you should be able to get yourself in the right mode for almost anything. Share what you've got with those around you and move forward together.
Laura’s Log:
Whose Oscars are they anyway? Tamara, Nadia and I watched “District 9” last night and couldn’t wait for it to be over. Felt like it should have been a short. After the first ten minutes, it was really nothing more than a sci-fi shoot ’em up flick for boys, with a few teary eyed phone calls thrown in. I am having a hard time accepting the fact that “District 9” and “The Hurt Locker” got nominated over “A Single Man” and “(500) Days of Summer”. I’d be pissed if I were Tom Ford. (Apparently they really don’t like you.) Even the only halfway successful “Julie and Julia” would’ve been a better candidate. Too bad they didn’t edit the title to “Julia”. (Worked for Vanessa Redgrave et al. in the ’70s.)
Maybe I was in a bit of a snit after our foray to the Salsa Festival was a bust. We thought there’d be hour-long workshops, but no. Full day salsa immersion. Sorry, but apparently I have commitment issues after all. Should’ve checked the website. We wanted to see some of the pros rehearsing but we were denied. I was trying to convince an official to let us in, but then Nadia got lippy. Tossed to the curb. We never even got a glimpse of the male-male salsa pair, Eli and Yen. A YouTube clip is just not the same.
It may have been just the movie, but by the time “District 9” was over, Tamara, Nadia and I had had enough of each other. Katherine’s back from Puerto Vallarta and is hosting an Oscar party so I’ll head over there for a new social experience. (Katherine hates—or at least strongly dislikes—Nadia and Tamara so I’ll be forced to mingle.) Aside from my Oscar predictions, I’m betting Katherine will be dressed in something simple, yet elegant in white to highlight her new fab tan. What can I wear to minimize my year-round pasty look? Will there be any single guys in attendance? Desirable ones? How about her cousin Gabriel? He was off the market for much of last year, but then there was that unfortunate breakup just before Christmas. So sad. He’s cleared the Rebound period, hasn’t he? I just hope he’s not a “District 9” fan. Or a “Hurt Locker” gusher. Or an “Avatar” advocate.
Suddenly it’s looking grim that I could meet a guy at the party. Damn you, Oscar!
KEN’S JOURNAL:
OSCARS, SCHMOSCARS. “THE HANGOVER” WAS ROBBED! YEP, I’M WATCHING THE CANUCKS INSTEAD. HERE’S HOPING LOU BOUNCES BACK IN NET. AND HENRIK REDISCOVERS HIS SCORING TOUCH.
REAL ESTATE SHOPPING YESTERDAY WAS A BUST. A SPACE IN A STRIP MALL IN PITT MEADOWS AIN’T GONNA CUT IT. I’M STARTING TO REALIZE THAT WE’RE GOING TO BUILD UP A MASSIVE DEBT B/F WE EVEN OPEN OUR DOORS. SUDDENLY EXCITING HAS TAKEN A BACKSEAT TO FRIGHTENING. WHAT R THE SIGNS OF AN ULCER ANYWAY?
MAY NOT BE SUCH A BAD THING THAT RAJ IS WAFFLING ON JOINING US. I DON’T THINK I CAN GO AROUND HOLDING HIS HAND WHEN MY PALMS R GETTING SO SWEATY.
I COMPLETELY REREAD OUR BUSINESS PLAN THIS MORNING. IT ROCKS. WE ROCK. GAWD, I NEEDED THAT REMINDER.
IT’LL ALL BE GREAT. AFTER THE FIRST 3 YRS OR SO. HEY, I LOVED KRAFT MAC & CHEESE IN UNIVERSITY. I CAN LUV IT AGAIN. ONLY NOW IT’LL COME IN A GENERIC YELLOW BOX W/BLACK PRINT. SAME THING,…RIGHT?
Monday, February 15, 2010
FAMILIAR TERRITORY
February 15, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Try to stick with what you know today. Though you may love the allure of the new, you should save it for a time when your reserves of personal energy are considerably higher. That shouldn't be long!
Laura’s Log:
Who knew that V-Day would lead to a date?! As Tamara and I waited for a table yesterday at Long’s Noodle House, a coworker of hers from the ad agency was waiting with a buddy. I was relieved that there was someone else Tamara knew since she was verging on getting weepy anew. She snapped out of it with Derrick present. We chatted at length about the Olympics—what else?—during our 30-minute wait and Derrick seemed to take an interest in me. His bud, Ron or Rob, seemed ruled by his stomach as he drifted away from the conversation to study (memorize?) the menu. Derrick was about to offer us his table and wait a little longer, but Ron/Rob’s eyes bulged and his hand turned to talon as it clenched Derrick’s shoulder. Yes, we’d wait longer, but Derrick asked for my phone number. He called later in the evening and we’re going out tomorrow. I like a guy who doesn’t wait around for days, trying to play it cool.
Tamara acted pleased, but then confided that Derrick can be an ass at work. Thinks his ideas are superior, doesn’t listen to others and, when he does, mocks their ideas. I didn’t see that side of him and, since I don’t have to work with him, I don’t see a problem.
Going with Tamara to Nadia’s tonight. It’s been ages since the three of us had a Girls’ Night. Nadia is making a low fat tiramisu—Is that something you really want to skimp on?—I’m bringing the Bailey’s and Tamara promises to bring a happy face (as long as no one mentions Edmonton). We’ll channel surf between pairs figure skating and our old steady, “The Bachelor”.
Joblessness notwithstanding, things are starting to look normal, even bright, again!
KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
OH, YEAH! GO CANADA! NOTHING LIKE A GOLD MEDAL TO SHAKE THE V-DAY BLUES. COURSE, IT’S NOT MY MEDAL—LAST TIME I DID A MOGUL RUN I ALMOST COUGHED UP MY HEALTHY CINNAMON BUN BREKKIE—BUT WHATEVER.
SPEAKING OF COUGHING UP, DON’T KNOW WHAT THE CANUCKS WERE DOING IN MINNESOTA. NO EDGE. TOO CONTENT ON A 50/50 ROAD TRIP. AND WHERE WAS LUONGO? THINK HIS HEAD WAS ALREADY IN THE OLYMPICS. LET’S HOPE HE REMEMBERS HOW TO STOP A PUCK WHEN HE JOINS TEAM CANADA.
THE BOSS IS GIVING US THE OPTION OF WORKING FROM HOME DURING THE OLYMPICS, BUT I CAN WALK TO WORK. WILL BE NICE TO HAVE FEWER PEOPLE IN. ESPECIALLY NICE WITH MARJORIE NOT YAMMERING AWAY ABOUT THE LATEST “EXTREME MAKEOVER” HOUSE, THE BEST PLACE TO BUY PIPE CLEANERS & OTHER INANE TOPICS. TOO MUCH TO DO ON THE BURNABY PROJECT. I CAN FOCUS BETTER IN THE OFFICE.
COFFEE DATE AFTER WORK TOMORROW W/ANOTHER WOMAN FROM PLENTYOFFISH. COULDN’T MANAGE TO GET UP & JOG TODAY. WILL FEAST ON CARROT STICKS & BANANAS TODAY. YEAH, I’M SUCH A GIRL. WILL TRY THE EXERCISE BIKE IN THE FITNESS ROOM TONITE & HIT THE JOGGING TRAIL AGAIN TOMORROW. SARA SAYS IT’S GOOD THAT I’M STARTING TO CARE ABOUT WHAT I LOOK LIKE AGAIN. GAWD, WHAT DID SHE THINK ABOUT ME THE PAST 4 MONTHS? WHAT DID OTHERS THINK? WHERE WAS RICHARD SIMMONS TO BITCH-SLAP ME?
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Try to stick with what you know today. Though you may love the allure of the new, you should save it for a time when your reserves of personal energy are considerably higher. That shouldn't be long!
Laura’s Log:
Who knew that V-Day would lead to a date?! As Tamara and I waited for a table yesterday at Long’s Noodle House, a coworker of hers from the ad agency was waiting with a buddy. I was relieved that there was someone else Tamara knew since she was verging on getting weepy anew. She snapped out of it with Derrick present. We chatted at length about the Olympics—what else?—during our 30-minute wait and Derrick seemed to take an interest in me. His bud, Ron or Rob, seemed ruled by his stomach as he drifted away from the conversation to study (memorize?) the menu. Derrick was about to offer us his table and wait a little longer, but Ron/Rob’s eyes bulged and his hand turned to talon as it clenched Derrick’s shoulder. Yes, we’d wait longer, but Derrick asked for my phone number. He called later in the evening and we’re going out tomorrow. I like a guy who doesn’t wait around for days, trying to play it cool.
Tamara acted pleased, but then confided that Derrick can be an ass at work. Thinks his ideas are superior, doesn’t listen to others and, when he does, mocks their ideas. I didn’t see that side of him and, since I don’t have to work with him, I don’t see a problem.
Going with Tamara to Nadia’s tonight. It’s been ages since the three of us had a Girls’ Night. Nadia is making a low fat tiramisu—Is that something you really want to skimp on?—I’m bringing the Bailey’s and Tamara promises to bring a happy face (as long as no one mentions Edmonton). We’ll channel surf between pairs figure skating and our old steady, “The Bachelor”.
Joblessness notwithstanding, things are starting to look normal, even bright, again!
KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
OH, YEAH! GO CANADA! NOTHING LIKE A GOLD MEDAL TO SHAKE THE V-DAY BLUES. COURSE, IT’S NOT MY MEDAL—LAST TIME I DID A MOGUL RUN I ALMOST COUGHED UP MY HEALTHY CINNAMON BUN BREKKIE—BUT WHATEVER.
SPEAKING OF COUGHING UP, DON’T KNOW WHAT THE CANUCKS WERE DOING IN MINNESOTA. NO EDGE. TOO CONTENT ON A 50/50 ROAD TRIP. AND WHERE WAS LUONGO? THINK HIS HEAD WAS ALREADY IN THE OLYMPICS. LET’S HOPE HE REMEMBERS HOW TO STOP A PUCK WHEN HE JOINS TEAM CANADA.
THE BOSS IS GIVING US THE OPTION OF WORKING FROM HOME DURING THE OLYMPICS, BUT I CAN WALK TO WORK. WILL BE NICE TO HAVE FEWER PEOPLE IN. ESPECIALLY NICE WITH MARJORIE NOT YAMMERING AWAY ABOUT THE LATEST “EXTREME MAKEOVER” HOUSE, THE BEST PLACE TO BUY PIPE CLEANERS & OTHER INANE TOPICS. TOO MUCH TO DO ON THE BURNABY PROJECT. I CAN FOCUS BETTER IN THE OFFICE.
COFFEE DATE AFTER WORK TOMORROW W/ANOTHER WOMAN FROM PLENTYOFFISH. COULDN’T MANAGE TO GET UP & JOG TODAY. WILL FEAST ON CARROT STICKS & BANANAS TODAY. YEAH, I’M SUCH A GIRL. WILL TRY THE EXERCISE BIKE IN THE FITNESS ROOM TONITE & HIT THE JOGGING TRAIL AGAIN TOMORROW. SARA SAYS IT’S GOOD THAT I’M STARTING TO CARE ABOUT WHAT I LOOK LIKE AGAIN. GAWD, WHAT DID SHE THINK ABOUT ME THE PAST 4 MONTHS? WHAT DID OTHERS THINK? WHERE WAS RICHARD SIMMONS TO BITCH-SLAP ME?
Sunday, February 14, 2010
TAKING A PASS ON VALENTINE'S DAY
February 14, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Don't volunteer for anything today -- you need to make sure that you're clear when other projects come your way in the near future. If you can avoid taking on new tasks, you should be good to go.
Laura’s Log:
“Can you get Mom to back off?” It was Lucy. 8:15. How had I slept so late? I urgently reached for Tupper. Still breathing. Thank God.
Being awakened by the phone had me feeling frantic. “Where are you calling from? You in jail?”
“WHAT?!” Lucy screamed. “Are you accusing me of smashing windows too? What’s with this family?!”
“Don’t act so indignant,” I said as I sat up and became more clear-headed. The piercing scream helped. “You wear your protesting like a badge of honor.”
“I’m totally against violence. You know that. Can you remind Mom? She left like ten messages for me yesterday, telling me I was ruining the city’s image and saying I was mixed up with hoodlums.”
“Were you there?”
“I was around.”
“What the hell were you guys thinking?” I’d seen the coverage on the news last night. Smashed windows at The Bay, protesters in black hoodies and masks. They seemed to be alienating everyone.
“I didn’t do it. It was some faction that just showed up with its own agenda.”
“There’s a surprise.”
“Look, I’m asking you to join us today. We need to beef up our numbers.” Was this a joke? Or was the cause, as ill-defined as it was, that desperate?
“Losing too many to jail, I guess.”
“Fuck you!” Click. Even if she hadn’t condoned yesterday’s vandalism, the violence was rubbing off. Lucy hadn’t flung the F word at me since university.
Did she really think I’d agree to joining the Olympic protests? Not that they were really protesting the Olympics, from what I could tell from the news last night. Seemed more like a desperate excuse to grab the spotlight with foreign media in town. A bunch of nebulous complaining about Big Brother as far as I could tell.
Not what I wanted to wake up to. I’d had enough drama. Late night due to a marathon session yesterday trying to console Tamara. Today will be even more brutal. My V-Day despair takes a backseat to Tamara’s as she continues to deal with being dumped. Andy, naïve clod that he apparently is, continues to campaign for a long-distance relationship with Tamara. “I didn’t want to move there,” Tamara said during a brief break from sobbing. “Why the hell would I want to spend my weekends flying there?”
We’ve decided to focus on Chinese New Year today. Gung hay fat choy! Will try to get a table at Long’s Noodle House for lunch. After that, maybe some Olympic viewing. So glad there are other distractions on V-Day this year!
KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
FIRST VALENTINE’S IN 8 YRS I DON’T HAVE TO RUN AROUND BUYING CHOCOLATE. GOTTA ADMIT I MISS IT NOW. NOT GOING TO DWELL ON IT. MARTY’S COMING OVER FOR TO LISTEN TO THE CANUCKS ON THE RADIO WHILE WE WATCH THE OLYMPICS. CAN’T EVEN MENTION VALENTINE’S AROUND HIM. IF I GO THERE, HE’LL GIVE ME A GOOD KICK IN THE ASS. SOMETIMES HAVING AN UNSENTIMENTAL, LOVE-PHOBIC BEST BUD IS A GOOD THING.
ROCK CLIMBING W/TRAVIS YESTERDAY WAS OKAY. HE USED CAVEMAN/TARZAN GRUNTS AND MONOSYLLABIC UTTERANCES TO COMMUNICATE BUT I RECALL PUTTING UP THE SAME WALL W/MY PARENTS. SOMEHOW I ALWAYS THOUGHT I’D BE ABLE TO STAY THE COOL UNCLE THRU HIS TEENS. CAUGHT HIM SMILING A FEW TIMES. MUST’VE NEEDED A BREAK FROM ROLLING HIS EYES. THINK I IMPRESSED HIM W/MY CLIMBING SKILLS. THEN AGAIN, HE MIGHT HAVE JUST BEEN AMAZED THE CABLES COULD SUPPORT FAT UNCLE KEN.
SARA INVITED ME FOR DINNER TONITE BUT I’M NOT READY TO TAKE OVER AS FATHER FIGURE. WORK TRAVEL OR NOT, JERRY’S GOTTA STEP UP.
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Don't volunteer for anything today -- you need to make sure that you're clear when other projects come your way in the near future. If you can avoid taking on new tasks, you should be good to go.
Laura’s Log:
“Can you get Mom to back off?” It was Lucy. 8:15. How had I slept so late? I urgently reached for Tupper. Still breathing. Thank God.
Being awakened by the phone had me feeling frantic. “Where are you calling from? You in jail?”
“WHAT?!” Lucy screamed. “Are you accusing me of smashing windows too? What’s with this family?!”
“Don’t act so indignant,” I said as I sat up and became more clear-headed. The piercing scream helped. “You wear your protesting like a badge of honor.”
“I’m totally against violence. You know that. Can you remind Mom? She left like ten messages for me yesterday, telling me I was ruining the city’s image and saying I was mixed up with hoodlums.”
“Were you there?”
“I was around.”
“What the hell were you guys thinking?” I’d seen the coverage on the news last night. Smashed windows at The Bay, protesters in black hoodies and masks. They seemed to be alienating everyone.
“I didn’t do it. It was some faction that just showed up with its own agenda.”
“There’s a surprise.”
“Look, I’m asking you to join us today. We need to beef up our numbers.” Was this a joke? Or was the cause, as ill-defined as it was, that desperate?
“Losing too many to jail, I guess.”
“Fuck you!” Click. Even if she hadn’t condoned yesterday’s vandalism, the violence was rubbing off. Lucy hadn’t flung the F word at me since university.
Did she really think I’d agree to joining the Olympic protests? Not that they were really protesting the Olympics, from what I could tell from the news last night. Seemed more like a desperate excuse to grab the spotlight with foreign media in town. A bunch of nebulous complaining about Big Brother as far as I could tell.
Not what I wanted to wake up to. I’d had enough drama. Late night due to a marathon session yesterday trying to console Tamara. Today will be even more brutal. My V-Day despair takes a backseat to Tamara’s as she continues to deal with being dumped. Andy, naïve clod that he apparently is, continues to campaign for a long-distance relationship with Tamara. “I didn’t want to move there,” Tamara said during a brief break from sobbing. “Why the hell would I want to spend my weekends flying there?”
We’ve decided to focus on Chinese New Year today. Gung hay fat choy! Will try to get a table at Long’s Noodle House for lunch. After that, maybe some Olympic viewing. So glad there are other distractions on V-Day this year!
KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
FIRST VALENTINE’S IN 8 YRS I DON’T HAVE TO RUN AROUND BUYING CHOCOLATE. GOTTA ADMIT I MISS IT NOW. NOT GOING TO DWELL ON IT. MARTY’S COMING OVER FOR TO LISTEN TO THE CANUCKS ON THE RADIO WHILE WE WATCH THE OLYMPICS. CAN’T EVEN MENTION VALENTINE’S AROUND HIM. IF I GO THERE, HE’LL GIVE ME A GOOD KICK IN THE ASS. SOMETIMES HAVING AN UNSENTIMENTAL, LOVE-PHOBIC BEST BUD IS A GOOD THING.
ROCK CLIMBING W/TRAVIS YESTERDAY WAS OKAY. HE USED CAVEMAN/TARZAN GRUNTS AND MONOSYLLABIC UTTERANCES TO COMMUNICATE BUT I RECALL PUTTING UP THE SAME WALL W/MY PARENTS. SOMEHOW I ALWAYS THOUGHT I’D BE ABLE TO STAY THE COOL UNCLE THRU HIS TEENS. CAUGHT HIM SMILING A FEW TIMES. MUST’VE NEEDED A BREAK FROM ROLLING HIS EYES. THINK I IMPRESSED HIM W/MY CLIMBING SKILLS. THEN AGAIN, HE MIGHT HAVE JUST BEEN AMAZED THE CABLES COULD SUPPORT FAT UNCLE KEN.
SARA INVITED ME FOR DINNER TONITE BUT I’M NOT READY TO TAKE OVER AS FATHER FIGURE. WORK TRAVEL OR NOT, JERRY’S GOTTA STEP UP.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
CLEARING THE AIR
February 6, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): It's a really good time for you to deal with that clutter in the basement -- or wherever it may be. Your attachment to things is more thoughtful, so you are more willing to get rid of what you don't need.
Laura’s Log:
Popped by the house first thing this morning to drop off a box of old makeup that had been collecting dust under the sink. Figured Mom might find a home for some of the stuff at the salon. Mom was out “sale-ing” with Gertie Rushman. That’s what they call scavenging at garage sales. Eww. Makes me shudder. Are we really related?
Found Dad in the garage. It kills me that he hides in there even when Mom’s out. I swear, I’m going to find a cot and one of those outdoor shower setups in there one of these days. Dad had the radio on—sports know-it-alls spouting off about the Canucks on a slide. “Are you going in to catch the game when it starts?” I asked.
“Oh, no. Lots to do out here. I’ve got to go through all my electric tools today. Gotta clean them all up, maybe think about giving a few to the thrift shop. See about repairing that edger that puttered out on the second use. Lots to do.”
I didn’t bother to challenge him. He’d said he was going through the electric tools when he hastily excused himself from brunch last week. I wish this were just a winter thing, a hibernation of sorts. But Dad has confined himself to the garage ever since I moved out of the house. Space from Mom. It’s a survival instinct, I suppose. But he’s withdrawn from everyone. Again, a question haunted me: Are we really related?
I took Dad by the arm and escorted him out the garage door. “What are you doing?” he asked nervously. “Where are we going?”
“For a walk, Dad. It’s sunny, it’s gorgeous and it’s time we checked out life on The Drive. Coffee at Café Calabria. On me.”
He tugged gently, wanting me to turn back. Nothing doing. We both needed the company.
KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
TIME TO GO THRU THE CLARA BOX. MY THERAPIST, BRAD, PRACTICALLY FLIPPED OUT ON ME WHEN I SAID I HAD SUCH A THING. GUESS IT’S GIRLY & IT’S DEFINITELY NOT HEALTHY. BACK IN THE CLARA DAYS, SHE THOUGHT IT WAS ROMANTIC. I WAS THAT NICE GUY WHO KEPT TICKET STUBS TO “DR. DOLITTLE 2” (OUR 1ST DATE—HOW DID WE GET PAST THAT?!) & ALL OUR SUN RUN NUMBERS. (WE STOPPED RUNNING 4 YRS AGO. BEER BELLY GREW EXPONENTIALLY EVER SINCE.)
IT TURNS OUT IT’S NOT MUCH OF A TREASURE TROVE. WHAT THE HELL AM I HANGING ONTO A PHOTO OF US GOING AS MARGE & HOMER SIMPSON FOR HALLOWEEN? (BEER BELLY TOTALLY AUTHENTIC BY THEN.) THERE’S A FREAKIN’ CHOCOLATE WRAPPER FROM A VALENTINE’S DAY WAY BACK. A WRAPPER! GAWD, I’M 3 DEGREES AWAY FROM THE BAG LADY UNDER THE GRANVILLE BRIDGE!
AM I A MASOCHIST? HOW ELSE CAN I EXPLAIN GOING THRU ALL THE OLD LOVE NOTES SHE WROTE ME. LOTS FROM THE EARLY YRS. NOTHING FROM THE LAST FEW YRS EXCEPT A QUICK NOTE ON A ROBIN VRBA REAL ESTATE PAD: “DON’T FORGET TO PICK UP THE DRY CLEANING. LOVE YA, C”. I KEPT THAT?! IN FAMINE, I GUESS YOU NIBBLE WHATEVER CRUMBS YOU FIND.
I TOOK OUT A PEN AND STARTED X-ING OUT ALL THE GUSHY COMMENTS IN THE EARLIER CARDS. WON’T SHARE THAT WITH BRAD. CROSSED THE LINE FROM UNHEALTHY TO IN NEED OF SHOCK TREATMENT THERAPY.
FINALLY TOOK THE WHOLE BOX AND PITCHED IT IN THE DUMPSTER. NO MORE TIME TO INFLICT EMOTIONAL PAIN ON SELF. CANUCKS HAVE EARLY GAME IN BOSTON. HERE’S HOPING THEY DON’T ADD TO THE PAIN.
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): It's a really good time for you to deal with that clutter in the basement -- or wherever it may be. Your attachment to things is more thoughtful, so you are more willing to get rid of what you don't need.
Laura’s Log:
Popped by the house first thing this morning to drop off a box of old makeup that had been collecting dust under the sink. Figured Mom might find a home for some of the stuff at the salon. Mom was out “sale-ing” with Gertie Rushman. That’s what they call scavenging at garage sales. Eww. Makes me shudder. Are we really related?
Found Dad in the garage. It kills me that he hides in there even when Mom’s out. I swear, I’m going to find a cot and one of those outdoor shower setups in there one of these days. Dad had the radio on—sports know-it-alls spouting off about the Canucks on a slide. “Are you going in to catch the game when it starts?” I asked.
“Oh, no. Lots to do out here. I’ve got to go through all my electric tools today. Gotta clean them all up, maybe think about giving a few to the thrift shop. See about repairing that edger that puttered out on the second use. Lots to do.”
I didn’t bother to challenge him. He’d said he was going through the electric tools when he hastily excused himself from brunch last week. I wish this were just a winter thing, a hibernation of sorts. But Dad has confined himself to the garage ever since I moved out of the house. Space from Mom. It’s a survival instinct, I suppose. But he’s withdrawn from everyone. Again, a question haunted me: Are we really related?
I took Dad by the arm and escorted him out the garage door. “What are you doing?” he asked nervously. “Where are we going?”
“For a walk, Dad. It’s sunny, it’s gorgeous and it’s time we checked out life on The Drive. Coffee at Café Calabria. On me.”
He tugged gently, wanting me to turn back. Nothing doing. We both needed the company.
KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
TIME TO GO THRU THE CLARA BOX. MY THERAPIST, BRAD, PRACTICALLY FLIPPED OUT ON ME WHEN I SAID I HAD SUCH A THING. GUESS IT’S GIRLY & IT’S DEFINITELY NOT HEALTHY. BACK IN THE CLARA DAYS, SHE THOUGHT IT WAS ROMANTIC. I WAS THAT NICE GUY WHO KEPT TICKET STUBS TO “DR. DOLITTLE 2” (OUR 1ST DATE—HOW DID WE GET PAST THAT?!) & ALL OUR SUN RUN NUMBERS. (WE STOPPED RUNNING 4 YRS AGO. BEER BELLY GREW EXPONENTIALLY EVER SINCE.)
IT TURNS OUT IT’S NOT MUCH OF A TREASURE TROVE. WHAT THE HELL AM I HANGING ONTO A PHOTO OF US GOING AS MARGE & HOMER SIMPSON FOR HALLOWEEN? (BEER BELLY TOTALLY AUTHENTIC BY THEN.) THERE’S A FREAKIN’ CHOCOLATE WRAPPER FROM A VALENTINE’S DAY WAY BACK. A WRAPPER! GAWD, I’M 3 DEGREES AWAY FROM THE BAG LADY UNDER THE GRANVILLE BRIDGE!
AM I A MASOCHIST? HOW ELSE CAN I EXPLAIN GOING THRU ALL THE OLD LOVE NOTES SHE WROTE ME. LOTS FROM THE EARLY YRS. NOTHING FROM THE LAST FEW YRS EXCEPT A QUICK NOTE ON A ROBIN VRBA REAL ESTATE PAD: “DON’T FORGET TO PICK UP THE DRY CLEANING. LOVE YA, C”. I KEPT THAT?! IN FAMINE, I GUESS YOU NIBBLE WHATEVER CRUMBS YOU FIND.
I TOOK OUT A PEN AND STARTED X-ING OUT ALL THE GUSHY COMMENTS IN THE EARLIER CARDS. WON’T SHARE THAT WITH BRAD. CROSSED THE LINE FROM UNHEALTHY TO IN NEED OF SHOCK TREATMENT THERAPY.
FINALLY TOOK THE WHOLE BOX AND PITCHED IT IN THE DUMPSTER. NO MORE TIME TO INFLICT EMOTIONAL PAIN ON SELF. CANUCKS HAVE EARLY GAME IN BOSTON. HERE’S HOPING THEY DON’T ADD TO THE PAIN.
Friday, February 5, 2010
JENNY FROM THE BOG / THERE’S SOMETHING ABOUT MARIBETH
February 5, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You need to deal with a financial issue that feels like a speed bump -- but could actually become a major obstacle! Once you see the depth of it, you should know exactly what to do. It takes time, though.
Laura’s Log:
Good to be home. Catching up with Jenny was wonderful, but I missed my flushing toilet. And my own space. Why is it that I always feel like I’m suffocating after only one night sharing the same space? Maybe I’m more like Marella than I realize. We’ll be two spinsters who move into my parents’ house and all the neighborhood kids will say, in hushed tones, that we’re witches. Marella would love that. Buy a black cat for good measure.
Missed the torch relay in Roberts Creek. Mid-morning Jenny decided it would be fun to walk in the woods, collect leaves and weave natural placemats—a set for her and a set for me. “That way we’ll be connected even though a ferry stands between us.” (I’m assuming she meant ferry, not faerie, but with Jenny I really can’t be sure.) We gathered reeds while Tupper lifted his leg with wild abandon, christening trees, logs, rocks and once, in a moment of delirium, my leg. (Fortunately, he was all peed out by then, doing the lifts just for show.) After forty-five minutes, we headed home and Jenny said, “We really should let them dry out overnight. How about staying longer?”
Awkward.
And so we wove reeds that weren’t ready to weave. I cut my fingers twice. (Paper cuts are nothing!) “Oh, that’s good for you,” Jenny informed. “Very medicinal.”
After three hours, Jenny had four placemats and I had something that looked like a warped coaster. “You can take mine with you. I can always make more.” All I could think was that Jenny would never be able to visit my apartment again because the first thing she’d ask would be, “Where are those placemats I wove?” and our friendship would die when I told her I turfed them at the ferry terminal. No way was I going to bring home a set of nests harboring aphids and invisible insects.
Of course, with no clocks in the cottage, it wasn’t until I peeked at my cell phone that we realized the Roberts Creek festivities were done. Frankly, my entire Sunshine Coast celebration felt done and I just wanted to catch the ferry, but Jenny rushed us into her VW Bug and we glimpsed the torch in Gibsons. Have to admit I got caught up in the moment. Got closer to the flame than I imagined possible and tried to snap a decent photo, but I mostly got a lot of shots of people’s arms raising their digital cameras over their heads. It’s a safe bet that my new career will not involve photography.
Shouldn’t really indulge myself with a latté this morning, but I need a little pampering after my visit with Jenny from the Bog. Must face reality today and check my bank balance. Have a feeling I have to make the (temporary?) switch from Terra Breads to Wonder bread and from Starbucks to, gasp, Folgers.
Maybe I could’ve sold those damn placemats.
KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
LESSON: A PHOTO CAN BE SO DECEIVING. THAT PICTURE OF MARIBETH SHE POSTED ONLINE THAT I SAID MADE HER LOOK 28, NOT 40? WELL, IT HAD TO HAVE BEEN TAKEN, OH, 20 YRS AGO. TURNS OUT SHE RUNS A TANNING BED BUSINESS. LET’S JUST SAY SHE SHOULDN’T BE IN ANY OF THE ADVERTISING. WASN’T THERE A FREAKISHLY TANNED OLDER LADY IN “THERE’S SOMETHING ABOUT MARY”? I KEPT WANTING TO ASK, “WAS THAT YOU?” RIGHT NOW I AM SO TURNED OFF OF LEATHER. MAY HAVE TO DONATE MY SOFA TO GOODWILL.
TO BE HONEST, I DON’T THINK SHE WAS ANY MORE IMPRESSED W/ME. I WAS BUMMED BY THE CANUCKS LOSING TO THE SENATORS—AND BY THE FACT I LOST $500 ON A BET W/MY COUSIN BLAKE IN OTTAWA—AND I THOUGHT SHE COULD COMMISERATE AS A FAN. NO. SHE KEPT GOING ON ABOUT SOME DEAD ACTRESS NAMED BRITTANY SOMEBODY. NOT SPEARS, I LEARNED AS SHE LAUGHED IN MY FACE. SO I’M NOT THAT UP ON ENTERTAINMENT NEWS?! ONLY EVER WATCHED “ET” TO CHECK OUT MARY HART’S LEGS AND NOW THAT SHE’S, WHAT,…70?, IT’S A LITTLE CREEPY TO STILL SNEAK A PEEK.
SAFE TO SAY THERE WASN’T A LOVE CONNECTION B/W US. IT’S ONLY THE 1ST ONLINE ATTEMPT. LIKE THE SITE SAYS, THERE’S PLENTY OF FISH, RIGHT?
WHAT IS THEY’RE ALL CATFISH?
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You need to deal with a financial issue that feels like a speed bump -- but could actually become a major obstacle! Once you see the depth of it, you should know exactly what to do. It takes time, though.
Laura’s Log:
Good to be home. Catching up with Jenny was wonderful, but I missed my flushing toilet. And my own space. Why is it that I always feel like I’m suffocating after only one night sharing the same space? Maybe I’m more like Marella than I realize. We’ll be two spinsters who move into my parents’ house and all the neighborhood kids will say, in hushed tones, that we’re witches. Marella would love that. Buy a black cat for good measure.
Missed the torch relay in Roberts Creek. Mid-morning Jenny decided it would be fun to walk in the woods, collect leaves and weave natural placemats—a set for her and a set for me. “That way we’ll be connected even though a ferry stands between us.” (I’m assuming she meant ferry, not faerie, but with Jenny I really can’t be sure.) We gathered reeds while Tupper lifted his leg with wild abandon, christening trees, logs, rocks and once, in a moment of delirium, my leg. (Fortunately, he was all peed out by then, doing the lifts just for show.) After forty-five minutes, we headed home and Jenny said, “We really should let them dry out overnight. How about staying longer?”
Awkward.
And so we wove reeds that weren’t ready to weave. I cut my fingers twice. (Paper cuts are nothing!) “Oh, that’s good for you,” Jenny informed. “Very medicinal.”
After three hours, Jenny had four placemats and I had something that looked like a warped coaster. “You can take mine with you. I can always make more.” All I could think was that Jenny would never be able to visit my apartment again because the first thing she’d ask would be, “Where are those placemats I wove?” and our friendship would die when I told her I turfed them at the ferry terminal. No way was I going to bring home a set of nests harboring aphids and invisible insects.
Of course, with no clocks in the cottage, it wasn’t until I peeked at my cell phone that we realized the Roberts Creek festivities were done. Frankly, my entire Sunshine Coast celebration felt done and I just wanted to catch the ferry, but Jenny rushed us into her VW Bug and we glimpsed the torch in Gibsons. Have to admit I got caught up in the moment. Got closer to the flame than I imagined possible and tried to snap a decent photo, but I mostly got a lot of shots of people’s arms raising their digital cameras over their heads. It’s a safe bet that my new career will not involve photography.
Shouldn’t really indulge myself with a latté this morning, but I need a little pampering after my visit with Jenny from the Bog. Must face reality today and check my bank balance. Have a feeling I have to make the (temporary?) switch from Terra Breads to Wonder bread and from Starbucks to, gasp, Folgers.
Maybe I could’ve sold those damn placemats.
KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
LESSON: A PHOTO CAN BE SO DECEIVING. THAT PICTURE OF MARIBETH SHE POSTED ONLINE THAT I SAID MADE HER LOOK 28, NOT 40? WELL, IT HAD TO HAVE BEEN TAKEN, OH, 20 YRS AGO. TURNS OUT SHE RUNS A TANNING BED BUSINESS. LET’S JUST SAY SHE SHOULDN’T BE IN ANY OF THE ADVERTISING. WASN’T THERE A FREAKISHLY TANNED OLDER LADY IN “THERE’S SOMETHING ABOUT MARY”? I KEPT WANTING TO ASK, “WAS THAT YOU?” RIGHT NOW I AM SO TURNED OFF OF LEATHER. MAY HAVE TO DONATE MY SOFA TO GOODWILL.
TO BE HONEST, I DON’T THINK SHE WAS ANY MORE IMPRESSED W/ME. I WAS BUMMED BY THE CANUCKS LOSING TO THE SENATORS—AND BY THE FACT I LOST $500 ON A BET W/MY COUSIN BLAKE IN OTTAWA—AND I THOUGHT SHE COULD COMMISERATE AS A FAN. NO. SHE KEPT GOING ON ABOUT SOME DEAD ACTRESS NAMED BRITTANY SOMEBODY. NOT SPEARS, I LEARNED AS SHE LAUGHED IN MY FACE. SO I’M NOT THAT UP ON ENTERTAINMENT NEWS?! ONLY EVER WATCHED “ET” TO CHECK OUT MARY HART’S LEGS AND NOW THAT SHE’S, WHAT,…70?, IT’S A LITTLE CREEPY TO STILL SNEAK A PEEK.
SAFE TO SAY THERE WASN’T A LOVE CONNECTION B/W US. IT’S ONLY THE 1ST ONLINE ATTEMPT. LIKE THE SITE SAYS, THERE’S PLENTY OF FISH, RIGHT?
WHAT IS THEY’RE ALL CATFISH?
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
LUNCH MATTERS
February 2, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Your senses are heightened today, and you are definitely in tune with beauty and your personal aesthetic. It's the perfect day to redecorate, create your own art or discover something new and lovely.
Laura’s Log:
Well, I doodled all over the margin of the classified ads. Très abstract. Rorschach-ian. Bunnies or bombs? That’s as in touch as I’m going to get with my arty side today.
Some of the job postings seemed just as abstract. What’s an “A/R Supervisor”? I suppose, since I don’t know, I don’t have the requisite 3-5 years of A/R experience. Draw an “X” through that one. On the bright side, there’s an office administrator position that pays a whopping $14/hour. If only I had the “preferred” command of the Russian and Ukrainian languages. Sadly, the job section seems to have shrunk and I didn’t find a single ad to pursue. I am pleased to report, however, that smack in the midst of the job ads I found THE contact info for the “Guaranteed, FASTEST pardons, LOWEST prices.” Gives me a better idea of who my competitors are in the current market.
Mom took me to lunch at Nick's Spaghetti House. I fretted that she would lay into me with an agenda of what I needed to do in order to get a new job by tomorrow. Thankfully, my life didn’t even enter into the conversation. She was too consumed by the antics of Marella and Lucy. Thank God for sisters!
“Your sister was on the news last night,” she began as soon as I walked in the restaurant.
“Which one?”
“What do you mean, ‘Which one?’! Lucy, of course. She was in the background, but there she was grinning like an idiot and holding up her SHAME sign about the homeless. Let me say that I do think that those whitening strips she’s using are really working. But, honestly, does she not think about the shame she brings to this family? We have to go about—”
“I’m not ashamed of Lucy.”
“Of course you are, dear. You just don’t realize it.” That’s when I decided to have some wine with lunch. I needed to not realize a whole lot more and pronto. Mom went on blasting Lucy and Carl(a) and the Olympic naysayers and Tony Parsons who “takes too much time off from the news.”
“He’s retired now, Mom.”
“Well, how would I ever know the difference.” And then she paused to allow the patient waitress to finally take our order. It was a suitable transition point to lay into Marella’s smoking, her “reckless sexual shenanigans” and her “unhealthy obsession with work.” Then this golden nugget: “Considering how little a role your father played in raising the lot of you, I don’t how it is that I have not one, but two daughters who think they have a pair of balls in their panties. I’d slice them off myself, but you can’t snip what you can’t see.”
And right on cue came Mom’s spaghetti and meatballs. Bon appetit.
KEN’S JOURNAL (via iPhone):
SWUNG OVER TO THE PACIFIC CENTRE @ LUNCH. DECIDED TO UPDATE MY WARDROBE SO I’LL HAVE SOMETHING I NEVER WORE W/CLARA WHEN I GO OUT WITH MARIBETH. ALREADY EXCHANGED 2 MSGES W/HER ON PLENTYOFFISH. SHE’S 40 BUT LOOKS 28. LIKES HIKING, KAYAKING, SNOWBOARDING & THE CANUCKS. NO MENTION OF PORCELAIN DOLLS ANYWHERE IN HER PROFILE!
DROPPED IN AT HARRY ROSEN & BOUGHT A HUGO BOSS DRESS SHIRT, 2 TIES, & A $325 CASUAL SHIRT BY ETRO THAT THE SALES ASSOCIATE ASSURED ME DIDN’T RESEMBLE A PAJAMA TOP. THE TAB SURPASSED MY MORTGAGE PAYMENT, BUT 1ST IMPRESSIONS ARE KEY. HAVEN’T ASKED HER OUT YET, BUT I’D BETTER STEP UP SOON. WOMEN LIKE MARIBETH DON’T COME ‘ROUND OFTEN.
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Your senses are heightened today, and you are definitely in tune with beauty and your personal aesthetic. It's the perfect day to redecorate, create your own art or discover something new and lovely.
Laura’s Log:
Well, I doodled all over the margin of the classified ads. Très abstract. Rorschach-ian. Bunnies or bombs? That’s as in touch as I’m going to get with my arty side today.
Some of the job postings seemed just as abstract. What’s an “A/R Supervisor”? I suppose, since I don’t know, I don’t have the requisite 3-5 years of A/R experience. Draw an “X” through that one. On the bright side, there’s an office administrator position that pays a whopping $14/hour. If only I had the “preferred” command of the Russian and Ukrainian languages. Sadly, the job section seems to have shrunk and I didn’t find a single ad to pursue. I am pleased to report, however, that smack in the midst of the job ads I found THE contact info for the “Guaranteed, FASTEST pardons, LOWEST prices.” Gives me a better idea of who my competitors are in the current market.
Mom took me to lunch at Nick's Spaghetti House. I fretted that she would lay into me with an agenda of what I needed to do in order to get a new job by tomorrow. Thankfully, my life didn’t even enter into the conversation. She was too consumed by the antics of Marella and Lucy. Thank God for sisters!
“Your sister was on the news last night,” she began as soon as I walked in the restaurant.
“Which one?”
“What do you mean, ‘Which one?’! Lucy, of course. She was in the background, but there she was grinning like an idiot and holding up her SHAME sign about the homeless. Let me say that I do think that those whitening strips she’s using are really working. But, honestly, does she not think about the shame she brings to this family? We have to go about—”
“I’m not ashamed of Lucy.”
“Of course you are, dear. You just don’t realize it.” That’s when I decided to have some wine with lunch. I needed to not realize a whole lot more and pronto. Mom went on blasting Lucy and Carl(a) and the Olympic naysayers and Tony Parsons who “takes too much time off from the news.”
“He’s retired now, Mom.”
“Well, how would I ever know the difference.” And then she paused to allow the patient waitress to finally take our order. It was a suitable transition point to lay into Marella’s smoking, her “reckless sexual shenanigans” and her “unhealthy obsession with work.” Then this golden nugget: “Considering how little a role your father played in raising the lot of you, I don’t how it is that I have not one, but two daughters who think they have a pair of balls in their panties. I’d slice them off myself, but you can’t snip what you can’t see.”
And right on cue came Mom’s spaghetti and meatballs. Bon appetit.
KEN’S JOURNAL (via iPhone):
SWUNG OVER TO THE PACIFIC CENTRE @ LUNCH. DECIDED TO UPDATE MY WARDROBE SO I’LL HAVE SOMETHING I NEVER WORE W/CLARA WHEN I GO OUT WITH MARIBETH. ALREADY EXCHANGED 2 MSGES W/HER ON PLENTYOFFISH. SHE’S 40 BUT LOOKS 28. LIKES HIKING, KAYAKING, SNOWBOARDING & THE CANUCKS. NO MENTION OF PORCELAIN DOLLS ANYWHERE IN HER PROFILE!
DROPPED IN AT HARRY ROSEN & BOUGHT A HUGO BOSS DRESS SHIRT, 2 TIES, & A $325 CASUAL SHIRT BY ETRO THAT THE SALES ASSOCIATE ASSURED ME DIDN’T RESEMBLE A PAJAMA TOP. THE TAB SURPASSED MY MORTGAGE PAYMENT, BUT 1ST IMPRESSIONS ARE KEY. HAVEN’T ASKED HER OUT YET, BUT I’D BETTER STEP UP SOON. WOMEN LIKE MARIBETH DON’T COME ‘ROUND OFTEN.
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