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.
Showing posts with label Oprah. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Oprah. Show all posts
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
SOMETIMES YOU CAN SKIP THE SHAVE
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Lie low and let others take the heat today — even if you can’t tell when or where the heat is coming! You just need to make sure that you’ve got your own bases covered, as things shouldn’t take long.
Laura’s Log:
Nadia came over right after work. Things have been spotty in us hanging out lately, but all I had to say was “He dumped me” and she moved heaven and earth—well, she canceled a rendezvous at Subway with Bradley—to console me. Tamara was on business in Kelowna, but she Skyped in.
“Guys having female roommates is just wrong,” Nadia concluded. “He’s in denial. If he can’t see the problem with that, how’s he able to have any perspective on anything in life? Where’d you say he works?”
“Best Buy.”
“Exactly!”
Tamara piped in. “He knows there’s a problem with having a ‘platonic’ woman as a roommate. He’s just looking for someone to walk all over.”
Nadia continued her Gabriel-bashing cheerleading. “Exactly! I’m proud of you Laura. You didn’t cave this time. Hang in there! You’ll find a guy with balls.”
Despite their efforts, I wasn’t feeling any better. “What’s so great about a guy’s balls? They’re ugly, don’t you think? Like elbows. Or knees. Only more hair.”
“You get them to manscape,” Nadia advised. “I make it part of foreplay with Bradley. I shave his balls and he thinks it’s kinky. Snaps the pecker ready for service.”
Too much information. As it was, Bradley repulsed me. I didn’t need to conjure up the image of Bradley’s nicked-up scrotum. At least Nadia was right about my not caving. I’d put my foot down about the icky rooming situation and managed to boot myself at the same time.
Is it worth it to take a stand if it means being alone again? How many more chances did I have with men? Would I ever have another shot at sex that good again?
Nadia stuck around so we could make fun of the glitter costumes and bad dancing on “Dancing with the Stars”. She drooled over Jake. Meh.
The buzzer rang five minutes after she left. I buzzed her back in and looked around for whatever item she’d forgotten. Couldn’t spot it. She tapped on the door and I opened it to find Gabriel. Actually, Gabriel and a dozen roses. “I miss you,” he said. “And I’m sorry.”
We hugged, we kissed and, yes, I caved. Never got around to talking about Chris. Or genital grooming. It just felt good to be with him again.
KEN’S JOURNAL:
ONLY HAD TO SPEND 3 ½ HRS @ CITY HALL YESTERDAY. GOT 4 OUT OF 5 PERMITS. THE 5TH IS GOING TO TAKE MORE WORK. STILL, IT WAS A SUCCESSFUL MISSION. “YOU ROCK, MAN!” MARTY BEAMED. NICE TO HEAR HIM BEING UP AGAIN. I KNOW I’D BEEN GRATING ON HIM LATELY.
SPENT A COUPLE OF HRS THIS MORNING DOING SOME GROUNDWORK ON THE FINAL PERMIT, BUT IT’S BEEN A LOW KEY DAY FOR THE MOST PART. GOTTA SAY I LIKE IT. HAVING A COFFEE @ URBAN FARE @ 11 A.M. ON A WEEKDAY? AWESOME! WHO ARE ALL THESE OTHER PEOPLE? HOW DO THEY AFFORD THEIR CONDOS & WORK SUCH LAX HRS? AM I THE ONLY ONE IN YALETOWN W/O AN EFFIN’ DOG?
EVEN HIT THE GYM THIS AFTERNOON. NOT THE PIDDLY CONDO GYM. A REAL GYM. FITNESS WORLD. OR, AS IT’S NOW KNOWN, STEVE NASH SPORTS CLUB AND FITNESS WORLD. (OTHER THAN THE BIGGER SIGN, I CAN’T SEE A DIFFERENCE.) PUMPED WEIGHTS FOR ALMOST 30 MIN. (NO NEED TO STRAIN A MUSCLE THE 1ST TIME BACK.) SPENT ANOTHER 30 MIN ON THE TREADMILL. THE WOMAN BESIDE ME MUST’VE BEEN GOING TWICE MY SPEED. SHE HAD ARMS & LEGS THAT LOOKED LIKE THEY’D SNAP IN 2 IN A STRONG WIND. THAT’S ONE THING I DON’T HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT.
ANOTHER COFFEE ON THE WAY HOME. THIS SELF-EMPLOYMENT THING’S FEELIN’ FINE. TOMORROW I’LL HAVE TO BEGIN BATTLE OVER MY SEVERANCE FROM WORK. THEY’RE TRYING TO SCREW ME OVER MY UNUSED VACATION TIME. EFF THAT.
AH, BUT FOR NOW, I NEED TO ENJOY THE MOMENT. I COULD ALMOST SIT BACK & WATCH “OPRAH”. ALMOST.
Laura’s Log:
Nadia came over right after work. Things have been spotty in us hanging out lately, but all I had to say was “He dumped me” and she moved heaven and earth—well, she canceled a rendezvous at Subway with Bradley—to console me. Tamara was on business in Kelowna, but she Skyped in.
“Guys having female roommates is just wrong,” Nadia concluded. “He’s in denial. If he can’t see the problem with that, how’s he able to have any perspective on anything in life? Where’d you say he works?”
“Best Buy.”
“Exactly!”
Tamara piped in. “He knows there’s a problem with having a ‘platonic’ woman as a roommate. He’s just looking for someone to walk all over.”
Nadia continued her Gabriel-bashing cheerleading. “Exactly! I’m proud of you Laura. You didn’t cave this time. Hang in there! You’ll find a guy with balls.”
Despite their efforts, I wasn’t feeling any better. “What’s so great about a guy’s balls? They’re ugly, don’t you think? Like elbows. Or knees. Only more hair.”
“You get them to manscape,” Nadia advised. “I make it part of foreplay with Bradley. I shave his balls and he thinks it’s kinky. Snaps the pecker ready for service.”
Too much information. As it was, Bradley repulsed me. I didn’t need to conjure up the image of Bradley’s nicked-up scrotum. At least Nadia was right about my not caving. I’d put my foot down about the icky rooming situation and managed to boot myself at the same time.
Is it worth it to take a stand if it means being alone again? How many more chances did I have with men? Would I ever have another shot at sex that good again?
Nadia stuck around so we could make fun of the glitter costumes and bad dancing on “Dancing with the Stars”. She drooled over Jake. Meh.
The buzzer rang five minutes after she left. I buzzed her back in and looked around for whatever item she’d forgotten. Couldn’t spot it. She tapped on the door and I opened it to find Gabriel. Actually, Gabriel and a dozen roses. “I miss you,” he said. “And I’m sorry.”
We hugged, we kissed and, yes, I caved. Never got around to talking about Chris. Or genital grooming. It just felt good to be with him again.
KEN’S JOURNAL:
ONLY HAD TO SPEND 3 ½ HRS @ CITY HALL YESTERDAY. GOT 4 OUT OF 5 PERMITS. THE 5TH IS GOING TO TAKE MORE WORK. STILL, IT WAS A SUCCESSFUL MISSION. “YOU ROCK, MAN!” MARTY BEAMED. NICE TO HEAR HIM BEING UP AGAIN. I KNOW I’D BEEN GRATING ON HIM LATELY.
SPENT A COUPLE OF HRS THIS MORNING DOING SOME GROUNDWORK ON THE FINAL PERMIT, BUT IT’S BEEN A LOW KEY DAY FOR THE MOST PART. GOTTA SAY I LIKE IT. HAVING A COFFEE @ URBAN FARE @ 11 A.M. ON A WEEKDAY? AWESOME! WHO ARE ALL THESE OTHER PEOPLE? HOW DO THEY AFFORD THEIR CONDOS & WORK SUCH LAX HRS? AM I THE ONLY ONE IN YALETOWN W/O AN EFFIN’ DOG?
EVEN HIT THE GYM THIS AFTERNOON. NOT THE PIDDLY CONDO GYM. A REAL GYM. FITNESS WORLD. OR, AS IT’S NOW KNOWN, STEVE NASH SPORTS CLUB AND FITNESS WORLD. (OTHER THAN THE BIGGER SIGN, I CAN’T SEE A DIFFERENCE.) PUMPED WEIGHTS FOR ALMOST 30 MIN. (NO NEED TO STRAIN A MUSCLE THE 1ST TIME BACK.) SPENT ANOTHER 30 MIN ON THE TREADMILL. THE WOMAN BESIDE ME MUST’VE BEEN GOING TWICE MY SPEED. SHE HAD ARMS & LEGS THAT LOOKED LIKE THEY’D SNAP IN 2 IN A STRONG WIND. THAT’S ONE THING I DON’T HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT.
ANOTHER COFFEE ON THE WAY HOME. THIS SELF-EMPLOYMENT THING’S FEELIN’ FINE. TOMORROW I’LL HAVE TO BEGIN BATTLE OVER MY SEVERANCE FROM WORK. THEY’RE TRYING TO SCREW ME OVER MY UNUSED VACATION TIME. EFF THAT.
AH, BUT FOR NOW, I NEED TO ENJOY THE MOMENT. I COULD ALMOST SIT BACK & WATCH “OPRAH”. ALMOST.
Friday, January 22, 2010
A CHILL IN THE AIR
January 22, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Your face is a photograph of your feelings. Vulnerability is your strength.
Laura’s Log:
Cute barista’s name is Dodger. He asked my name for my latté order and I said—get ready to cringe—“I’ll tell you mine, if you tell me yours.” I smiled bravely through the whole exchange as the guy behind me impatiently went through an episode of odd throat clearing noises. (He should really give up smoking or knock it down to just three packs a day.) Dodger. Even the name is adorable. Adopting a cockney accent, he explained, “Me mum got a thing for Dickens.” All I know is I want me some more. Please, sir.
And that’s where the fun stopped. I was welcomed with hideous glares from Ann-Marie and her entire entourage, which seems to be everyone but Ernesto and me. I’m guessing they got together for drinks (arsenic?) after work last night and took a vote. It’s unanimous, then. Laura is sleeping with the boss. She’s going down on him. Bad choice ‘cuz he’s just going down.
“Good morning, Donna.” Grunt.
“Hello, Laverne.” Sneeze?
“How was your daughter’s birthday, Amy?” Dunno. Suddenly urgent need for Amy to turn, grab the phone and reorder toilet paper for the office. I suppose that could be a dire concern.
Poor Hester Prynne. I feel your pain.
9:35 Ernesto summoned me to his office. Closed the door. Thank god it’s a windowless cave. (Looked up to scan for tiny spy camera. Not sure what to look for.) “What’s going on out there?”
Time for me to be the dodger. “Oh, it’s just last minute preparations for the Olympics, I guess. Don’t you like the Royal Bank’s new look?”
“Not outside. In the office. I’m getting a sense something’s about to boil over.”
“Yes. I think you’re right.” I paused. Ernesto wasn’t a good boss. He was crass, lewd, insensitive. But what I couldn’t handle was he was a yeller. If something went out five minutes late or a power outage (like on Monday) meant he couldn’t proceed with online Scrabble, he’d swing into a tirade berating every worker in sight as well as the Harper government, Oprah and everything blue in “Avatar”. (I agreed with respect to “Avatar”, but there were better ways to make one’s point. No?) Katherine once asked, “What’s the matter with your boss? Always seems to be in recovery from laryngitis.” If only.
Ernesto continued to stare at me, waiting for more. Never had a poker face. Clearly, I knew more. I had no feeling of loyalty to anyone. Not to Ernesto. Even at his best, he’d basically poisoned poor Tupper. Not to the girls—gosh, why “the girls” anyway? I was the youngest at 32. When would we be the women? How could I side with them when they’d decided without a shred of evidence that I was a slut? A slut with remarkably bad taste.
And for a second time in the day I heard throat clearing. Spill it, Nebergall. “They’re working to get you fired. Sexual harassment, sir. And they think we’re sleeping together.”
It was the last statement that seemed to horrify him most.
KEN’S JOURNAL (sent via iPhone):
HALF A MILLION?! THAT’S HOW MUCH GIL WANTED ME TO INVEST IN UNTITLED FILM PROJECT THAT MIGHT HAVE MEG RYAN ON BOARD. HALF A FUCKING MILLION! OR MORE. NEARLY CHOKED ON MY STEAK. (THANKFULLY DIDN’T. DAMN THAT PIECE OF MEAT WAS TOO GOOD TO WASTE!) SURE, VANCOUVER REAL ESTATE HADN’T TAKEN THE HIT LIKE IN OTHER AREAS, BUT I DIDN’T HAVE THAT KIND OF CASH EVEN DURING THE BOOM. BALLSY OF GIL TO ASK. BALLSY AND FUCKING STUPID.
CAUGHT END OF CANUCKS GAME. WELLWOOD SCORES! DON’T KNOW WHY, BUT I LIKE YA, MAN. STILL DON’T THINK IT’S ENUF TO KEEP HIM AROUND. HOW YOU LIKE MOOSE, KYLE? AWFUL CHILLY IN MANITOBA.
CLARA’S SISTER WANTS TO COME BY TONITE TO CLEAR OUT THE REST OF CLARA’S THINGS. SEEING BESS ALMOST AS BAD AS SEEING CLARA. BESS WAS POISON TO OUR RELATIONSHIP. “YOU CAN DO BETTER, CLARA.” “WHAT DO YOU SEE IN HIM?” AND, LINE FROM JANET JACKSON, “I KNOW HE USED TO DO NICE STUFF FOR YOU, BUT WHAT HAS HE DONE FOR YOU LATELY?” YEAH, PACK IT UP, YOU VENOMOUS BITCH. AND DON’T GIVE ME NO SHIT ABOUT THE PORCELAIN DOLLS. IT’S JUST CRUEL TO DUMP A GUY AND LEAVE HIM TO STARE @ A FREAKIN DOLL COLLECTION FOR THREE MONTHS. SCALPED, YEAH. CLD’VE BEEN MUCH WORSE. BELIEVE ME.
WON’T GIVE BESS THE SATISFACTION OF SEEING ME EVEN GLARE @ HER. I’LL BE COMPLETELY STOIC. YEAH, TELL CA CLARA I’VE TURNED TO STONE.
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Your face is a photograph of your feelings. Vulnerability is your strength.
Laura’s Log:
Cute barista’s name is Dodger. He asked my name for my latté order and I said—get ready to cringe—“I’ll tell you mine, if you tell me yours.” I smiled bravely through the whole exchange as the guy behind me impatiently went through an episode of odd throat clearing noises. (He should really give up smoking or knock it down to just three packs a day.) Dodger. Even the name is adorable. Adopting a cockney accent, he explained, “Me mum got a thing for Dickens.” All I know is I want me some more. Please, sir.
And that’s where the fun stopped. I was welcomed with hideous glares from Ann-Marie and her entire entourage, which seems to be everyone but Ernesto and me. I’m guessing they got together for drinks (arsenic?) after work last night and took a vote. It’s unanimous, then. Laura is sleeping with the boss. She’s going down on him. Bad choice ‘cuz he’s just going down.
“Good morning, Donna.” Grunt.
“Hello, Laverne.” Sneeze?
“How was your daughter’s birthday, Amy?” Dunno. Suddenly urgent need for Amy to turn, grab the phone and reorder toilet paper for the office. I suppose that could be a dire concern.
Poor Hester Prynne. I feel your pain.
9:35 Ernesto summoned me to his office. Closed the door. Thank god it’s a windowless cave. (Looked up to scan for tiny spy camera. Not sure what to look for.) “What’s going on out there?”
Time for me to be the dodger. “Oh, it’s just last minute preparations for the Olympics, I guess. Don’t you like the Royal Bank’s new look?”
“Not outside. In the office. I’m getting a sense something’s about to boil over.”
“Yes. I think you’re right.” I paused. Ernesto wasn’t a good boss. He was crass, lewd, insensitive. But what I couldn’t handle was he was a yeller. If something went out five minutes late or a power outage (like on Monday) meant he couldn’t proceed with online Scrabble, he’d swing into a tirade berating every worker in sight as well as the Harper government, Oprah and everything blue in “Avatar”. (I agreed with respect to “Avatar”, but there were better ways to make one’s point. No?) Katherine once asked, “What’s the matter with your boss? Always seems to be in recovery from laryngitis.” If only.
Ernesto continued to stare at me, waiting for more. Never had a poker face. Clearly, I knew more. I had no feeling of loyalty to anyone. Not to Ernesto. Even at his best, he’d basically poisoned poor Tupper. Not to the girls—gosh, why “the girls” anyway? I was the youngest at 32. When would we be the women? How could I side with them when they’d decided without a shred of evidence that I was a slut? A slut with remarkably bad taste.
And for a second time in the day I heard throat clearing. Spill it, Nebergall. “They’re working to get you fired. Sexual harassment, sir. And they think we’re sleeping together.”
It was the last statement that seemed to horrify him most.
KEN’S JOURNAL (sent via iPhone):
HALF A MILLION?! THAT’S HOW MUCH GIL WANTED ME TO INVEST IN UNTITLED FILM PROJECT THAT MIGHT HAVE MEG RYAN ON BOARD. HALF A FUCKING MILLION! OR MORE. NEARLY CHOKED ON MY STEAK. (THANKFULLY DIDN’T. DAMN THAT PIECE OF MEAT WAS TOO GOOD TO WASTE!) SURE, VANCOUVER REAL ESTATE HADN’T TAKEN THE HIT LIKE IN OTHER AREAS, BUT I DIDN’T HAVE THAT KIND OF CASH EVEN DURING THE BOOM. BALLSY OF GIL TO ASK. BALLSY AND FUCKING STUPID.
CAUGHT END OF CANUCKS GAME. WELLWOOD SCORES! DON’T KNOW WHY, BUT I LIKE YA, MAN. STILL DON’T THINK IT’S ENUF TO KEEP HIM AROUND. HOW YOU LIKE MOOSE, KYLE? AWFUL CHILLY IN MANITOBA.
CLARA’S SISTER WANTS TO COME BY TONITE TO CLEAR OUT THE REST OF CLARA’S THINGS. SEEING BESS ALMOST AS BAD AS SEEING CLARA. BESS WAS POISON TO OUR RELATIONSHIP. “YOU CAN DO BETTER, CLARA.” “WHAT DO YOU SEE IN HIM?” AND, LINE FROM JANET JACKSON, “I KNOW HE USED TO DO NICE STUFF FOR YOU, BUT WHAT HAS HE DONE FOR YOU LATELY?” YEAH, PACK IT UP, YOU VENOMOUS BITCH. AND DON’T GIVE ME NO SHIT ABOUT THE PORCELAIN DOLLS. IT’S JUST CRUEL TO DUMP A GUY AND LEAVE HIM TO STARE @ A FREAKIN DOLL COLLECTION FOR THREE MONTHS. SCALPED, YEAH. CLD’VE BEEN MUCH WORSE. BELIEVE ME.
WON’T GIVE BESS THE SATISFACTION OF SEEING ME EVEN GLARE @ HER. I’LL BE COMPLETELY STOIC. YEAH, TELL CA CLARA I’VE TURNED TO STONE.
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