February 13, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Work a little creativity into your routines today -- you can be more playful and still get stuff done! Your great mood only gets better as you sing or craft your way through the day's tasks.
Laura’s Log:
Reading today’s horoscope makes me wonder who they’re writing this stuff for. I’m supposed to sing or—gasp!—CRAFT my way through my routines?! I’m the type of singer who would cough up the following critique from Simon (S)Cowell: “If I’m being honest with you, that was excruciatingly painful. Don’t sing ever sing in public again. As a matter of fact, don’t sing in the shower, don’t sing around your dog, don’t even hum.” In third grade Mrs. Liu let me clean erasers while the rest of the class learned “This Land Is Your Land” and “Ebony and Ivory”. For the Christmas concert, she had the sense to assign me ushering and lighting duties. Crafts? My only stab at knitting a sock produced a wad of wool with three gaping holes before the first wear. (Not that I ever wore the single, sad looking waste of wool.) How am I supposed to “craft” through the day? Thirty-two is a bit old for macaroni art or building a fort out of Popsicle sticks. Where do I get a second opinion for today’s horoscope?
Mom is breathing a sigh of relief this morning. I got a text message from Lucy and, yes, she was in the protests yesterday, but she didn’t get arrested. Slight disappointment detected in her tone; total elation from Mom. I say it only prolongs the inevitable. Lucy won’t rest until an arrest.
Turns out Marella was nowhere near the Opening Ceremonies last night. According to a brief email, she’s in Boise—Boise?!—with a hot lawyer she hooked up with. In her words: “wears suits from Sears but once I get the clothes off, talk about a marvel in design!”
Have to dash off for coffee with Tamara. I anticipate it will be coffee, walk, lunch and shopping with Tamara. Anything I can think of to keep her moving and to distract her from the brutal news that Andy chose Edmonton over her. With apologies to Edmontonians, how does anyone cope with knowing Edmonton won out? I have no idea what to tell her to make things better. Poor Tamara. Gone from Have to Have Not on the eve of V-Day. I predict her credit card will take a major hit today. My Visa, too. I have to be a good friend, right? Solidarity through shopping!
KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
WOKE TO LEW SNORING ON THE SOFA. HE’S NOT KIDDING WHEN HE SAYS WOMEN BREAK UP WITH HIM BECAUSE OF HIS SNORING. I SWEAR THE WALLS SHOOK—AND THEY’RE CONCRETE! WE ALL GOT MESSED UP AGAIN WITH TOO MUCH BOOZE LAST NITE. NEVER MADE IT TO DAVID LAM PARK—TOO MUCH RAIN. HAD TO DRINK OUR WAY THRU THE OPENING CEREMONIES. I ALWAYS FORGET WHAT A SNOOZE THE OPENERS ARE. BUNCH OF ATHLETES WE DON’T KNOW YET MARCHING IN. WHOOPEE. NO NHL PLAYERS, OF COURSE. THEN NELLY & BRYAN SINGING SOMETHING BLAND AND SOME POOR DUDE (OR DUDETTE—COULDN’T TELL) FLOATING IN THE AIR OVER WHAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE THE PRAIRIES. DRINK OR NAP, NOT MUCH OF A CHOICE. AND THE DRINKING WENT INTO HIGH GEAR WHEN OPERA LADY SHOWED UP TO SING THE OLYMPIC ANTHEM. HOW LONG HAD SHE KEPT HER FINGER IN A SOCKET TO GET HER HAIR TO DO THAT? MARGE SIMPSON WLD BE ENVIOUS.
THINKING WE’LL FORK OVER A HUNDRED BUCKS EACH TO CHECK OUT THINGS @ HOCKEY HOUSE LATER IN THE DAY. GET THE FEELING WE’RE BEING TAKEN, BUT I GUESS I’M TOO STUPID TO RESIST. YOU CALL IT HOCKEY HOUSE, I GOTTA GO. I’M WIRED THAT WAY.
Showing posts with label Edmonton. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Edmonton. Show all posts
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
THE NEED TO PURGE
February 10, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Your home life is somewhat off-kilter right now, but you can tell that it's temporary. Someone needs their space, and if you give it to them, then you should find everything rosier in a day or two.
Laura’s Log:
The past few days have been all about the boyfriends. Not mine, of course. The words Laura and boyfriend seem incompatible.
I did the good thing and called Tamara just to check in and she’d gone from teary to hostile, spewing venom about Edmonton like it was The Other Woman. “The place has black flies. Nothing’ll get rid of them!” “People aren’t serious when they move to Edmonton. Maybe they’re attracted to a better salary, but then they tire of the snow…in May!” Tamara handles anger SO much better than grief. I do pity Andy though. He’s in for it. Should never have given Edmonton a second look.
Dinner last night with Nadia and Bradley. Another big boyfriend reveal. I’d known Bradley a few years ago when I was stupid enough to join a coed volleyball league. Bradley—or Brad, then—was on my team. The guy only wanted to spike the ball. Especially when women were the target. Yep, hard to believe he’d stayed on the market long enough for Nadia to scoop him up. He was the classic Nadia boyfriend: loud, ill-mannered, a total ass. Still, as I waited inside Joey for their late arrival, I tried to imagine a new improved Brad.
Nadia seemed stressed as they walked in. She started to apologize for being fifteen minutes late, but Bradley cut her off. “Nothing can speed up Nadia. Went in and redid her hair like fifteen times. Looked the same every frickin’ time. Only person I know who has to wipe down the counters before going out.”
I waited for Nadia to put him in his place, but she just bowed her head, forced a thin smile when she looked up and then studied the menu like there would be a test on it. We ordered and ever thoughtful Bradley interjected as Nadia chose the seafood pesto linguine. “Can they go easy on the garlic?” he asked the waitress. Then, to Nadia, “You know how bad you reek when there’s too much.”
Whack him! The menu has some weight to it. Let ‘im have it! Self-defense. Nadia just took his cue and switched to the maple salmon.
Dinner was painful. All I wanted to do was ask Nadia what the hell she was doing. Could the real Nadia please come out and play? In the month since I’d last seen her, my friend had gone from feisty to diminutive. I couldn’t eat my meal. It didn’t help that “Badly” dominated the conversation, loudly whining about the Olympics killing his business while he savagely gnawed on ribs, licking his fingers and picking bits out of his teeth. Was this all that was left for single women in their thirties? I wanted to call Tamara and say, “Do it! Move to Edmonton! Don’t let Andy go!” But more importantly, I needed to find a way to get Nadia alone and ask her what the hell she was doing.
Got home to find Tupper had redecorated the apartment. The puddle in the kitchen was nothing new. (Wish I’d turned on the light before wading in it though.) The living room had little piles of vomit scattered about. Chronic renal failure is a bitch. Of course, I was out of paper towels.
Barely slept. Kept hearing sounds, thinking Tupper was getting sick again. Kept worrying about Nadia.
KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
I MAY NEVER GET CLARA COMPLETELY OUT OF THE CONDO. THIS MORNING I PULLED OUT THE PHONE BOOK TO LOOK FOR A PHYSIOTHERAPIST—SEARING PAIN FROM KNEE AT 3 A.M.—AND CAME ACROSS A PHOTO OF US AT WHISTLER & A FRIED TOFU SANDWICH RECIPE SHE’D HANDWRITTEN IN PURPLE INK. (DON’T KNOW HOW I KEPT THAT MEAL DOWN! GUESS WE’LL DO ALMOST ANYTHING FOR LOVE.) TOOK THE PIC & THE PAPER AND RAN THEM THRU THE SHREDDER. I YELLED AS THE MACHINE DID ITS THING. MILDLY THERAPEUTIC.
PLEASE, NO CLARA MEMORIES FOR THE NEXT MONTH. SHE HAUNTS ME.
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Your home life is somewhat off-kilter right now, but you can tell that it's temporary. Someone needs their space, and if you give it to them, then you should find everything rosier in a day or two.
Laura’s Log:
The past few days have been all about the boyfriends. Not mine, of course. The words Laura and boyfriend seem incompatible.
I did the good thing and called Tamara just to check in and she’d gone from teary to hostile, spewing venom about Edmonton like it was The Other Woman. “The place has black flies. Nothing’ll get rid of them!” “People aren’t serious when they move to Edmonton. Maybe they’re attracted to a better salary, but then they tire of the snow…in May!” Tamara handles anger SO much better than grief. I do pity Andy though. He’s in for it. Should never have given Edmonton a second look.
Dinner last night with Nadia and Bradley. Another big boyfriend reveal. I’d known Bradley a few years ago when I was stupid enough to join a coed volleyball league. Bradley—or Brad, then—was on my team. The guy only wanted to spike the ball. Especially when women were the target. Yep, hard to believe he’d stayed on the market long enough for Nadia to scoop him up. He was the classic Nadia boyfriend: loud, ill-mannered, a total ass. Still, as I waited inside Joey for their late arrival, I tried to imagine a new improved Brad.
Nadia seemed stressed as they walked in. She started to apologize for being fifteen minutes late, but Bradley cut her off. “Nothing can speed up Nadia. Went in and redid her hair like fifteen times. Looked the same every frickin’ time. Only person I know who has to wipe down the counters before going out.”
I waited for Nadia to put him in his place, but she just bowed her head, forced a thin smile when she looked up and then studied the menu like there would be a test on it. We ordered and ever thoughtful Bradley interjected as Nadia chose the seafood pesto linguine. “Can they go easy on the garlic?” he asked the waitress. Then, to Nadia, “You know how bad you reek when there’s too much.”
Whack him! The menu has some weight to it. Let ‘im have it! Self-defense. Nadia just took his cue and switched to the maple salmon.
Dinner was painful. All I wanted to do was ask Nadia what the hell she was doing. Could the real Nadia please come out and play? In the month since I’d last seen her, my friend had gone from feisty to diminutive. I couldn’t eat my meal. It didn’t help that “Badly” dominated the conversation, loudly whining about the Olympics killing his business while he savagely gnawed on ribs, licking his fingers and picking bits out of his teeth. Was this all that was left for single women in their thirties? I wanted to call Tamara and say, “Do it! Move to Edmonton! Don’t let Andy go!” But more importantly, I needed to find a way to get Nadia alone and ask her what the hell she was doing.
Got home to find Tupper had redecorated the apartment. The puddle in the kitchen was nothing new. (Wish I’d turned on the light before wading in it though.) The living room had little piles of vomit scattered about. Chronic renal failure is a bitch. Of course, I was out of paper towels.
Barely slept. Kept hearing sounds, thinking Tupper was getting sick again. Kept worrying about Nadia.
KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
I MAY NEVER GET CLARA COMPLETELY OUT OF THE CONDO. THIS MORNING I PULLED OUT THE PHONE BOOK TO LOOK FOR A PHYSIOTHERAPIST—SEARING PAIN FROM KNEE AT 3 A.M.—AND CAME ACROSS A PHOTO OF US AT WHISTLER & A FRIED TOFU SANDWICH RECIPE SHE’D HANDWRITTEN IN PURPLE INK. (DON’T KNOW HOW I KEPT THAT MEAL DOWN! GUESS WE’LL DO ALMOST ANYTHING FOR LOVE.) TOOK THE PIC & THE PAPER AND RAN THEM THRU THE SHREDDER. I YELLED AS THE MACHINE DID ITS THING. MILDLY THERAPEUTIC.
PLEASE, NO CLARA MEMORIES FOR THE NEXT MONTH. SHE HAUNTS ME.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
NURSING WOUNDS
February 9, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Revisit an old injury today -- emotional or physical. You should find yourself better equipped to handle it, and even to heal it, but you may find that you have to move through some difficult territory first.
Laura’s Log:
Coffee with Tamara this morning. I hopped on the Canada Line and met her downtown as she took an extended coffee break. Who knows what important meetings she rescheduled? When you’re newly dating, you’re dying to know what your friends think.
“He’s really nice.”
Apparently, I shouldn’t have said that. It was just my opener, but Tamara pounced. You’d think I’d said he was a cross between Donald Trump (without the money) and a pile of horse manure.
“See, that’s why I put off having you meet him. You always look for the worst.” Ouch. “No wonder you’re single.” Owphh. “I don’t know why I’ve kept you as a friend all these years. Pity, I guess.” And TKO.
“I said he was nice.”
She started to cry. Wail, actually. Tamara always likes to be noticed. The woman beside us took her mug to the counter and asked for a to-go cup. Wish I’d had that option.
I sat and waited. Sipped my coffee. The dash of cinnamon added flavor. Got up and grabbed a wad of napkins. Tamara wound down to sobbing and I gently eased back into the conversation. “What’s going on?”
“He wants to take a job in Edmonton. Edmonton!” Poor city. She said it like it was a cross between Chernobyl and, well, a pile of horse manure.
“Does he want you to move with him?”
“He hasn’t even asked!” And Round 2 of wailing.
I managed to convince her we should step outside, walk a little and enjoy the beautiful day. The lady behind the counter telepathed an earnest “Thank you.” After another hour of weeping, recovering and weeping again, Tamara hugged me. “Sorry ’bout what I said. You’re a good friend. The best.”
Yeah. After all these years, I was quite familiar with Tamara’s lash-and-burn tactics. They still wounded, but the recovery was quicker.
KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
MAYBE I’M NOT CUT OUT TO JOG ANYMORE. I HAD MY 2ND GO AT AN EARLY MORNING RUN & IT WAS WORSE THAN THE 1ST. COLDER, TO START WITH. HAD IT IN MY HEAD THAT WEARING GLOVES WHILE JOGGING WAS THE SIGN OF A WUSS. LOSING THREE DIGITS TO FROSTBITE MIGHT MAKE A MANLY TALE, BUT IT’S DAMN STUPID, TOO. WILL TRY TO PICK UP A PAIR LATER TODAY—AND NOT THE OMNIPRESENT CANADIAN OLYMPIC MITTS.
CONSTANTLY RUBBING ONE’S HANDS TOGETHER ISN’T STANDARD RUNNING FORM. NEITHER IS LIMPING. SADLY, MY LEFT KNEE GAVE OUT SOONER THAN LAST WEEK. I HAD TO HOBBLE BACK FROM SCIENCE WORLD—OR WHATEVER THE RUSSIANS ARE CALLING IT AS THEIR OLYMPIC SITE. SAW THE GUY IN THE WALKER AGAIN. NEVER MANAGED TO CATCH HIM.
FIGURE I’VE GAINED INSTEAD OF LOSING THIS WEEK, THANKS TO THE SUPER BOWL PARTY. SURE, I VOMITED APLENTY, BUT IT LOOKS LIKE I’M REACHING THE 7TH OR 8TH MONTH OF PREGNANCY. IF I CAN’T RUN, THEN WHAT? DON’T THINK I CAN ROUND UP THE OLD GANG FOR TOUCH FOOTBALL THESE DAYS. BIKING? THE COLD’S GOTTA FEEL EVEN WORSE ON WHEELS.
I’LL TRY STRETCHING MORE. HOT TUB THE KNEE TONIGHT. BUY A BRACE. EVEN IN PAIN, JOGGING BEATS SLAPPING ON A PAIR OF RUNNERS AND RACE-WALKING AROUND DOWNTOWN AT NOON WHILE IN A BUSINESS SUIT.
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Revisit an old injury today -- emotional or physical. You should find yourself better equipped to handle it, and even to heal it, but you may find that you have to move through some difficult territory first.
Laura’s Log:
Coffee with Tamara this morning. I hopped on the Canada Line and met her downtown as she took an extended coffee break. Who knows what important meetings she rescheduled? When you’re newly dating, you’re dying to know what your friends think.
“He’s really nice.”
Apparently, I shouldn’t have said that. It was just my opener, but Tamara pounced. You’d think I’d said he was a cross between Donald Trump (without the money) and a pile of horse manure.
“See, that’s why I put off having you meet him. You always look for the worst.” Ouch. “No wonder you’re single.” Owphh. “I don’t know why I’ve kept you as a friend all these years. Pity, I guess.” And TKO.
“I said he was nice.”
She started to cry. Wail, actually. Tamara always likes to be noticed. The woman beside us took her mug to the counter and asked for a to-go cup. Wish I’d had that option.
I sat and waited. Sipped my coffee. The dash of cinnamon added flavor. Got up and grabbed a wad of napkins. Tamara wound down to sobbing and I gently eased back into the conversation. “What’s going on?”
“He wants to take a job in Edmonton. Edmonton!” Poor city. She said it like it was a cross between Chernobyl and, well, a pile of horse manure.
“Does he want you to move with him?”
“He hasn’t even asked!” And Round 2 of wailing.
I managed to convince her we should step outside, walk a little and enjoy the beautiful day. The lady behind the counter telepathed an earnest “Thank you.” After another hour of weeping, recovering and weeping again, Tamara hugged me. “Sorry ’bout what I said. You’re a good friend. The best.”
Yeah. After all these years, I was quite familiar with Tamara’s lash-and-burn tactics. They still wounded, but the recovery was quicker.
KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
MAYBE I’M NOT CUT OUT TO JOG ANYMORE. I HAD MY 2ND GO AT AN EARLY MORNING RUN & IT WAS WORSE THAN THE 1ST. COLDER, TO START WITH. HAD IT IN MY HEAD THAT WEARING GLOVES WHILE JOGGING WAS THE SIGN OF A WUSS. LOSING THREE DIGITS TO FROSTBITE MIGHT MAKE A MANLY TALE, BUT IT’S DAMN STUPID, TOO. WILL TRY TO PICK UP A PAIR LATER TODAY—AND NOT THE OMNIPRESENT CANADIAN OLYMPIC MITTS.
CONSTANTLY RUBBING ONE’S HANDS TOGETHER ISN’T STANDARD RUNNING FORM. NEITHER IS LIMPING. SADLY, MY LEFT KNEE GAVE OUT SOONER THAN LAST WEEK. I HAD TO HOBBLE BACK FROM SCIENCE WORLD—OR WHATEVER THE RUSSIANS ARE CALLING IT AS THEIR OLYMPIC SITE. SAW THE GUY IN THE WALKER AGAIN. NEVER MANAGED TO CATCH HIM.
FIGURE I’VE GAINED INSTEAD OF LOSING THIS WEEK, THANKS TO THE SUPER BOWL PARTY. SURE, I VOMITED APLENTY, BUT IT LOOKS LIKE I’M REACHING THE 7TH OR 8TH MONTH OF PREGNANCY. IF I CAN’T RUN, THEN WHAT? DON’T THINK I CAN ROUND UP THE OLD GANG FOR TOUCH FOOTBALL THESE DAYS. BIKING? THE COLD’S GOTTA FEEL EVEN WORSE ON WHEELS.
I’LL TRY STRETCHING MORE. HOT TUB THE KNEE TONIGHT. BUY A BRACE. EVEN IN PAIN, JOGGING BEATS SLAPPING ON A PAIR OF RUNNERS AND RACE-WALKING AROUND DOWNTOWN AT NOON WHILE IN A BUSINESS SUIT.
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