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 Vancouver. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Vancouver. Show all posts
Monday, May 3, 2010
Sunday, May 2, 2010
A NO-SHOW IN THE FAMILY
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You’re stuck in the past in some small way today, and you might have to struggle to come back to reality. Even the hottest ringtone isn’t guaranteed to get your attention at this point, so watch out.
Laura’s Log:
Family brunch proved more dysfunctional than usual. Estelle and Lucy showed, their conversation going as deep as “Pass the salt” and “Whose earring is this?” All around awkward. Marella wasn’t having any of it. She grabbed me as she headed out to the back deck for a smoke. “Christ, what the fuck is with everybody?”
I filled Marella in and she rolled her eyes. “How the hell did I get stuck in the world’s most boring soap opera? Why doesn’t one of them just choke the other so this fucking fight is done with?”
When Marella starts to sound (more) like a sailor, it means she’s not getting any. While I’ve proven I can go months, even years, without sex, Marella falls apart after a week. A spurned Marella is a spewing Marella. I shouldn’t have, but I went there. “How’s the dating going these days?”
“Fuck dating! All men are pricks!” So predictable. I had to giggle. “Fuck you! What’s so great about your dating life?”
Nothing. Joke over. Ken hadn’t bothered to call after the first date. That’s what I get for thinking I had the upper hand. A questionably worthy guy got to take control and authoritatively say I was the unworthy one. I headed inside, done with the fresh air. The cigarette smoke was ruining it all anyway.
When the meal was served, Dad’s seat remained empty. Mom explained, “Your father insisted on going in to work today. I swear they take him for granted.” She got it half right anyway.
Where was Dad? It didn’t surprise me that he was a no-show for the family meal. He wouldn’t have been great company—not that Marella and the feuding Lucy and Estelle were. He wouldn’t want to fake it in answering the offhand “How’s work?”
Back home, there was only a voicemail from Jenny saying she was coming over from the Sunshine Coast at some point this week. Could she stay at my place?
I’d call her back later. For the time being, all I could do was yank the phone cord out of the outlet. Its silence was killing me.
KEN’S JOURNAL:
HOW THE HELL DID MAY COME ALONG SO FAST? I HATE MAY 2 MORE THAN ANY OTHER DAY OF THE YEAR. AT LEAST THIS TIME IT HAD THE COMMON SENSE TO BE COLD AND RAINY. GLOOMY WEATHER FOR A MISERABLE OCCASION.
FOUR YEARS AGO TODAY, MOM DIED. SHE WAS SUPPOSED TO HAVE MADE A FULL RECOVERY. FUCKING CANCER! GONE AT 56. AND MOTHER’S DAY IS A WEEK AWAY. MORE MISERY. NORMALLY SARA & I GET TOGETHER ON THE 2ND—GO FOR A WALK OR GRAB A COFFEE. ANYTHING SO AS NOT TO FACE IT ALONE. SHE’S TOO CONSUMED W/FAMILY DRAMA. I DIDN’T DARE CALL.
I’M HAVING A HARD TIME COPING. IF I SO MUCH AS BLINK, I VISUALIZE MOM. NOT THE TIMES WHEN SHE WALKED US TO SCHOOL OR MADE US CHOCOLATE SUNDAES. ALL I SEE IS A CLUMP OF HER HAIR IN HER HAND OR HER BODY HOOKED UP TO MACHINES.
FOUR YEARS AGO. WHOEVER SAID, “TIME HEALS ALL WOUNDS” WAS A FUCKIN’ MORON. WHAT KIND OF WOUNDS DID HE KNOW ABOUT? MOSQUITO BITES? STUBBED TOES? CANCER STOLE MY MOTHER. SHE CAN’T BE REPLACED. SHE CAN’T BE FORGOTTEN.
Laura’s Log:
Family brunch proved more dysfunctional than usual. Estelle and Lucy showed, their conversation going as deep as “Pass the salt” and “Whose earring is this?” All around awkward. Marella wasn’t having any of it. She grabbed me as she headed out to the back deck for a smoke. “Christ, what the fuck is with everybody?”
I filled Marella in and she rolled her eyes. “How the hell did I get stuck in the world’s most boring soap opera? Why doesn’t one of them just choke the other so this fucking fight is done with?”
When Marella starts to sound (more) like a sailor, it means she’s not getting any. While I’ve proven I can go months, even years, without sex, Marella falls apart after a week. A spurned Marella is a spewing Marella. I shouldn’t have, but I went there. “How’s the dating going these days?”
“Fuck dating! All men are pricks!” So predictable. I had to giggle. “Fuck you! What’s so great about your dating life?”
Nothing. Joke over. Ken hadn’t bothered to call after the first date. That’s what I get for thinking I had the upper hand. A questionably worthy guy got to take control and authoritatively say I was the unworthy one. I headed inside, done with the fresh air. The cigarette smoke was ruining it all anyway.
When the meal was served, Dad’s seat remained empty. Mom explained, “Your father insisted on going in to work today. I swear they take him for granted.” She got it half right anyway.
Where was Dad? It didn’t surprise me that he was a no-show for the family meal. He wouldn’t have been great company—not that Marella and the feuding Lucy and Estelle were. He wouldn’t want to fake it in answering the offhand “How’s work?”
Back home, there was only a voicemail from Jenny saying she was coming over from the Sunshine Coast at some point this week. Could she stay at my place?
I’d call her back later. For the time being, all I could do was yank the phone cord out of the outlet. Its silence was killing me.
KEN’S JOURNAL:
HOW THE HELL DID MAY COME ALONG SO FAST? I HATE MAY 2 MORE THAN ANY OTHER DAY OF THE YEAR. AT LEAST THIS TIME IT HAD THE COMMON SENSE TO BE COLD AND RAINY. GLOOMY WEATHER FOR A MISERABLE OCCASION.
FOUR YEARS AGO TODAY, MOM DIED. SHE WAS SUPPOSED TO HAVE MADE A FULL RECOVERY. FUCKING CANCER! GONE AT 56. AND MOTHER’S DAY IS A WEEK AWAY. MORE MISERY. NORMALLY SARA & I GET TOGETHER ON THE 2ND—GO FOR A WALK OR GRAB A COFFEE. ANYTHING SO AS NOT TO FACE IT ALONE. SHE’S TOO CONSUMED W/FAMILY DRAMA. I DIDN’T DARE CALL.
I’M HAVING A HARD TIME COPING. IF I SO MUCH AS BLINK, I VISUALIZE MOM. NOT THE TIMES WHEN SHE WALKED US TO SCHOOL OR MADE US CHOCOLATE SUNDAES. ALL I SEE IS A CLUMP OF HER HAIR IN HER HAND OR HER BODY HOOKED UP TO MACHINES.
FOUR YEARS AGO. WHOEVER SAID, “TIME HEALS ALL WOUNDS” WAS A FUCKIN’ MORON. WHAT KIND OF WOUNDS DID HE KNOW ABOUT? MOSQUITO BITES? STUBBED TOES? CANCER STOLE MY MOTHER. SHE CAN’T BE REPLACED. SHE CAN’T BE FORGOTTEN.
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.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
A NEW LOOK
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Shopping may consume your mind today, even if you don’t ordinarily lose it over the bargain bins. It’s a good time for you to get good deals and take home anything you really need.
Laura’s Log:
I always make it a point to follow my horoscope when it tells me it’s a day for shopping. I hit South Granville right after work and felt compelled to wander into Misch. No bargain bins there! Stores like Misch calm me. The lighting, the clean way clothes are displayed,…Sure beats the chaos and neglect of The Bay. Walked out with the cutest top and pants from Forte Forte. I’ll wear them for drinks tonight with Ken. No, not because I’m trying to look good for him. I need to feel calm and confident as I play it cool. Just a drink and then goodnight.
KEN’S JOURNAL:
NERVOUS ABOUT TONITE. AFTER SEVERAL CHANCE MTGS W/LAURA, I THINK THIS IS MY FINAL SHOT @ GETTING HER TO SEE ME AS MORE INTERESTING THAN A POST. I STARTED GOING THRU MY CLOSET @ NOON AND, AFTER 30 MIN OF DUMPING EVERYTHING ONTO THE BED, I DECIDED TO BUY SOMETHING NEW. HEADED TO HARRY ROSEN AND PSYCHED MYSELF UP. I REALLY HATE SHOPPING AND THE ROSEN STAFF MAKES A POINT OF OVERLOOKING ME. ONE LOOK AND THEY DECIDE I’M BAD FOR BIZ. SOMEONE SHOO HIM OUT ASAP!
FUCK THAT! I IMMEDIATELY WENT TO—ACCOSTED?—A FIFTY-YEAR-OLD WOMAN ON STAFF AND TOLD HER ABOUT MY DATE. DID HER SURPRISE STEM FROM MY STORMING INTO THE STORE, APPROACHING HER OR HAVING A DATE? (HERE’S WHERE THAT ALL OF THE ABOVE OPTION COMES IN.) AFTER AN HOUR OF TRYING THINGS ON, I DECIDED ON A CASUAL LOOK. WE WERE MEETING AT BIN 942 SO I DIDN’T WANT TO LOOK TOO CORPORATE. ENDED UP SHELLING OUT $400 ON A RED J LINDEBERG HOODY AND A PAIR OF BLACK JEANS BY BOSS BLACK. CONSIDERING I COULD’VE SPENT THAT MUCH ON JUST JEANS, I WAS WALKING OUT W/A BARGAIN. SO WHY DOES IT FEEL LIKE I SHOULD UP MY LINE OF CREDIT?
CAN’T SAY I DIDN’T TRY. HOPE THE CLOTHES HELP. NOTES TO SELF: DON’T DRINK TOO MUCH, DON’T TALK TOO MUCH ABOUT THE CANUCKS, DON’T TALK ABOUT CLARA…BASICALLY, BE SOMEONE OTHER THAN SELF.
Laura’s Log:
I always make it a point to follow my horoscope when it tells me it’s a day for shopping. I hit South Granville right after work and felt compelled to wander into Misch. No bargain bins there! Stores like Misch calm me. The lighting, the clean way clothes are displayed,…Sure beats the chaos and neglect of The Bay. Walked out with the cutest top and pants from Forte Forte. I’ll wear them for drinks tonight with Ken. No, not because I’m trying to look good for him. I need to feel calm and confident as I play it cool. Just a drink and then goodnight.
KEN’S JOURNAL:
NERVOUS ABOUT TONITE. AFTER SEVERAL CHANCE MTGS W/LAURA, I THINK THIS IS MY FINAL SHOT @ GETTING HER TO SEE ME AS MORE INTERESTING THAN A POST. I STARTED GOING THRU MY CLOSET @ NOON AND, AFTER 30 MIN OF DUMPING EVERYTHING ONTO THE BED, I DECIDED TO BUY SOMETHING NEW. HEADED TO HARRY ROSEN AND PSYCHED MYSELF UP. I REALLY HATE SHOPPING AND THE ROSEN STAFF MAKES A POINT OF OVERLOOKING ME. ONE LOOK AND THEY DECIDE I’M BAD FOR BIZ. SOMEONE SHOO HIM OUT ASAP!
FUCK THAT! I IMMEDIATELY WENT TO—ACCOSTED?—A FIFTY-YEAR-OLD WOMAN ON STAFF AND TOLD HER ABOUT MY DATE. DID HER SURPRISE STEM FROM MY STORMING INTO THE STORE, APPROACHING HER OR HAVING A DATE? (HERE’S WHERE THAT ALL OF THE ABOVE OPTION COMES IN.) AFTER AN HOUR OF TRYING THINGS ON, I DECIDED ON A CASUAL LOOK. WE WERE MEETING AT BIN 942 SO I DIDN’T WANT TO LOOK TOO CORPORATE. ENDED UP SHELLING OUT $400 ON A RED J LINDEBERG HOODY AND A PAIR OF BLACK JEANS BY BOSS BLACK. CONSIDERING I COULD’VE SPENT THAT MUCH ON JUST JEANS, I WAS WALKING OUT W/A BARGAIN. SO WHY DOES IT FEEL LIKE I SHOULD UP MY LINE OF CREDIT?
CAN’T SAY I DIDN’T TRY. HOPE THE CLOTHES HELP. NOTES TO SELF: DON’T DRINK TOO MUCH, DON’T TALK TOO MUCH ABOUT THE CANUCKS, DON’T TALK ABOUT CLARA…BASICALLY, BE SOMEONE OTHER THAN SELF.
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.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
HIGHS & LOWS
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Your mood could swing all over the map today, but remember to check your assumptions if you find yourself sliding into depression or boredom. You may just need to see things from a fresh perspective.
Laura’s Log:
You know it’s bad when you sit down with sisters in a packed coffeehouse and, five minutes later, all the surrounding tables are vacant. Lucy came out swinging: “Admit it. You have never been comfortable with the fact I’m a lesbian. And you have a fear that I’m going to turn Gretel that way, too.”
Estelle was flabbergasted, but managed to be articulate. “What you’re right about is I’m not comfortable around you. I know it disgusts you, but I’m uncomfortable about a lot of things. Tiger Woods. Ryan Seacrest. Even—I know this will shock you—Sarah Palin. I don’t care that you’re a lesbian. I care that you’re an angry person—not just an angry lesbian. You’re angry about everything. Laura and I wanted to meet at Starbucks, but going to a big corporate entity would have sent you over the edge. Although you seem to already be there.”
Lucy didn’t hear much of what Estelle had to say. She picked out the “angry lesbian” and went for the jugular. “Listen to you! Demonizing lesbians! We’re all angry! We’re the serial killers in movies! We’re Rosie O’Donnell going ballistic on that cute, petite Elizabeth puppet on ‘The View’.”
Ahem. My turn to step up as mediator. “Listen, let’s just calm down and—”
But Elizabeth was seething. “Yeah, all lesbians are angry. That’s exactly what I said. That Ellen Degeneres, why does she have to be so mean on ‘Idol’?”
A few more heated exchanges and Lucy stormed out. Not a moment too soon. A timid barista was edging toward our table, likely coming to ask us to keep it down. Pretty please. With Lucy’s grand exit, the worker retreated safety behind the counter, no doubt wondering if minimum wage was worth it. (Later, as we were leaving, I tossed an extra Toonie in the tip jar.)
It took Estelle twenty minutes to unwind. Would’ve been longer but then she remembered her digital camera in her purse. She pulled it out and showed the pics she’d snapped at Gretel’s last Taps for Tots session. All 117 of them. I really felt like I was there.
* * *
Woke up at 4:15 this morning, Tupper throwing up again. After some mopping and a walkie, I couldn’t get back to sleep. Dangerous thoughts came to mind. I’d lost Gabriel. Had I expected too much? What if he was my last shot? And what about Tupper? Was he in pain? How much longer did he have? Would I know when it was the right time to take him to the vet one last time? Would I do it? Why was Tim Urban still on “American Idol”? Why was I still watching? And what would I do after “Ugly Betty” was all over? Why didn’t I have a real life?
I tried to deceive myself with happy thoughts. But Häagen-Dazs coffee ice cream only brings a smile when it’s stocked in the freezer. Bland low-fat vanilla frozen yogurt? Meh.
I thought of Lucy’s rage. We all knew it was pathological and needed treatment, but who would dare to bring it up? How did Carl(a) deal with it? I thought of Dad. Weeks (months?) ago, he’d said they were trying to force his retirement. He’d looked despondent. How was he doing? Unlike Lucy, or Mom even, he was so hard to read. Would he open up if I tried to go there or would he just be embarrassed for sharing in the first place and build a taller, thicker wall?
I looked to Tupper for comfort, but he was back to snoring. Oh, to be a dog. Why couldn’t I just vomit?
KEN’S JOURNAL:
WHEN SARA ASKED IF WE COULD MEET @ GRANDVIEW PARK THIS MORNING, I KNEW THERE HAD TO BE TROUBLE. SHE COULDN’T BE IN HER RIGHT MIND—WHY ELSE WLD SHE SUGGEST MTG WHERE WE CLD WATCH DERELICTS SHOOT UP & BEG FOR “BUS FARE”?
I SPED OVER B/C I DIDN’T LIKE THE IDEA OF HER SITTING THERE ALONE, BUT SHE WAS ALREADY ON A BENCH WHEN I PULLED UP. HADN’T EVEN SAT DOWN WHEN SHE SAID, “IF IT COMES TO IT, WLD YOU TAKE IN TRAVIS?”
I REALLY NEEDED TO SIT. “WHERE’D THAT COME FROM?”
“HE & JERRY HAD AN AWFUL WEEKEND. STARTED IN THE CAR ON THE WAY BACK FROM YOUR PLACE.”
“I DIDN’T MEAN TO—”
“NO, IT’S NOT YOU AT ALL. YOU WERE GREAT W/TRAVIS. REALLY! I SHLD’VE CALLED YOU ON THE WEEKEND TO SAY THANKS. THERE WAS JUST SO MUCH GOING ON. I ACTUALLY TOOK ETHAN & RUDY & BELLA TO THE AQUARIUM ON SATURDAY JUST TO GET THEM AWAY. AND ME AWAY. SUNDAY WAS MUCH BETTER. TRAVIS BARRICADED HIMSELF IN HIS ROOM GETTING HIGH & JERRY WAS HOLED UP IN HIS OFFICE.” SHE LOOKED @ ME & HER EYES WELLED UP. “HE’S 13, KEN. HOW DO WE MAKE IT ’TIL 18? IF HE STICKS AROUND THAT LONG. I HONESTLY DON’T KNOW.”
I DIDN’T HAVE ANY ANSWERS. I JUST PUT MY ARM AROUND SARA & SHE LEANED IN & BAWLED. TEARS WERE COMING SO EASILY OF LATE. AND TRAV WAS JUST THE 1ST TO HIT ADOLESCENCE. WHAT CHALLENGES WLD THE OTHER 3 BRING?
AFTER SHE’D CALMED—AN HR LATER!—I KNEW I CLDN’T LEAVE HER ALONE FOR THE DAY. I’D JUST HAVE TO TRUST THAT CARL WASN’T MESSING UP THE RENO, IGNORING ALL MY REQUESTS (“DEMANDS”, AS HE CALLED THEM). I TOOK HER TO VAN DUSEN GARDENS & LUNCH @ SHAUGHNESSY RESTAURANT. SOMETIMES WHEN THINGS GET TOO BIG, A LITTLE RESPITE IS THE BEST YOU CAN HOPE FOR.
Laura’s Log:
You know it’s bad when you sit down with sisters in a packed coffeehouse and, five minutes later, all the surrounding tables are vacant. Lucy came out swinging: “Admit it. You have never been comfortable with the fact I’m a lesbian. And you have a fear that I’m going to turn Gretel that way, too.”
Estelle was flabbergasted, but managed to be articulate. “What you’re right about is I’m not comfortable around you. I know it disgusts you, but I’m uncomfortable about a lot of things. Tiger Woods. Ryan Seacrest. Even—I know this will shock you—Sarah Palin. I don’t care that you’re a lesbian. I care that you’re an angry person—not just an angry lesbian. You’re angry about everything. Laura and I wanted to meet at Starbucks, but going to a big corporate entity would have sent you over the edge. Although you seem to already be there.”
Lucy didn’t hear much of what Estelle had to say. She picked out the “angry lesbian” and went for the jugular. “Listen to you! Demonizing lesbians! We’re all angry! We’re the serial killers in movies! We’re Rosie O’Donnell going ballistic on that cute, petite Elizabeth puppet on ‘The View’.”
Ahem. My turn to step up as mediator. “Listen, let’s just calm down and—”
But Elizabeth was seething. “Yeah, all lesbians are angry. That’s exactly what I said. That Ellen Degeneres, why does she have to be so mean on ‘Idol’?”
A few more heated exchanges and Lucy stormed out. Not a moment too soon. A timid barista was edging toward our table, likely coming to ask us to keep it down. Pretty please. With Lucy’s grand exit, the worker retreated safety behind the counter, no doubt wondering if minimum wage was worth it. (Later, as we were leaving, I tossed an extra Toonie in the tip jar.)
It took Estelle twenty minutes to unwind. Would’ve been longer but then she remembered her digital camera in her purse. She pulled it out and showed the pics she’d snapped at Gretel’s last Taps for Tots session. All 117 of them. I really felt like I was there.
* * *
Woke up at 4:15 this morning, Tupper throwing up again. After some mopping and a walkie, I couldn’t get back to sleep. Dangerous thoughts came to mind. I’d lost Gabriel. Had I expected too much? What if he was my last shot? And what about Tupper? Was he in pain? How much longer did he have? Would I know when it was the right time to take him to the vet one last time? Would I do it? Why was Tim Urban still on “American Idol”? Why was I still watching? And what would I do after “Ugly Betty” was all over? Why didn’t I have a real life?
I tried to deceive myself with happy thoughts. But Häagen-Dazs coffee ice cream only brings a smile when it’s stocked in the freezer. Bland low-fat vanilla frozen yogurt? Meh.
I thought of Lucy’s rage. We all knew it was pathological and needed treatment, but who would dare to bring it up? How did Carl(a) deal with it? I thought of Dad. Weeks (months?) ago, he’d said they were trying to force his retirement. He’d looked despondent. How was he doing? Unlike Lucy, or Mom even, he was so hard to read. Would he open up if I tried to go there or would he just be embarrassed for sharing in the first place and build a taller, thicker wall?
I looked to Tupper for comfort, but he was back to snoring. Oh, to be a dog. Why couldn’t I just vomit?
KEN’S JOURNAL:
WHEN SARA ASKED IF WE COULD MEET @ GRANDVIEW PARK THIS MORNING, I KNEW THERE HAD TO BE TROUBLE. SHE COULDN’T BE IN HER RIGHT MIND—WHY ELSE WLD SHE SUGGEST MTG WHERE WE CLD WATCH DERELICTS SHOOT UP & BEG FOR “BUS FARE”?
I SPED OVER B/C I DIDN’T LIKE THE IDEA OF HER SITTING THERE ALONE, BUT SHE WAS ALREADY ON A BENCH WHEN I PULLED UP. HADN’T EVEN SAT DOWN WHEN SHE SAID, “IF IT COMES TO IT, WLD YOU TAKE IN TRAVIS?”
I REALLY NEEDED TO SIT. “WHERE’D THAT COME FROM?”
“HE & JERRY HAD AN AWFUL WEEKEND. STARTED IN THE CAR ON THE WAY BACK FROM YOUR PLACE.”
“I DIDN’T MEAN TO—”
“NO, IT’S NOT YOU AT ALL. YOU WERE GREAT W/TRAVIS. REALLY! I SHLD’VE CALLED YOU ON THE WEEKEND TO SAY THANKS. THERE WAS JUST SO MUCH GOING ON. I ACTUALLY TOOK ETHAN & RUDY & BELLA TO THE AQUARIUM ON SATURDAY JUST TO GET THEM AWAY. AND ME AWAY. SUNDAY WAS MUCH BETTER. TRAVIS BARRICADED HIMSELF IN HIS ROOM GETTING HIGH & JERRY WAS HOLED UP IN HIS OFFICE.” SHE LOOKED @ ME & HER EYES WELLED UP. “HE’S 13, KEN. HOW DO WE MAKE IT ’TIL 18? IF HE STICKS AROUND THAT LONG. I HONESTLY DON’T KNOW.”
I DIDN’T HAVE ANY ANSWERS. I JUST PUT MY ARM AROUND SARA & SHE LEANED IN & BAWLED. TEARS WERE COMING SO EASILY OF LATE. AND TRAV WAS JUST THE 1ST TO HIT ADOLESCENCE. WHAT CHALLENGES WLD THE OTHER 3 BRING?
AFTER SHE’D CALMED—AN HR LATER!—I KNEW I CLDN’T LEAVE HER ALONE FOR THE DAY. I’D JUST HAVE TO TRUST THAT CARL WASN’T MESSING UP THE RENO, IGNORING ALL MY REQUESTS (“DEMANDS”, AS HE CALLED THEM). I TOOK HER TO VAN DUSEN GARDENS & LUNCH @ SHAUGHNESSY RESTAURANT. SOMETIMES WHEN THINGS GET TOO BIG, A LITTLE RESPITE IS THE BEST YOU CAN HOPE FOR.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
WW III
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You’re the master of compromise, but today you might have to give up more than you like. It’s a good time to throw yourself into selflessness, as the greater good comes first for now.
Laura’s Log:
I got flowers at work this morning. Was Gabriel having second thoughts? No. Alas…and whew. Still confused over the dumping. It was another token of thanks from my coworkers. This time two admin assistants, Duncan and Bonnie. Yesterday, Carmen bought me coffee. Friday, a gang took me to lunch. Seems Derrick was universally despised. No surprise there, but why was I getting the gratitude? It had been Janice who reported him. Nobody seemed concerned with accuracy. The story read better with a peon taking him down.
The great debate was whether Derrick would return. “They should’ve fired him outright.” “Oh, he’ll be back. Nobody does revenge like Derrick.” “He’s all ego. His pride has been shattered. No way he’s coming back.” No bouquet was going to put me at ease—especially given that revenge remark. (It did seem the likeliest scenario.)
* * *
I spent last night fielding phone calls from Lucy and Estelle. Apparently after I’d left Mom and Dad’s on Sunday, Carl(a) showed up and announced that she was starting a new reno on Dunbar, spitting distance from Estelle and Curtis. Lucy said something like, “We’ll have to stop by and check out what you’ve done to Gretel’s room.” And Estelle said nothing.
So began the Cold War.
Beyond the safety of Mom and Dad’s place, Estelle and Lucy didn’t mix. They’d never related to one another. I don’t think they’d ever so much as talked on the phone. Lucy was classic butch, Estelle as prissy as they come. Lucy waffled between NDP and Green; Estelle was an unconditional Conservative. Vegan versus veal.
“I know she’s my sister,” Estelle began, “but she scares me.”
“You’re being ridiculous, Estelle. What’s there to be afraid of?”
“She spews hate. She acts all liberal, but she’s the most intolerant person I know. If you disagree with her about anything—even something like backyard chickens—you’re the enemy. It’s all personal.” After an hour of trying to make the supposedly more flexible Estelle see Lucy in a different light, Estelle dropped the bomb: “I don’t want her to have an influence on Gretel and Sven.”
The fear was deeper than I’d thought.
Lucy wasn’t any easier. She was clearly hurt, but Lucy didn’t do hurt. It manifested in vitriol. “She’s a Harper Harpy. It’s like here’s the party line. Read it, say it. Just don’t think about it. The world revolves around white Yuppie moms and the most pressing issue should be resolving the scheduling conflict over swim lessons and Tap for Tots.”
Not allowing myself to bask in the cease-fire at work, I set up coffee with Lucy, Estelle and me for tonight. How serious could burns be from coffee? Maybe I was worrying too much, but I decided it was worth a Google.
KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
WE GOT THE KEYS TO THE NEW OFFICE YESTERDAY. DON’T OFFICIALLY GET THE LEASE FOR A FEW MORE WEEKS, BUT THE LANDLORD AGREED THAT IT WAS BETTER FOR THE SPACE TO LOOK A LITTLE LIVED IN THAN TO SIT VACANT. CARL STARTED THE RENOVATIONS THIS MORNING AND I’M ON A BREAK RIGHT NOW. NEED TO COOL OFF.
WE STARTED ON A WRONG NOTE WHEN I SAID SOMETHING ABOUT THE ELECTRICAL WORK. CARL LASHED OUT: “WELL AREN’T YOU THE EXPERT!” GRANTED, I KNEW NOTHING ABOUT WIRING. I BACKED OFF BUT THAT SET THE TONE. SUDDENLY CARL WAS TRYING TO SHUT ME OUT OF DECISIONS RE. FLOORING, LIGHT FIXTURES, EVEN THE BRAND OF PAINT.
AS IT TURNS OUT, CARL HAD GOTTEN A DEAL ON LAMINATE. NOT THE HIGH-END LOOK MARTY AND I WERE GOING FOR. WHEN I REMINDED CARL OF OUR PROSPECTIVE CLIENTELE, CARL SHOT BACK, “WHAT?! SOME PEOPLE TOO GOOD FOR FREAKIN’ LAMINATE? YOU’RE NOT GONNA MAKE THEM TAKE THEIR SHOES OFF, ARE YOU?”
BACK AND FORTH. I’D LIKE TO SAY CARL WAS THE ONLY ONE TO GET HOT-HEADED BUT THIS WAS A WHOLE NEW KIND OF HEAT WAVE. FINALLY, I YELLED, “YOU LAY DOWN LAMINATE, YOU’RE FIRED!”
CARL’S RESPONSE: “WOW. WAY TO SHUT DOWN A DISCUSSION,…BOSS.”
DISCUSSION?! I WAS THE CLIENT AND CARL WASN’T LISTENING. NO CHOICE BUT TO BE A DICTATOR (OR DICK-TATOR). WHATEVER.
STORMED OUT AND NOW I’M ON MY SECOND STARBUCKS CAPPUCCINO. NOTHING LIKE A JOLT OF CAFFEINE TO TAKE AWAY THE EDGE.
Laura’s Log:
I got flowers at work this morning. Was Gabriel having second thoughts? No. Alas…and whew. Still confused over the dumping. It was another token of thanks from my coworkers. This time two admin assistants, Duncan and Bonnie. Yesterday, Carmen bought me coffee. Friday, a gang took me to lunch. Seems Derrick was universally despised. No surprise there, but why was I getting the gratitude? It had been Janice who reported him. Nobody seemed concerned with accuracy. The story read better with a peon taking him down.
The great debate was whether Derrick would return. “They should’ve fired him outright.” “Oh, he’ll be back. Nobody does revenge like Derrick.” “He’s all ego. His pride has been shattered. No way he’s coming back.” No bouquet was going to put me at ease—especially given that revenge remark. (It did seem the likeliest scenario.)
* * *
I spent last night fielding phone calls from Lucy and Estelle. Apparently after I’d left Mom and Dad’s on Sunday, Carl(a) showed up and announced that she was starting a new reno on Dunbar, spitting distance from Estelle and Curtis. Lucy said something like, “We’ll have to stop by and check out what you’ve done to Gretel’s room.” And Estelle said nothing.
So began the Cold War.
Beyond the safety of Mom and Dad’s place, Estelle and Lucy didn’t mix. They’d never related to one another. I don’t think they’d ever so much as talked on the phone. Lucy was classic butch, Estelle as prissy as they come. Lucy waffled between NDP and Green; Estelle was an unconditional Conservative. Vegan versus veal.
“I know she’s my sister,” Estelle began, “but she scares me.”
“You’re being ridiculous, Estelle. What’s there to be afraid of?”
“She spews hate. She acts all liberal, but she’s the most intolerant person I know. If you disagree with her about anything—even something like backyard chickens—you’re the enemy. It’s all personal.” After an hour of trying to make the supposedly more flexible Estelle see Lucy in a different light, Estelle dropped the bomb: “I don’t want her to have an influence on Gretel and Sven.”
The fear was deeper than I’d thought.
Lucy wasn’t any easier. She was clearly hurt, but Lucy didn’t do hurt. It manifested in vitriol. “She’s a Harper Harpy. It’s like here’s the party line. Read it, say it. Just don’t think about it. The world revolves around white Yuppie moms and the most pressing issue should be resolving the scheduling conflict over swim lessons and Tap for Tots.”
Not allowing myself to bask in the cease-fire at work, I set up coffee with Lucy, Estelle and me for tonight. How serious could burns be from coffee? Maybe I was worrying too much, but I decided it was worth a Google.
KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
WE GOT THE KEYS TO THE NEW OFFICE YESTERDAY. DON’T OFFICIALLY GET THE LEASE FOR A FEW MORE WEEKS, BUT THE LANDLORD AGREED THAT IT WAS BETTER FOR THE SPACE TO LOOK A LITTLE LIVED IN THAN TO SIT VACANT. CARL STARTED THE RENOVATIONS THIS MORNING AND I’M ON A BREAK RIGHT NOW. NEED TO COOL OFF.
WE STARTED ON A WRONG NOTE WHEN I SAID SOMETHING ABOUT THE ELECTRICAL WORK. CARL LASHED OUT: “WELL AREN’T YOU THE EXPERT!” GRANTED, I KNEW NOTHING ABOUT WIRING. I BACKED OFF BUT THAT SET THE TONE. SUDDENLY CARL WAS TRYING TO SHUT ME OUT OF DECISIONS RE. FLOORING, LIGHT FIXTURES, EVEN THE BRAND OF PAINT.
AS IT TURNS OUT, CARL HAD GOTTEN A DEAL ON LAMINATE. NOT THE HIGH-END LOOK MARTY AND I WERE GOING FOR. WHEN I REMINDED CARL OF OUR PROSPECTIVE CLIENTELE, CARL SHOT BACK, “WHAT?! SOME PEOPLE TOO GOOD FOR FREAKIN’ LAMINATE? YOU’RE NOT GONNA MAKE THEM TAKE THEIR SHOES OFF, ARE YOU?”
BACK AND FORTH. I’D LIKE TO SAY CARL WAS THE ONLY ONE TO GET HOT-HEADED BUT THIS WAS A WHOLE NEW KIND OF HEAT WAVE. FINALLY, I YELLED, “YOU LAY DOWN LAMINATE, YOU’RE FIRED!”
CARL’S RESPONSE: “WOW. WAY TO SHUT DOWN A DISCUSSION,…BOSS.”
DISCUSSION?! I WAS THE CLIENT AND CARL WASN’T LISTENING. NO CHOICE BUT TO BE A DICTATOR (OR DICK-TATOR). WHATEVER.
STORMED OUT AND NOW I’M ON MY SECOND STARBUCKS CAPPUCCINO. NOTHING LIKE A JOLT OF CAFFEINE TO TAKE AWAY THE EDGE.
Friday, January 29, 2010
IF YOU LOOK TOO CLOSE, YOU MIGHT NOT LIKE WHAT YOU SEE
January 29, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You’ve been using a magnifying glass, when what you need is a microscope.
Laura’s Log:
Hmm. Magnifying glass? Microscope? What I really need is a bottle of sleeping pills. Oh, relax. I’m not thinking of an overdose. Sure, getting fired sucks but, truth is, my job wasn’t going to lead me anywhere. It was a dead end position and I needed a kick to get me thinking about a career rather than a job. (Just wish the kick hadn’t come with bionic force from steel-toed boots.) That said, I’m not sleeping well without a little assistance. After hours of tossing and thoroughly confusing Tupper, I got up at three in the morning and took some Nyquil. That put me out of commission, STAT, but then I awakened at 6:30, sweating profusely in soaking wet sheets. I always think that THIS TIME Nyquil won’t give me the nighttime sweats, but it always does. Three plus hours of sleep…it’s a step.
I’m going to take the magnifying glass/microscope advice as a nudge that I need to use technology to assist me in my career search. I certainly don’t want or need to more closely examine my getting the axe or that toxic work environment with Ernesto and the girls. Will not just comb the classifieds in The Vancouver Sun today. I’ll go online. Not sure where to look, but I’m ready for the journey. (Might wander over to an entertainment website or two—you know, for a break. Heard on the radio that Bradley Cooper is getting engaged to Renee Zellweger. The woman goes through engagements like Liz Taylor goes through marriages. Don’t care, but methinks it’s an opportunity to drool over a few more posted pics of his amazing abs.)
Had dinner with Lucy and Carl(a) last night. Carl(a) went with “Carla” for the entire evening so that made things less awkward than usual. Still not thrilled with their incessant PDAs. A hug is fine, but it gets embarrassing when the waiter has to wait for them to get their tongues back in their own mouths. Naturally, it was a vegetarian joint, The Foundation, since the two of them seem to think they’re accomplices to murder if there is meat on the menu. (Still can’t block that ugly incident last time when they walked out of Stepho’s because there was lamb on the menu. A Greek restaurant serving lamb…shocking!)
Lucy, of course, thinks I should sue Hunter Keene’s ass. Carla volunteered to send Ann-Marie a package with a mysterious white substance just to freak her out. As if a terrorist would ever target Ann-Marie. She IS the terror-or, not the terror-ee.
Lucy and Carla then switched gears and tried to persuade me to join their anti-Olympic protests “since you’ve got extra time on your hands”. Yes, a stint in jail would make my résumé stand out from the rest, I suppose. Still, I don’t think it will help me jump from “job” to “career”. I realize there are career criminals, but I feel bad even when I find someone’s quarter in the coin return tray of a vending machine. Somewhere someone has to downsize from a venti to a grande.
Besides, I’d like to see Canada finally win a gold medal at home. And if has to be in luge, I’ll have no problem pretending luge matters.
KEN’S JOURNAL (via Blackberry):
BOOKED ANOTHER SESSION WITH MY THERAPIST AFTER WORK. I DON’T KNOW THAT IT DOES ANY GOOD, BUT I DON’T SEEM ABLE TO WORK THROUGH MY CLARA ISSUES ON MY OWN AND I’VE BEEN LEANING ON SARA AN AWFUL LOT. SHE DOESN’T SAY IT, BUT I FEEL AS THOUGH I’VE BECOME HER FIFTH KID. SHE’S GOT HER HANDS FULL AS IT IS WITH JERRY OUT OF TOWN MORE THAN OFTEN THAN NOT.
PAYING TO VENT IS PATHETIC, BUT—REALITY CHECK—I HAVE BECOME THE PATHETIC SORT. SOME OF MY GUY FRIENDS, LIKE MARTY, DON’T GET MY SUDDEN EEYORE PERSONA. OF COURSE, WHAT DOES MARTY KNOW ABOUT A RELATIONSHIP? I THINK HIS LONGEST WAS A WEEK & THAT WAS JUST B/C SHE TOOK HIM ON A CRUISE SHE’D WON. SUPPOSE HE COULD HAVE JUMPED SHIP BUT MARTY SAID THE FOOD MADE UP FOR HAVING TO BE COMMITTED FOR SO LONG.
“WHAT’S THE BIG DEAL?” JACKY ASKED AT WORK YESTERDAY. “IT’S NOT LIKE YOU WERE MARRIED.” EIGHT YEARS. I ALWAYS SAID WE DIDN’T NEED A FREAKIN’ MARRIAGE CERTIFICATE. AND EVENTUALLY CLARA GOT HER HEAD AROUND THAT. WHEN SHE LEFT, SHE WAS ALL SMILES AND “HAVE A NICE LIFE.” I’M THE ONE WHO FEELS LIKE I’M MUDDLING THRU A DIVORCE. DIDN’T SEE THAT ONE COMING, BUT THEN I DIDN’T SEE HER LEAVING.
MAYBE IT’S GOOD THAT NO ONE’S NIPPING @ MY WORM ON PLENTYOFFISH.COM. MAYBE I AM NOT READY TO MOVE ON. ALL I KNOW IS, I GOTTA STOP THINKING ABOUT CLARA. WLDN’T BE SURPRISED IF MY SHRINK HAS ME COMMITTED. WLDN’T BE SO BAD…AS LONG AS I CAN CATCH THE CANUCKS ON TV.
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You’ve been using a magnifying glass, when what you need is a microscope.
Laura’s Log:
Hmm. Magnifying glass? Microscope? What I really need is a bottle of sleeping pills. Oh, relax. I’m not thinking of an overdose. Sure, getting fired sucks but, truth is, my job wasn’t going to lead me anywhere. It was a dead end position and I needed a kick to get me thinking about a career rather than a job. (Just wish the kick hadn’t come with bionic force from steel-toed boots.) That said, I’m not sleeping well without a little assistance. After hours of tossing and thoroughly confusing Tupper, I got up at three in the morning and took some Nyquil. That put me out of commission, STAT, but then I awakened at 6:30, sweating profusely in soaking wet sheets. I always think that THIS TIME Nyquil won’t give me the nighttime sweats, but it always does. Three plus hours of sleep…it’s a step.
I’m going to take the magnifying glass/microscope advice as a nudge that I need to use technology to assist me in my career search. I certainly don’t want or need to more closely examine my getting the axe or that toxic work environment with Ernesto and the girls. Will not just comb the classifieds in The Vancouver Sun today. I’ll go online. Not sure where to look, but I’m ready for the journey. (Might wander over to an entertainment website or two—you know, for a break. Heard on the radio that Bradley Cooper is getting engaged to Renee Zellweger. The woman goes through engagements like Liz Taylor goes through marriages. Don’t care, but methinks it’s an opportunity to drool over a few more posted pics of his amazing abs.)
Had dinner with Lucy and Carl(a) last night. Carl(a) went with “Carla” for the entire evening so that made things less awkward than usual. Still not thrilled with their incessant PDAs. A hug is fine, but it gets embarrassing when the waiter has to wait for them to get their tongues back in their own mouths. Naturally, it was a vegetarian joint, The Foundation, since the two of them seem to think they’re accomplices to murder if there is meat on the menu. (Still can’t block that ugly incident last time when they walked out of Stepho’s because there was lamb on the menu. A Greek restaurant serving lamb…shocking!)
Lucy, of course, thinks I should sue Hunter Keene’s ass. Carla volunteered to send Ann-Marie a package with a mysterious white substance just to freak her out. As if a terrorist would ever target Ann-Marie. She IS the terror-or, not the terror-ee.
Lucy and Carla then switched gears and tried to persuade me to join their anti-Olympic protests “since you’ve got extra time on your hands”. Yes, a stint in jail would make my résumé stand out from the rest, I suppose. Still, I don’t think it will help me jump from “job” to “career”. I realize there are career criminals, but I feel bad even when I find someone’s quarter in the coin return tray of a vending machine. Somewhere someone has to downsize from a venti to a grande.
Besides, I’d like to see Canada finally win a gold medal at home. And if has to be in luge, I’ll have no problem pretending luge matters.
KEN’S JOURNAL (via Blackberry):
BOOKED ANOTHER SESSION WITH MY THERAPIST AFTER WORK. I DON’T KNOW THAT IT DOES ANY GOOD, BUT I DON’T SEEM ABLE TO WORK THROUGH MY CLARA ISSUES ON MY OWN AND I’VE BEEN LEANING ON SARA AN AWFUL LOT. SHE DOESN’T SAY IT, BUT I FEEL AS THOUGH I’VE BECOME HER FIFTH KID. SHE’S GOT HER HANDS FULL AS IT IS WITH JERRY OUT OF TOWN MORE THAN OFTEN THAN NOT.
PAYING TO VENT IS PATHETIC, BUT—REALITY CHECK—I HAVE BECOME THE PATHETIC SORT. SOME OF MY GUY FRIENDS, LIKE MARTY, DON’T GET MY SUDDEN EEYORE PERSONA. OF COURSE, WHAT DOES MARTY KNOW ABOUT A RELATIONSHIP? I THINK HIS LONGEST WAS A WEEK & THAT WAS JUST B/C SHE TOOK HIM ON A CRUISE SHE’D WON. SUPPOSE HE COULD HAVE JUMPED SHIP BUT MARTY SAID THE FOOD MADE UP FOR HAVING TO BE COMMITTED FOR SO LONG.
“WHAT’S THE BIG DEAL?” JACKY ASKED AT WORK YESTERDAY. “IT’S NOT LIKE YOU WERE MARRIED.” EIGHT YEARS. I ALWAYS SAID WE DIDN’T NEED A FREAKIN’ MARRIAGE CERTIFICATE. AND EVENTUALLY CLARA GOT HER HEAD AROUND THAT. WHEN SHE LEFT, SHE WAS ALL SMILES AND “HAVE A NICE LIFE.” I’M THE ONE WHO FEELS LIKE I’M MUDDLING THRU A DIVORCE. DIDN’T SEE THAT ONE COMING, BUT THEN I DIDN’T SEE HER LEAVING.
MAYBE IT’S GOOD THAT NO ONE’S NIPPING @ MY WORM ON PLENTYOFFISH.COM. MAYBE I AM NOT READY TO MOVE ON. ALL I KNOW IS, I GOTTA STOP THINKING ABOUT CLARA. WLDN’T BE SURPRISED IF MY SHRINK HAS ME COMMITTED. WLDN’T BE SO BAD…AS LONG AS I CAN CATCH THE CANUCKS ON TV.
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