LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Let your creative energy lead the way today — you’ve got fewer limits than you think! See what’s possible by trying, rather than worrying, and you may find yourself in a brand new position by tomorrow.
Laura’s Log:
How much time should you put into preparing for a job interview? I’m guessing it’s somewhere between less than a week and, well, more than thirty seconds while waiting for the light to change on the corner of Broadway and Cambie. Guess which end of the spectrum I was on.
Yeah, I was sitting at home with Tupper curled up on my lap watching “The View”, empathizing with poor Dame Edna with nothing to say as the others ranted on American healthcare and wondering how many people didn’t realize it wasn’t Barbara Walters, when my cell rang.
“What are you doing right now?”
“Nothing.” Even with Tamara, I wasn’t about to confess to watching “The View”.
“Well, get over here. One of the partners says he’ll interview you for the assistant position. But you gotta get here in twenty minutes. He’s in meetings the rest of the day.”
With traffic, I was fifteen minutes away. Thankfully, I’d showered after my morning jog, but that left me with five minutes to tame my hair and pick out the “professional” outfit least in need of ironing. Forget the makeup. I rushed to the car, muttering hateful thoughts about Tamara. Maybe she still didn’t want me work at the firm after all.
A friendly receptionist escorted me right into Barry Lisduff’s office. “He’ll be with you in just a moment.” I stood in front of a framed photograph of an impossibly green pastoral setting, using the reflection in the glass as an aid for a collar adjustment and a final battle with a defiant tuft just above my left ear.
“Have you been?”
I turned and there stood a smiling, portly, balding man in his late thirties. His forehead glistened from the overhead lighting. Florescent? It didn’t seem fitting for a trendy advertising firm. But then neither did the image of Barry Lisduff. I needn’t have worried about ironing. He appeared to have been sleeping in his striped Hilfiger for at least the last four days.
“Been where?” I asked as I forced a congenial look. Never did tame the tuft.
“Ireland. Snapped that a half hour outside of Cork. Lovely place.”
“It looks amazing.” I cringed. Amazing. This was an ad firm. Was that the best I could come up with? Hadn’t I made fun of Ellen DeGeneres’ critiques on “Idol” for overusing the imprecise word as praise? Perhaps watching TV is indeed bad for you. (Horrid thought, no?)
After official introductions, we assumed our seats and Barry began his stream of consciousness interview. He’d say a word and ask for my first thought. Shoelaces: the bane of preschoolers and joggers alike. Rain: Vancouver plays the yang to Southern California’s yin. Justin Bieber: a live version of Alvin the Chipmunk. Bowling: who still does that? those shoes?! Sledge hockey: grit, guts, no glory for Canada. He shot out two dozen terms. I got the point. He was trying to determine if I could think on my feet and if I was up on current Pop Culture. It was an adrenaline rush of an interview, sort of like Password for Hire. I appreciated the quick succession of terms being thrown at me; it prevented me from beating myself up for a poor response. (I really don’t know how “hunky” slipped out when he said David Hasselhoff. Had I meant to say “hairy”?)
He paused, glanced at my résumé on his desk, took a sip from his coffee mug. In my head, I tried to formulate a response for “Why do you want to get into advertising?” He was bound to ask.
Barry Lisduff stared quizzically at me. Was my renegade patch of hair bothering him? I continued to smile under the pressure. Then he glanced at his watch, looked back at me and said, “Job’s yours. Can you start tomorrow?”
I bounced up off my chair. Thank God for the massive desk in between us or I would have hugged him. After two rounds of my saying, “Really?!” and him nodding, I accepted.
Tamara was in a meeting so I couldn’t immediately share the news with her. Driving home, it all seemed too good to be true. How did I pull that off? What about other candidates? What about my lack of training? What about what others in the firm were looking for?
What the hell was I getting myself into?
KEN’S JOURNAL:
GOT THE CALL FROM DENTON @ 5:30 LAST NITE, JUST AS I WAS HEADING OUT FOR MY WEEKLY RUN W/THE LADIES.
“THEY BLINKED.”
“WHAT?”
“I GOT YOU 5 WEEKS OF VACATION TIME AND 3 MONTHS’ SEVERANCE. CONSIDERING YOU WERE DRUNK ON THE JOB, THAT’S A COUP.”
“MAN, THAT’S AMAZING!” I SAID. “I OWE YOU, MAN.”
“DAMN RIGHT. YOU’RE TAKING ME TO LA TERRAZZA FOR DINNER NEXT WEEK. AND I’M DRINKING. YOU, I MIGHT ADVISE AGAINST IT.”
WHAT A LOAD OFF. I WAS SO PSYCHED, I SWEAR IT AFFECTED MY RUN. I KEPT UP W/THE MIDDLE PACK, WOMEN IN THEIR FORTIES (& A 23 YR OLD COMING OFF KNEE SURGERY). TOTALLY ROCKED IT!
THE SEVERANCE, THE RUN, THE CANUCKS’ WIN,…I’VE GOT A WHOLE NEW MINDSET TODAY. TWEAKED OUR BUSINESS PLAN, READ SOME INTERNET ARTICLES ON BEING A WINNING (aka WEALTHY) REAL ESTATE AGENT & THEN DROVE OVER TO LOOK @ OUR FUTURE REAL ESTATE OFFICE B/F CRUISING THRU THE DUNBAR NEIGHBOURHOOD & THE POSH POCKETS CLOSER TO UBC. SO MANY GORGEOUS HOMES, SO MUCH $$ TO BE HAD. MAN, I CAN DO THIS. MARTY & I CAN EFFIN’ DO THIS.
RE/MAX, WATCH YOUR BACK!
Showing posts with label Dunbar. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dunbar. Show all posts
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Sunday, March 21, 2010
A FINE BALANCE
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Try to open up new conversations today — you’ve got lots to talk about, and you should find that others want to join you. It’s a good time to add new team members or recruit new friends.
Laura’s Log:
It gets tricky having a dog and a dating life. I can’t spend the night at Gabriel’s. His building doesn’t allow pets and there’s no way Tupper could (or should) handle an entire night alone. Last night, the dilemma came to a head. We hung out at his place to watch the Canucks game, with Chris sitting down to join us. (“Nope. No plans tonight. My friends are seeing ‘Avatar’ for like the third time. I didn’t get the hype after the first time.” Okay, so if I really wanted to, I could have bonded with Chris on the No Love for Avatar front, but I still didn’t want to like her. The less I saw of Gabriel’s platonic female roommate, the better.)
After the (literally) last-second OT loss, I kept trying to give Gabriel the hint that we should retreat to his bedroom, but Chris channel-surfed and found “The Devil Wears Prada”. Yes, I love the movie. It’s one of those flicks like “Grease” or “When Harry Met Sally” or even “The Sound of Music” that I can sit and watch at any point in progress. But not when I’m sitting with my boyfriend and his female roommate. I wanted a little snuggle time—okay, more than a snuggle—before we went back to my place.
Gabriel, however, acted really into the movie as he’d never seen it. “Meryl’s a bitch,” he said, picking up on the obvious. “I love it!” Chris nuked some popcorn and it was clear that nothing would change until the movie ended. It was then that I gave Gabriel a quick kiss and asked, “Are you ready?”
“Ready for what?”
“To go back to my place. Tupper needs a walk.”
“Oh, yeah, well, I’m just thinking I’d like to sleep in my own bed for a change.” Chris at least had the awareness to get up, clear the popcorn bowl and bang away in the kitchen. “Can’t we just stay here?”
He knew the answer. I resented the fact he even asked. What was he, clueless or an animal hater? I left in a huff. Driving home I chastised myself for turning hurt into huffy. Not attractive. Still, I didn’t pick up the phone to offer a sweet goodnight. He didn’t either. And so I spent the night shifting restlessly as Tupper, snoring louder and taking up more space than usual, gloried in having booted the imposter from the bed.
Made it to Mom’s for brunch even before Estelle and the brood arrived. Everyone was there by 8:20: Lucy and Carl(a), Estelle et al., even Marella. Mom seemed put off by the fact we were punctual. “So now you all finally show up on time. When was the last time that happened? Back when Chrétien was still PM? I don’t even have the muffin batter ready and the waffle iron’s not plugged in yet. The coffeecake took longer than I expected. Thank goodness I decided against my homemade cinnamon buns. I really didn’t expect some of you to even show.” A clear barb against all daughters NOT named Estelle.
“God, Mom. Relax. We don’t need all the carbs anyway. What kind of fruit do you have?”
Mom threw down a mixing spoon and ran to her bedroom. Obviously, one of us should have brought something to supplement the two overripened bananas sitting on the counter. Carl(a) and Marella each reached for car keys to make the obligatory grocery run. “I’ll go,” Carl(a) insisted. “I could use the drive.”
With that, Marella retreated to the deck. She still hadn’t kicked the smoking habit. Lucy went to try to coax Mom out of the bedroom while Estelle and Curtis took the kids to see Grandad in the garage. I decided to join Marella.
She looked at me as she sucked in half the cig in one long inhale. “I can’t make it on time AND bring food. I don’t operate that way this early in the fuckin’ morning,” she said defensively. Had I given her a guilt-inducing look?
I quickly changed the subject. A Mom-Marella misunderstanding is something to avoid at all costs. The fruit fallout would linger for the next six weeks. “Still seeing that lawyer guy from Boise?”
She looked at me as if I was insane. “Oh my God. That was a month ago!”
“Well,…it’s not like I’ve seen you lately.”
“Spare me. I get enough grief from Mom.”
“No, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just saying I’m not up on your dating.”
“Ha! Dating. It’s called fucking. Who am I fucking lately? That’s what you want to know?”
“Jeez, Marella. I was just making conversation.”
Marella started on her second cigarette. “Okay, let’s converse. How’s your dating life, Laura?”
She almost swallowed the entire cigarette when I said, “Very good.”
And then she mellowed. Nothing like some sisterly gossip and a few details about a minor spat about where to spend the night. All it took was my saying, “I haven’t told anyone else yet” for Marella to be totally over the flare-up with Mom. She was getting first shot at a surprising new scoop: Laura dates! I was just relieved to finally share with someone in the family. It felt great. “Just don’t say anything to Mom yet. You know how she gets.” It was like we were teens again, keeping mum about Lucy’s school suspension for making out with a female reading volunteer from SFU or maintaining our solidarity in professing ignorance over the used condom found in the garage. Marella and I both felt gleeful—she even decided against a third cigarette. Marella even marched in to apologize to Mom. Gabriel had worked wonders.
And, God, I missed him!
KEN’S JOURNAL:
CAN’T GET THE CHORUS OF BECK’S “LOSER” OUT OF MY HEAD. WELL, THAT & REAL ESTATE PANIC. EVEN DREAMED ABOUT LOOKING FOR A NEW PLACE. THE ONLY THING I COULD AFFORD WAS TOM SAWYER’S RAFT. SOMEHOW I MANAGED TO CRAM ALL MY PERSONAL POSSESSIONS ON IT W/THE HELP OF CONAN O’BRIEN. (YEAH, I GUESS HE HAD THE XTRA TIME AFTER HE GOT THE AXE, TOO.) AFTER WAVING GOODBYE TO CONAN, I WAS TRAVELING ON THE RAFT TO SOME SORT OF MOORAGE ON BOWEN ISLAND WHEN THE THING CAPSIZED. I AWOKE JUST B/F DROWNING (I WAS TUGGING MY SOFA, REFUSING TO LET IT SINK).
SPENT ALL OF YESTERDAY AFTERNOON LOOKING @ POSSIBLE PLACES TO LIVE. MARTY’S GETTING IMPATIENT. THIS IS WHEN HAVING YOUR BEST FRIEND BE YOUR REALTOR IS A STUPID IDEA. I DON’T GET THE FAKE-SMILING SCHMOOZER AGENT. INSTEAD I GET A LOT OF “WOULD YOU QUIT BEING SUCH A DICK? CHRIST, WHATDOYA THINK YOU’RE GONNA GET FOR THAT KIND OF MONEY?!”
OKAY, IT’S NOT JUST ME THAT’S MAKING HIM TESTY. THE DEAL ON OUR DUNBAR PROPERTY IS STARTING TO LOOK QUESTIONABLE. THERE’S A STACK OF PERMITS WE HAVE TO GET TO MAKE SOME CHANGES & THAT SHIT IS NEVER A SURE THING. I KEEP SAYING I’LL CAMP OUT @ CITY HALL ON MONDAY. I’LL MAKE IT HAPPEN. THEN THERE’S FINDING A GENERAL CONTRACTOR. ALL MY CONTACTS ARE FOR MUCH LARGER PROJECTS. IT’S MUCH MORE OF A CRAPSHOOT TRYING TO FIND A COMPETENT, DEPENDABLE GUY FOR A SMALLER PROJECT. I’VE GOT A GOOD LEAD THOUGH. I’M MEETING W/SOME LESBIAN NAME CARLA THIS EVENING. SHE TOTALLY REDID SARA’S NEIGHBOUR’S HOUSE, ON TIME, ON BUDGET. THAT NEVER HAPPENS. JUST HOPE SHE’S AVAILABLE.
Laura’s Log:
It gets tricky having a dog and a dating life. I can’t spend the night at Gabriel’s. His building doesn’t allow pets and there’s no way Tupper could (or should) handle an entire night alone. Last night, the dilemma came to a head. We hung out at his place to watch the Canucks game, with Chris sitting down to join us. (“Nope. No plans tonight. My friends are seeing ‘Avatar’ for like the third time. I didn’t get the hype after the first time.” Okay, so if I really wanted to, I could have bonded with Chris on the No Love for Avatar front, but I still didn’t want to like her. The less I saw of Gabriel’s platonic female roommate, the better.)
After the (literally) last-second OT loss, I kept trying to give Gabriel the hint that we should retreat to his bedroom, but Chris channel-surfed and found “The Devil Wears Prada”. Yes, I love the movie. It’s one of those flicks like “Grease” or “When Harry Met Sally” or even “The Sound of Music” that I can sit and watch at any point in progress. But not when I’m sitting with my boyfriend and his female roommate. I wanted a little snuggle time—okay, more than a snuggle—before we went back to my place.
Gabriel, however, acted really into the movie as he’d never seen it. “Meryl’s a bitch,” he said, picking up on the obvious. “I love it!” Chris nuked some popcorn and it was clear that nothing would change until the movie ended. It was then that I gave Gabriel a quick kiss and asked, “Are you ready?”
“Ready for what?”
“To go back to my place. Tupper needs a walk.”
“Oh, yeah, well, I’m just thinking I’d like to sleep in my own bed for a change.” Chris at least had the awareness to get up, clear the popcorn bowl and bang away in the kitchen. “Can’t we just stay here?”
He knew the answer. I resented the fact he even asked. What was he, clueless or an animal hater? I left in a huff. Driving home I chastised myself for turning hurt into huffy. Not attractive. Still, I didn’t pick up the phone to offer a sweet goodnight. He didn’t either. And so I spent the night shifting restlessly as Tupper, snoring louder and taking up more space than usual, gloried in having booted the imposter from the bed.
Made it to Mom’s for brunch even before Estelle and the brood arrived. Everyone was there by 8:20: Lucy and Carl(a), Estelle et al., even Marella. Mom seemed put off by the fact we were punctual. “So now you all finally show up on time. When was the last time that happened? Back when Chrétien was still PM? I don’t even have the muffin batter ready and the waffle iron’s not plugged in yet. The coffeecake took longer than I expected. Thank goodness I decided against my homemade cinnamon buns. I really didn’t expect some of you to even show.” A clear barb against all daughters NOT named Estelle.
“God, Mom. Relax. We don’t need all the carbs anyway. What kind of fruit do you have?”
Mom threw down a mixing spoon and ran to her bedroom. Obviously, one of us should have brought something to supplement the two overripened bananas sitting on the counter. Carl(a) and Marella each reached for car keys to make the obligatory grocery run. “I’ll go,” Carl(a) insisted. “I could use the drive.”
With that, Marella retreated to the deck. She still hadn’t kicked the smoking habit. Lucy went to try to coax Mom out of the bedroom while Estelle and Curtis took the kids to see Grandad in the garage. I decided to join Marella.
She looked at me as she sucked in half the cig in one long inhale. “I can’t make it on time AND bring food. I don’t operate that way this early in the fuckin’ morning,” she said defensively. Had I given her a guilt-inducing look?
I quickly changed the subject. A Mom-Marella misunderstanding is something to avoid at all costs. The fruit fallout would linger for the next six weeks. “Still seeing that lawyer guy from Boise?”
She looked at me as if I was insane. “Oh my God. That was a month ago!”
“Well,…it’s not like I’ve seen you lately.”
“Spare me. I get enough grief from Mom.”
“No, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just saying I’m not up on your dating.”
“Ha! Dating. It’s called fucking. Who am I fucking lately? That’s what you want to know?”
“Jeez, Marella. I was just making conversation.”
Marella started on her second cigarette. “Okay, let’s converse. How’s your dating life, Laura?”
She almost swallowed the entire cigarette when I said, “Very good.”
And then she mellowed. Nothing like some sisterly gossip and a few details about a minor spat about where to spend the night. All it took was my saying, “I haven’t told anyone else yet” for Marella to be totally over the flare-up with Mom. She was getting first shot at a surprising new scoop: Laura dates! I was just relieved to finally share with someone in the family. It felt great. “Just don’t say anything to Mom yet. You know how she gets.” It was like we were teens again, keeping mum about Lucy’s school suspension for making out with a female reading volunteer from SFU or maintaining our solidarity in professing ignorance over the used condom found in the garage. Marella and I both felt gleeful—she even decided against a third cigarette. Marella even marched in to apologize to Mom. Gabriel had worked wonders.
And, God, I missed him!
KEN’S JOURNAL:
CAN’T GET THE CHORUS OF BECK’S “LOSER” OUT OF MY HEAD. WELL, THAT & REAL ESTATE PANIC. EVEN DREAMED ABOUT LOOKING FOR A NEW PLACE. THE ONLY THING I COULD AFFORD WAS TOM SAWYER’S RAFT. SOMEHOW I MANAGED TO CRAM ALL MY PERSONAL POSSESSIONS ON IT W/THE HELP OF CONAN O’BRIEN. (YEAH, I GUESS HE HAD THE XTRA TIME AFTER HE GOT THE AXE, TOO.) AFTER WAVING GOODBYE TO CONAN, I WAS TRAVELING ON THE RAFT TO SOME SORT OF MOORAGE ON BOWEN ISLAND WHEN THE THING CAPSIZED. I AWOKE JUST B/F DROWNING (I WAS TUGGING MY SOFA, REFUSING TO LET IT SINK).
SPENT ALL OF YESTERDAY AFTERNOON LOOKING @ POSSIBLE PLACES TO LIVE. MARTY’S GETTING IMPATIENT. THIS IS WHEN HAVING YOUR BEST FRIEND BE YOUR REALTOR IS A STUPID IDEA. I DON’T GET THE FAKE-SMILING SCHMOOZER AGENT. INSTEAD I GET A LOT OF “WOULD YOU QUIT BEING SUCH A DICK? CHRIST, WHATDOYA THINK YOU’RE GONNA GET FOR THAT KIND OF MONEY?!”
OKAY, IT’S NOT JUST ME THAT’S MAKING HIM TESTY. THE DEAL ON OUR DUNBAR PROPERTY IS STARTING TO LOOK QUESTIONABLE. THERE’S A STACK OF PERMITS WE HAVE TO GET TO MAKE SOME CHANGES & THAT SHIT IS NEVER A SURE THING. I KEEP SAYING I’LL CAMP OUT @ CITY HALL ON MONDAY. I’LL MAKE IT HAPPEN. THEN THERE’S FINDING A GENERAL CONTRACTOR. ALL MY CONTACTS ARE FOR MUCH LARGER PROJECTS. IT’S MUCH MORE OF A CRAPSHOOT TRYING TO FIND A COMPETENT, DEPENDABLE GUY FOR A SMALLER PROJECT. I’VE GOT A GOOD LEAD THOUGH. I’M MEETING W/SOME LESBIAN NAME CARLA THIS EVENING. SHE TOTALLY REDID SARA’S NEIGHBOUR’S HOUSE, ON TIME, ON BUDGET. THAT NEVER HAPPENS. JUST HOPE SHE’S AVAILABLE.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
THE EARLY BIRD CATCHES THE WORM
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): See if you can get your best friend or mate to sit down for a one-on-one early today — you need it! Things might start to get crazy (in a good way) later on, so it has to happen soon.
Laura’s Log:
So glad to reconnect with Gabriel last night. He came by to pick me up for dinner at Martini’s Restaurant, but the nice-to-see-you hug became a little too intense and we never made it. In all the time I’ve lived in my apartment, it’s the first time I’ve resorted to a late-night raid on the McDonald’s down the street.
Tamara called at 11:30 p.m. In tears. I was about to hang up, thinking there was no way I was going to talk her through another round of Andy withdrawal after our blowup on Monday. Then, through her sobs she shared something I rarely heard. “I’m sorry.”
She begged to meet me for coffee first thing this morning and, rather than doing what Nadia would do and making her suffer another week or two, I agreed. 7 a.m. is a heckuva early meeting time. Glad it was at Starbucks. Tamara did another rare thing, offering to pay for my drink. I ordered a venti. (Nadia would at least give me points for that.)
“It’s true. I didn’t want you working with me.”
Not the apology elaboration I was hoping for. Was she that pissed I’d supersized my drink?
But then she continued. “I bitch about work all the time. And it’s just that if you started working there you’d see that I’ve got it pretty good. Maybe even better than that.”
“So what’s wrong with that?” I asked. Tamara had a way of making everything a dilemma.
“Well, it’s just that bitching’s kinda my thing. You know, my schtick. Like Miranda on ‘Sex and the City’.”
“Seriously? You think I’m going to go around correcting you? We both saw ‘Up in the Air’ and I loved it and you totally tore it apart. Did I pipe up and say your trivial criticisms were pointless?”
“Well, no.” And then she smiled. “Not until now.”
“I’ve known you long enough, Tamara, to not jump in when you’re in a rant. How often do I contradict you over anything?”
“You don’t. I’m sorry. I’m really really sorry. I mean it.”
“You must be. I didn’t even know ‘sorry’ was in your vocabulary. Really really sorry? It’s like hell just froze over, pigs flew and Paris Hilton said something profound. Never thought the day would come.”
And all was well again. We hugged. We cried. She promised to personally present my résumé. “It would be fabulous to work with you!” she said.
And she meant it.
KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
I’M MOVING TO DUNBAR! OK, NOT TO LIVE, BUT TO WORK. HAD TO DO SOME MAJOR FIBBING—SORRY, SIS, I SAID YOU WERE RUSHED TO HOSPITAL AFTER A WRECK THAT TOTALED YOUR CAR—BUT I GOT OUT OF A 9 A.M. MTG TO VIEW A RETAIL SPACE THAT ISN’T DUE TO BE LISTED UNTIL NEXT WEEK. YEAH, IT NEEDS WORK. BUT OPENING OUR REAL ESTATE OFFICE ON DUNBAR PUTS US SMACK IN THE MILLION-DOLLAR-PLUS HUB OF VANCOUVER. LOCATION, LOCATION, LOCATION.
PAPERS WILL TAKE SEVERAL DAYS TO WORK THRU BUT IT’S REALLY HAPPENING. MARTY & I WILL FINALLY RUN OUR OWN SHOW. FEELS LIKE THE 1ST POSITIVE STEP I’VE SEEN IN AGES.
Laura’s Log:
So glad to reconnect with Gabriel last night. He came by to pick me up for dinner at Martini’s Restaurant, but the nice-to-see-you hug became a little too intense and we never made it. In all the time I’ve lived in my apartment, it’s the first time I’ve resorted to a late-night raid on the McDonald’s down the street.
Tamara called at 11:30 p.m. In tears. I was about to hang up, thinking there was no way I was going to talk her through another round of Andy withdrawal after our blowup on Monday. Then, through her sobs she shared something I rarely heard. “I’m sorry.”
She begged to meet me for coffee first thing this morning and, rather than doing what Nadia would do and making her suffer another week or two, I agreed. 7 a.m. is a heckuva early meeting time. Glad it was at Starbucks. Tamara did another rare thing, offering to pay for my drink. I ordered a venti. (Nadia would at least give me points for that.)
“It’s true. I didn’t want you working with me.”
Not the apology elaboration I was hoping for. Was she that pissed I’d supersized my drink?
But then she continued. “I bitch about work all the time. And it’s just that if you started working there you’d see that I’ve got it pretty good. Maybe even better than that.”
“So what’s wrong with that?” I asked. Tamara had a way of making everything a dilemma.
“Well, it’s just that bitching’s kinda my thing. You know, my schtick. Like Miranda on ‘Sex and the City’.”
“Seriously? You think I’m going to go around correcting you? We both saw ‘Up in the Air’ and I loved it and you totally tore it apart. Did I pipe up and say your trivial criticisms were pointless?”
“Well, no.” And then she smiled. “Not until now.”
“I’ve known you long enough, Tamara, to not jump in when you’re in a rant. How often do I contradict you over anything?”
“You don’t. I’m sorry. I’m really really sorry. I mean it.”
“You must be. I didn’t even know ‘sorry’ was in your vocabulary. Really really sorry? It’s like hell just froze over, pigs flew and Paris Hilton said something profound. Never thought the day would come.”
And all was well again. We hugged. We cried. She promised to personally present my résumé. “It would be fabulous to work with you!” she said.
And she meant it.
KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
I’M MOVING TO DUNBAR! OK, NOT TO LIVE, BUT TO WORK. HAD TO DO SOME MAJOR FIBBING—SORRY, SIS, I SAID YOU WERE RUSHED TO HOSPITAL AFTER A WRECK THAT TOTALED YOUR CAR—BUT I GOT OUT OF A 9 A.M. MTG TO VIEW A RETAIL SPACE THAT ISN’T DUE TO BE LISTED UNTIL NEXT WEEK. YEAH, IT NEEDS WORK. BUT OPENING OUR REAL ESTATE OFFICE ON DUNBAR PUTS US SMACK IN THE MILLION-DOLLAR-PLUS HUB OF VANCOUVER. LOCATION, LOCATION, LOCATION.
PAPERS WILL TAKE SEVERAL DAYS TO WORK THRU BUT IT’S REALLY HAPPENING. MARTY & I WILL FINALLY RUN OUR OWN SHOW. FEELS LIKE THE 1ST POSITIVE STEP I’VE SEEN IN AGES.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
NEW MORNING START
February 3, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You've got the right kind of energy to get things done today -- and have fun while you're at it! You may surprise some folks who are bumbling along as you pass them by with a smile on your face!
Laura’s Log:
Tupper does not understand that I can be a bum and sleep in until 8 a.m. or noon. Sure, he’s enjoyed having me around much more over the past week, but Taylor Swift will sing an entire live performance on key before Tupper’s internal clock stops giving him the customary 6 a.m. wakeup call. I tuned out his licking and scratching and repositioning circles for as long as I could, but then I realized, Who am I kidding? I’m awake. Decided to take advantage of the fact that my morning rush doesn’t have to be. We drove down to Spanish Banks, my favourite area of Vancouver, and he bounded out of the car, on a mission to run straight to the off-leash dog beach. Well, he got sidetracked sniffing a Doberman’s butt and then a pug’s, but he still made the jaunt from pavement to sand in a record five minutes.
The beach is Tupper’s great equalizer. He regularly stumbles and suffers through unpredictable gooney bird landings. On the uneven sand, it almost looks normal. Like Pee-Wee Herman’s unfortunate bike dismount: I meant to do that! The whole romp was good for Tupper’s ego. He even outran a basset hound. Rather certain he relived that moment when he succumbed to a snoring slumber thirty seconds into the drive.
Must appreciate the freedom that comes from being between jobs. When was the last time I got to Spanish Banks on a weekday morning? And when did I last get to meet up with my sister on Dunbar for coffee? Sven was looking angelic, sleeping in the stroller and Gretel, covered in head-to-toe pink resembled an oversized stick of Hubba Bubba gum. Meanwhile, poor Estelle looked like Rocky Raccoon. “Yeah, he’s an angel now,” she said, glancing down at her four-month-old. “You should’ve heard him in the night.”
“He’s too loud!” Gretel chimed in as colour commentator.
“Better not let Lucy see Gretel bathed in pink,” I whispered as we inched closer to the Starbucks counter.
“Oh, screw Lucy! Gretel likes pink.”
“All those Disney princess videos aren’t helping, I’m sure.”
“Yeah, I’m really blowing it. If Gretel becomes a lesbian, Lucy’ll have to be her tutor. For now, I’m just going to let Gretel enjoy the Teletubbies and Goodnight Moon. Don’t tell anyone, but I might even let her have some of my donut.”
“You’re a bad, bad mommy,” I kidded.
“I know. To tell the truth, the only reason I’d share my donut is so a little less goes to my hips. Can’t work off all this extra baby weight by going to a gym, so Gretel’s just going to have to share the sugar.”
I looked down at Gretel who was seated on the floor, trying to spin in a circle, pushing off the leg of the man in the business suit in front of us. “You think she needs the sugar?”
“Oh, it makes no difference whether I give it to her or not. She breathes it in. God knows what harm I’m doing to her with the coffee aroma thrown in.”
As the gentleman turned and glared at Estelle, I perked up. Jobless and childless? Underrated.
KEN’S JOURNAL (via iPhone):
IT’S DARK AT 5:30 IN THE MORNING. THAT SHOULD COME AS NO SURPRISE, BUT SOMEHOW I HADN’T FACTORED THAT IN WHEN I SET MY ALARM LAST NITE. LOOKED OUT THE WINDOW & ALMOST WENT BACK TO BED. THEN I REMEMBERED MY DATE ON THURS W/MARIBETH. MUST GET UP. MUST GET RID OF MY BEER BELLY IN 2 DAYS. MUST JOG.
ALL RIGHT, THE BELLY ISN’T GOING ANYWHERE IN THE SHORT RUN. BUT I GOTTA START SOMEWHERE. HAVE NEVER GONE ON A DIET & THE THOUGHT OF COTTAGE CHEESE & LITE BEER MIGHT CAUSE AN UNSIGHTLY PIMPLE OUTBREAK B/F MY DATE. DEFINITELY MUST JOG.
AS I HEADED OUT ALONG DAVID LAM PARK, I WAS SHOCKED TO SEE SO MANY DERANGED INSOMNIACS & FITNESS FREAKS. THEY FLEW BY ME, NOT EVEN SOUNDING WINDED AS THEY GLIBLY ANNOUNCED “ON YOUR LEFT” OR “ON YOUR RIGHT” B/F THE PASS.
VERY HUMBLING. I WAS ON THE TRACK TEAM IN HIGH SCHOOL. NOW I’M BEING OVERTAKEN BY AN 80-YEAR-OLD WOMAN IN A FLOURESCENT GREEN RUNNING ROOM UNITARD. “IT’S GOING TO BE A SUNNY DAY!” SHE BEAMED, GIVING ME A HEAD TURN AS SHE PASSED. YEAH. IN 2 FREAKIN’ HOURS! I THINK SHE NEEDED TO SAY SOMETHING TO EXPLAIN THE FLASHING OF HER DENTURES. WASN’T BUYIN’ THE “SUNNY DAY” CRAP. SHE WAS GLOATING. GOSH GOLLY, THOSE WHIPPERSNAPPERS DON’T HAVE MUCH IN THEM THESE DAYS, DO THEY?
I AM NOT PROUD, BUT I GATHERED ALL THE ENERGY I HAD 10 MINUTES LATER WHEN I SPOTTED A MAN AHEAD OF ME IN A WALKER, OUT FOR A PRE-DAWN STROLL. PASSED HIM W/EASE! 2 MINUTES LATER I WAS HACKING AWAY, LEANING OVER A SEAWALL RAILING. WAS THAT VOMIT OR BLOOD TRYING TO MAKE ITS WAY UP?
AND I STILL HAD TO TURN AROUND & MAKE THE RETURN LEG HOME. W/THE SUDDEN UNPLEASANT AWAKENING OF MY LEFT KNEEE, IT WAS MORE HOBBLE-WALK THAN RUN.
REWARDED MYSELF BY PICKING UP A DOZEN DONUTS FROM TIM HORTONS—FOR MY COLLEAGUES—ON THE WAY TO WORK. ONLY 4 LEFT BY THE TIME I GOT OFF THE ELEVATOR. (WLD’VE BEEN 5, BUT HAD TO GIVE THE NEW CANADA DONUT A TRY. AFTER ALL, I LOVE MY COUNTRY.)
GUESS I HAVE SOME KINKS TO WORK OUT IN MY WORKOUT.
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You've got the right kind of energy to get things done today -- and have fun while you're at it! You may surprise some folks who are bumbling along as you pass them by with a smile on your face!
Laura’s Log:
Tupper does not understand that I can be a bum and sleep in until 8 a.m. or noon. Sure, he’s enjoyed having me around much more over the past week, but Taylor Swift will sing an entire live performance on key before Tupper’s internal clock stops giving him the customary 6 a.m. wakeup call. I tuned out his licking and scratching and repositioning circles for as long as I could, but then I realized, Who am I kidding? I’m awake. Decided to take advantage of the fact that my morning rush doesn’t have to be. We drove down to Spanish Banks, my favourite area of Vancouver, and he bounded out of the car, on a mission to run straight to the off-leash dog beach. Well, he got sidetracked sniffing a Doberman’s butt and then a pug’s, but he still made the jaunt from pavement to sand in a record five minutes.
The beach is Tupper’s great equalizer. He regularly stumbles and suffers through unpredictable gooney bird landings. On the uneven sand, it almost looks normal. Like Pee-Wee Herman’s unfortunate bike dismount: I meant to do that! The whole romp was good for Tupper’s ego. He even outran a basset hound. Rather certain he relived that moment when he succumbed to a snoring slumber thirty seconds into the drive.
Must appreciate the freedom that comes from being between jobs. When was the last time I got to Spanish Banks on a weekday morning? And when did I last get to meet up with my sister on Dunbar for coffee? Sven was looking angelic, sleeping in the stroller and Gretel, covered in head-to-toe pink resembled an oversized stick of Hubba Bubba gum. Meanwhile, poor Estelle looked like Rocky Raccoon. “Yeah, he’s an angel now,” she said, glancing down at her four-month-old. “You should’ve heard him in the night.”
“He’s too loud!” Gretel chimed in as colour commentator.
“Better not let Lucy see Gretel bathed in pink,” I whispered as we inched closer to the Starbucks counter.
“Oh, screw Lucy! Gretel likes pink.”
“All those Disney princess videos aren’t helping, I’m sure.”
“Yeah, I’m really blowing it. If Gretel becomes a lesbian, Lucy’ll have to be her tutor. For now, I’m just going to let Gretel enjoy the Teletubbies and Goodnight Moon. Don’t tell anyone, but I might even let her have some of my donut.”
“You’re a bad, bad mommy,” I kidded.
“I know. To tell the truth, the only reason I’d share my donut is so a little less goes to my hips. Can’t work off all this extra baby weight by going to a gym, so Gretel’s just going to have to share the sugar.”
I looked down at Gretel who was seated on the floor, trying to spin in a circle, pushing off the leg of the man in the business suit in front of us. “You think she needs the sugar?”
“Oh, it makes no difference whether I give it to her or not. She breathes it in. God knows what harm I’m doing to her with the coffee aroma thrown in.”
As the gentleman turned and glared at Estelle, I perked up. Jobless and childless? Underrated.
KEN’S JOURNAL (via iPhone):
IT’S DARK AT 5:30 IN THE MORNING. THAT SHOULD COME AS NO SURPRISE, BUT SOMEHOW I HADN’T FACTORED THAT IN WHEN I SET MY ALARM LAST NITE. LOOKED OUT THE WINDOW & ALMOST WENT BACK TO BED. THEN I REMEMBERED MY DATE ON THURS W/MARIBETH. MUST GET UP. MUST GET RID OF MY BEER BELLY IN 2 DAYS. MUST JOG.
ALL RIGHT, THE BELLY ISN’T GOING ANYWHERE IN THE SHORT RUN. BUT I GOTTA START SOMEWHERE. HAVE NEVER GONE ON A DIET & THE THOUGHT OF COTTAGE CHEESE & LITE BEER MIGHT CAUSE AN UNSIGHTLY PIMPLE OUTBREAK B/F MY DATE. DEFINITELY MUST JOG.
AS I HEADED OUT ALONG DAVID LAM PARK, I WAS SHOCKED TO SEE SO MANY DERANGED INSOMNIACS & FITNESS FREAKS. THEY FLEW BY ME, NOT EVEN SOUNDING WINDED AS THEY GLIBLY ANNOUNCED “ON YOUR LEFT” OR “ON YOUR RIGHT” B/F THE PASS.
VERY HUMBLING. I WAS ON THE TRACK TEAM IN HIGH SCHOOL. NOW I’M BEING OVERTAKEN BY AN 80-YEAR-OLD WOMAN IN A FLOURESCENT GREEN RUNNING ROOM UNITARD. “IT’S GOING TO BE A SUNNY DAY!” SHE BEAMED, GIVING ME A HEAD TURN AS SHE PASSED. YEAH. IN 2 FREAKIN’ HOURS! I THINK SHE NEEDED TO SAY SOMETHING TO EXPLAIN THE FLASHING OF HER DENTURES. WASN’T BUYIN’ THE “SUNNY DAY” CRAP. SHE WAS GLOATING. GOSH GOLLY, THOSE WHIPPERSNAPPERS DON’T HAVE MUCH IN THEM THESE DAYS, DO THEY?
I AM NOT PROUD, BUT I GATHERED ALL THE ENERGY I HAD 10 MINUTES LATER WHEN I SPOTTED A MAN AHEAD OF ME IN A WALKER, OUT FOR A PRE-DAWN STROLL. PASSED HIM W/EASE! 2 MINUTES LATER I WAS HACKING AWAY, LEANING OVER A SEAWALL RAILING. WAS THAT VOMIT OR BLOOD TRYING TO MAKE ITS WAY UP?
AND I STILL HAD TO TURN AROUND & MAKE THE RETURN LEG HOME. W/THE SUDDEN UNPLEASANT AWAKENING OF MY LEFT KNEEE, IT WAS MORE HOBBLE-WALK THAN RUN.
REWARDED MYSELF BY PICKING UP A DOZEN DONUTS FROM TIM HORTONS—FOR MY COLLEAGUES—ON THE WAY TO WORK. ONLY 4 LEFT BY THE TIME I GOT OFF THE ELEVATOR. (WLD’VE BEEN 5, BUT HAD TO GIVE THE NEW CANADA DONUT A TRY. AFTER ALL, I LOVE MY COUNTRY.)
GUESS I HAVE SOME KINKS TO WORK OUT IN MY WORKOUT.
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