February 18, 2010
Laura’s Log:
No time to check my horoscope for today. Had a panic attack this morning when I thought my car had been stolen. Turns out I had a brain fart last night, parking where I usually do. Unfortunately, I failed to notice the No Parking sign in effect during the Olympics. No fun trying to figure out where my car had been towed. Less fun shelling out the money to get it back. They took no leniency despite the fact I pleaded for a break considering I’m jobless.
I called Marella and sobbed enough to get her to quit work early and meet me for a couple of beers at the Irish House. Didn’t really feel Irish—especially since the band played a Steve Miller Band song. Loved the men’s figure skating later on! Some hot men in the pack. Samuel Contesti has a smile that slays me. Marella spent more time flirting with the frat dude beside her. If he hadn’t kept going back to the concession stand, she would have missed the entire competition. (By my count, dude scarfed down a half dozen hot dogs, two pretzels, a pot pie and four or five beers. No doubt he was disappointed that deep-fried chocolate bars were nowhere to be found.)
Walked home from downtown, making the crawl down Granville as partiers hollered and donned Team Canada jerseys. Amazing atmosphere! Olympic-style Mardi Gras. Vancouver has never felt more alive. So thrilled to be here!
KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
LITERALLY STARTED BITING MY NAILS FOR THE 1ST TIME IN MY LIFE TODAY. CANADA EDGED SWITZERLAND IN A SHOOTOUT. HOW DID IT EVER COME TO THAT?! I SERIOUSLY CAN’T PROCESS ANYTHING ELSE. DOESN’T HELP THAT I WEANED MYSELF OFF THE NAILS AND SWITCHED TO CHOWING DOWN ON EVERY SNACK ITEM I COULD FIND IN THE KITCHEN: CHEESE PUFFS, DORITOS, THREE-YEAR-OLD HALLOWEEN CANDY—EVENTUALLY HAD TO RESORT TO FREEZER-BURNED FRUTCAKE. I’M ASHAMED OF MY BINGE, BUT PROUD TO BE CANADIAN.
Showing posts with label Winter Olympics. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Winter Olympics. Show all posts
Friday, February 19, 2010
Friday, February 12, 2010
TEST RUN DONE...NOW ON WITH THE SHOW!
February 12, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You need to get out there and try something new -- your energy is driving you to make a change! You may find that your people have ideas, but if you think for a few minutes, you're sure to come up with your own.
Laura’s Log:
In light of yesterday’s unfortunate meeting with the ex—so close to V-Day only makes it worse—I decided to change my running schedule this morning. Actually, Tupper had a paw in it. He kept making licking sounds and his bladder noises were louder than his snores so I got up at 5:30 to walk him. Bad precedent perhaps—the Dog Whisperer would not be happy—but I didn’t want to start out cleaning up dog barf yet again. Kinda sets the tone for the day.
By 6 a.m., I was running toward the Granville Street Bridge. Decided the new route could take in all the fenced off Olympic venues around David Lam Park and toward Science World. More runners than I expected, a few hobbling and limping more than jogging. Sad, but you do what you can. So glad it’s not raining considering all the media and tourists in town for the Opening Ceremonies tonight. Forecast calls for rain all weekend. Perfect weather for V-Day—keeps The Haves off the streets!—but not a great Welcome, World! for the Olympics. It is what it is.
Will go to Mom and Dad’s tonight to watch the ceremonies on TV. Plan to carpool with Estelle and Curtis. Mom will need support if Lucy shows up on television in a protest. Obviously, Lucy being Lucy, she’ll be out there screaming about how the Olympics are a corporate glam event, maybe throwing in a Stop the Seal Hunt rant if the cameras find her. A little off topic but, well, that’s Lucy. Mom is worried that all her friends will see video of her daughter arrested and thrown in a police van. As if the way Lucy is happens to be a reflection on Mom’s parenting! I think people will be shocked if Lucy DOESN’T get arrested at some point during the Games. A night in jail is Lucy’s version of a medal.
Don’t know about Marella. As usual, she hasn’t returned anyone’s calls. I’m betting she’s going to the ceremony and keeping it hush-hush under the delusional thinking that you can keep some things from the family. Can’t imagine she’ll stick a Canada flag tattoo on her cheek, but wouldn’t it be nice if there’s a flash of her on screen to counterbalance the imminent Lucy Incident? Mom may be anxious, but I’m looking forward to the show!
KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
MADE ANOTHER GO OF JOGGING THIS A.M. NOT PRETTY. GLAD IT’S STILL DARK AT 6 A.M. LEFT KNEE WAS ONLY MILDLY ANNOYING FOR THE 1ST HALF K. THEN THE PAIN CAME BACK IN FULL FORCE. MANAGED TO DO A LIMP-JOG À LA TERRY FOX, STOPPED & STRETCHED & RAN A BIT MORE. I KNOW IT SOUNDS SEXIST BUT IT STINGS EVERY TIME A WOMAN PASSES ME UP. HEY, MY MALE PRIDE IS VULNERABLE THESE DAYS.
NOT SURE ABOUT THE CEREMONIES TONITE. ARTHUR & LEW ARE DROPPING BY, MARTY TOO. WE MAY WATCH @ THE CONDO BUT CLD BE COOL TO SHAKE UP THE CANUCK VIEWING ROUTINE & TAKE IN THINGS @ DAVID LAM, NOW KNOWN AS “LiveCity YALETOWN”. STILL REMEMBER WATCHING ON TV THE DAY VANCOUVER GOT THE BID. IT’S HERE. LET THE GAMES BEGIN!
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You need to get out there and try something new -- your energy is driving you to make a change! You may find that your people have ideas, but if you think for a few minutes, you're sure to come up with your own.
Laura’s Log:
In light of yesterday’s unfortunate meeting with the ex—so close to V-Day only makes it worse—I decided to change my running schedule this morning. Actually, Tupper had a paw in it. He kept making licking sounds and his bladder noises were louder than his snores so I got up at 5:30 to walk him. Bad precedent perhaps—the Dog Whisperer would not be happy—but I didn’t want to start out cleaning up dog barf yet again. Kinda sets the tone for the day.
By 6 a.m., I was running toward the Granville Street Bridge. Decided the new route could take in all the fenced off Olympic venues around David Lam Park and toward Science World. More runners than I expected, a few hobbling and limping more than jogging. Sad, but you do what you can. So glad it’s not raining considering all the media and tourists in town for the Opening Ceremonies tonight. Forecast calls for rain all weekend. Perfect weather for V-Day—keeps The Haves off the streets!—but not a great Welcome, World! for the Olympics. It is what it is.
Will go to Mom and Dad’s tonight to watch the ceremonies on TV. Plan to carpool with Estelle and Curtis. Mom will need support if Lucy shows up on television in a protest. Obviously, Lucy being Lucy, she’ll be out there screaming about how the Olympics are a corporate glam event, maybe throwing in a Stop the Seal Hunt rant if the cameras find her. A little off topic but, well, that’s Lucy. Mom is worried that all her friends will see video of her daughter arrested and thrown in a police van. As if the way Lucy is happens to be a reflection on Mom’s parenting! I think people will be shocked if Lucy DOESN’T get arrested at some point during the Games. A night in jail is Lucy’s version of a medal.
Don’t know about Marella. As usual, she hasn’t returned anyone’s calls. I’m betting she’s going to the ceremony and keeping it hush-hush under the delusional thinking that you can keep some things from the family. Can’t imagine she’ll stick a Canada flag tattoo on her cheek, but wouldn’t it be nice if there’s a flash of her on screen to counterbalance the imminent Lucy Incident? Mom may be anxious, but I’m looking forward to the show!
KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
MADE ANOTHER GO OF JOGGING THIS A.M. NOT PRETTY. GLAD IT’S STILL DARK AT 6 A.M. LEFT KNEE WAS ONLY MILDLY ANNOYING FOR THE 1ST HALF K. THEN THE PAIN CAME BACK IN FULL FORCE. MANAGED TO DO A LIMP-JOG À LA TERRY FOX, STOPPED & STRETCHED & RAN A BIT MORE. I KNOW IT SOUNDS SEXIST BUT IT STINGS EVERY TIME A WOMAN PASSES ME UP. HEY, MY MALE PRIDE IS VULNERABLE THESE DAYS.
NOT SURE ABOUT THE CEREMONIES TONITE. ARTHUR & LEW ARE DROPPING BY, MARTY TOO. WE MAY WATCH @ THE CONDO BUT CLD BE COOL TO SHAKE UP THE CANUCK VIEWING ROUTINE & TAKE IN THINGS @ DAVID LAM, NOW KNOWN AS “LiveCity YALETOWN”. STILL REMEMBER WATCHING ON TV THE DAY VANCOUVER GOT THE BID. IT’S HERE. LET THE GAMES BEGIN!
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
THE NEED TO PURGE
February 10, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Your home life is somewhat off-kilter right now, but you can tell that it's temporary. Someone needs their space, and if you give it to them, then you should find everything rosier in a day or two.
Laura’s Log:
The past few days have been all about the boyfriends. Not mine, of course. The words Laura and boyfriend seem incompatible.
I did the good thing and called Tamara just to check in and she’d gone from teary to hostile, spewing venom about Edmonton like it was The Other Woman. “The place has black flies. Nothing’ll get rid of them!” “People aren’t serious when they move to Edmonton. Maybe they’re attracted to a better salary, but then they tire of the snow…in May!” Tamara handles anger SO much better than grief. I do pity Andy though. He’s in for it. Should never have given Edmonton a second look.
Dinner last night with Nadia and Bradley. Another big boyfriend reveal. I’d known Bradley a few years ago when I was stupid enough to join a coed volleyball league. Bradley—or Brad, then—was on my team. The guy only wanted to spike the ball. Especially when women were the target. Yep, hard to believe he’d stayed on the market long enough for Nadia to scoop him up. He was the classic Nadia boyfriend: loud, ill-mannered, a total ass. Still, as I waited inside Joey for their late arrival, I tried to imagine a new improved Brad.
Nadia seemed stressed as they walked in. She started to apologize for being fifteen minutes late, but Bradley cut her off. “Nothing can speed up Nadia. Went in and redid her hair like fifteen times. Looked the same every frickin’ time. Only person I know who has to wipe down the counters before going out.”
I waited for Nadia to put him in his place, but she just bowed her head, forced a thin smile when she looked up and then studied the menu like there would be a test on it. We ordered and ever thoughtful Bradley interjected as Nadia chose the seafood pesto linguine. “Can they go easy on the garlic?” he asked the waitress. Then, to Nadia, “You know how bad you reek when there’s too much.”
Whack him! The menu has some weight to it. Let ‘im have it! Self-defense. Nadia just took his cue and switched to the maple salmon.
Dinner was painful. All I wanted to do was ask Nadia what the hell she was doing. Could the real Nadia please come out and play? In the month since I’d last seen her, my friend had gone from feisty to diminutive. I couldn’t eat my meal. It didn’t help that “Badly” dominated the conversation, loudly whining about the Olympics killing his business while he savagely gnawed on ribs, licking his fingers and picking bits out of his teeth. Was this all that was left for single women in their thirties? I wanted to call Tamara and say, “Do it! Move to Edmonton! Don’t let Andy go!” But more importantly, I needed to find a way to get Nadia alone and ask her what the hell she was doing.
Got home to find Tupper had redecorated the apartment. The puddle in the kitchen was nothing new. (Wish I’d turned on the light before wading in it though.) The living room had little piles of vomit scattered about. Chronic renal failure is a bitch. Of course, I was out of paper towels.
Barely slept. Kept hearing sounds, thinking Tupper was getting sick again. Kept worrying about Nadia.
KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
I MAY NEVER GET CLARA COMPLETELY OUT OF THE CONDO. THIS MORNING I PULLED OUT THE PHONE BOOK TO LOOK FOR A PHYSIOTHERAPIST—SEARING PAIN FROM KNEE AT 3 A.M.—AND CAME ACROSS A PHOTO OF US AT WHISTLER & A FRIED TOFU SANDWICH RECIPE SHE’D HANDWRITTEN IN PURPLE INK. (DON’T KNOW HOW I KEPT THAT MEAL DOWN! GUESS WE’LL DO ALMOST ANYTHING FOR LOVE.) TOOK THE PIC & THE PAPER AND RAN THEM THRU THE SHREDDER. I YELLED AS THE MACHINE DID ITS THING. MILDLY THERAPEUTIC.
PLEASE, NO CLARA MEMORIES FOR THE NEXT MONTH. SHE HAUNTS ME.
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Your home life is somewhat off-kilter right now, but you can tell that it's temporary. Someone needs their space, and if you give it to them, then you should find everything rosier in a day or two.
Laura’s Log:
The past few days have been all about the boyfriends. Not mine, of course. The words Laura and boyfriend seem incompatible.
I did the good thing and called Tamara just to check in and she’d gone from teary to hostile, spewing venom about Edmonton like it was The Other Woman. “The place has black flies. Nothing’ll get rid of them!” “People aren’t serious when they move to Edmonton. Maybe they’re attracted to a better salary, but then they tire of the snow…in May!” Tamara handles anger SO much better than grief. I do pity Andy though. He’s in for it. Should never have given Edmonton a second look.
Dinner last night with Nadia and Bradley. Another big boyfriend reveal. I’d known Bradley a few years ago when I was stupid enough to join a coed volleyball league. Bradley—or Brad, then—was on my team. The guy only wanted to spike the ball. Especially when women were the target. Yep, hard to believe he’d stayed on the market long enough for Nadia to scoop him up. He was the classic Nadia boyfriend: loud, ill-mannered, a total ass. Still, as I waited inside Joey for their late arrival, I tried to imagine a new improved Brad.
Nadia seemed stressed as they walked in. She started to apologize for being fifteen minutes late, but Bradley cut her off. “Nothing can speed up Nadia. Went in and redid her hair like fifteen times. Looked the same every frickin’ time. Only person I know who has to wipe down the counters before going out.”
I waited for Nadia to put him in his place, but she just bowed her head, forced a thin smile when she looked up and then studied the menu like there would be a test on it. We ordered and ever thoughtful Bradley interjected as Nadia chose the seafood pesto linguine. “Can they go easy on the garlic?” he asked the waitress. Then, to Nadia, “You know how bad you reek when there’s too much.”
Whack him! The menu has some weight to it. Let ‘im have it! Self-defense. Nadia just took his cue and switched to the maple salmon.
Dinner was painful. All I wanted to do was ask Nadia what the hell she was doing. Could the real Nadia please come out and play? In the month since I’d last seen her, my friend had gone from feisty to diminutive. I couldn’t eat my meal. It didn’t help that “Badly” dominated the conversation, loudly whining about the Olympics killing his business while he savagely gnawed on ribs, licking his fingers and picking bits out of his teeth. Was this all that was left for single women in their thirties? I wanted to call Tamara and say, “Do it! Move to Edmonton! Don’t let Andy go!” But more importantly, I needed to find a way to get Nadia alone and ask her what the hell she was doing.
Got home to find Tupper had redecorated the apartment. The puddle in the kitchen was nothing new. (Wish I’d turned on the light before wading in it though.) The living room had little piles of vomit scattered about. Chronic renal failure is a bitch. Of course, I was out of paper towels.
Barely slept. Kept hearing sounds, thinking Tupper was getting sick again. Kept worrying about Nadia.
KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
I MAY NEVER GET CLARA COMPLETELY OUT OF THE CONDO. THIS MORNING I PULLED OUT THE PHONE BOOK TO LOOK FOR A PHYSIOTHERAPIST—SEARING PAIN FROM KNEE AT 3 A.M.—AND CAME ACROSS A PHOTO OF US AT WHISTLER & A FRIED TOFU SANDWICH RECIPE SHE’D HANDWRITTEN IN PURPLE INK. (DON’T KNOW HOW I KEPT THAT MEAL DOWN! GUESS WE’LL DO ALMOST ANYTHING FOR LOVE.) TOOK THE PIC & THE PAPER AND RAN THEM THRU THE SHREDDER. I YELLED AS THE MACHINE DID ITS THING. MILDLY THERAPEUTIC.
PLEASE, NO CLARA MEMORIES FOR THE NEXT MONTH. SHE HAUNTS ME.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
LUNCH MATTERS
February 2, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Your senses are heightened today, and you are definitely in tune with beauty and your personal aesthetic. It's the perfect day to redecorate, create your own art or discover something new and lovely.
Laura’s Log:
Well, I doodled all over the margin of the classified ads. Très abstract. Rorschach-ian. Bunnies or bombs? That’s as in touch as I’m going to get with my arty side today.
Some of the job postings seemed just as abstract. What’s an “A/R Supervisor”? I suppose, since I don’t know, I don’t have the requisite 3-5 years of A/R experience. Draw an “X” through that one. On the bright side, there’s an office administrator position that pays a whopping $14/hour. If only I had the “preferred” command of the Russian and Ukrainian languages. Sadly, the job section seems to have shrunk and I didn’t find a single ad to pursue. I am pleased to report, however, that smack in the midst of the job ads I found THE contact info for the “Guaranteed, FASTEST pardons, LOWEST prices.” Gives me a better idea of who my competitors are in the current market.
Mom took me to lunch at Nick's Spaghetti House. I fretted that she would lay into me with an agenda of what I needed to do in order to get a new job by tomorrow. Thankfully, my life didn’t even enter into the conversation. She was too consumed by the antics of Marella and Lucy. Thank God for sisters!
“Your sister was on the news last night,” she began as soon as I walked in the restaurant.
“Which one?”
“What do you mean, ‘Which one?’! Lucy, of course. She was in the background, but there she was grinning like an idiot and holding up her SHAME sign about the homeless. Let me say that I do think that those whitening strips she’s using are really working. But, honestly, does she not think about the shame she brings to this family? We have to go about—”
“I’m not ashamed of Lucy.”
“Of course you are, dear. You just don’t realize it.” That’s when I decided to have some wine with lunch. I needed to not realize a whole lot more and pronto. Mom went on blasting Lucy and Carl(a) and the Olympic naysayers and Tony Parsons who “takes too much time off from the news.”
“He’s retired now, Mom.”
“Well, how would I ever know the difference.” And then she paused to allow the patient waitress to finally take our order. It was a suitable transition point to lay into Marella’s smoking, her “reckless sexual shenanigans” and her “unhealthy obsession with work.” Then this golden nugget: “Considering how little a role your father played in raising the lot of you, I don’t how it is that I have not one, but two daughters who think they have a pair of balls in their panties. I’d slice them off myself, but you can’t snip what you can’t see.”
And right on cue came Mom’s spaghetti and meatballs. Bon appetit.
KEN’S JOURNAL (via iPhone):
SWUNG OVER TO THE PACIFIC CENTRE @ LUNCH. DECIDED TO UPDATE MY WARDROBE SO I’LL HAVE SOMETHING I NEVER WORE W/CLARA WHEN I GO OUT WITH MARIBETH. ALREADY EXCHANGED 2 MSGES W/HER ON PLENTYOFFISH. SHE’S 40 BUT LOOKS 28. LIKES HIKING, KAYAKING, SNOWBOARDING & THE CANUCKS. NO MENTION OF PORCELAIN DOLLS ANYWHERE IN HER PROFILE!
DROPPED IN AT HARRY ROSEN & BOUGHT A HUGO BOSS DRESS SHIRT, 2 TIES, & A $325 CASUAL SHIRT BY ETRO THAT THE SALES ASSOCIATE ASSURED ME DIDN’T RESEMBLE A PAJAMA TOP. THE TAB SURPASSED MY MORTGAGE PAYMENT, BUT 1ST IMPRESSIONS ARE KEY. HAVEN’T ASKED HER OUT YET, BUT I’D BETTER STEP UP SOON. WOMEN LIKE MARIBETH DON’T COME ‘ROUND OFTEN.
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Your senses are heightened today, and you are definitely in tune with beauty and your personal aesthetic. It's the perfect day to redecorate, create your own art or discover something new and lovely.
Laura’s Log:
Well, I doodled all over the margin of the classified ads. Très abstract. Rorschach-ian. Bunnies or bombs? That’s as in touch as I’m going to get with my arty side today.
Some of the job postings seemed just as abstract. What’s an “A/R Supervisor”? I suppose, since I don’t know, I don’t have the requisite 3-5 years of A/R experience. Draw an “X” through that one. On the bright side, there’s an office administrator position that pays a whopping $14/hour. If only I had the “preferred” command of the Russian and Ukrainian languages. Sadly, the job section seems to have shrunk and I didn’t find a single ad to pursue. I am pleased to report, however, that smack in the midst of the job ads I found THE contact info for the “Guaranteed, FASTEST pardons, LOWEST prices.” Gives me a better idea of who my competitors are in the current market.
Mom took me to lunch at Nick's Spaghetti House. I fretted that she would lay into me with an agenda of what I needed to do in order to get a new job by tomorrow. Thankfully, my life didn’t even enter into the conversation. She was too consumed by the antics of Marella and Lucy. Thank God for sisters!
“Your sister was on the news last night,” she began as soon as I walked in the restaurant.
“Which one?”
“What do you mean, ‘Which one?’! Lucy, of course. She was in the background, but there she was grinning like an idiot and holding up her SHAME sign about the homeless. Let me say that I do think that those whitening strips she’s using are really working. But, honestly, does she not think about the shame she brings to this family? We have to go about—”
“I’m not ashamed of Lucy.”
“Of course you are, dear. You just don’t realize it.” That’s when I decided to have some wine with lunch. I needed to not realize a whole lot more and pronto. Mom went on blasting Lucy and Carl(a) and the Olympic naysayers and Tony Parsons who “takes too much time off from the news.”
“He’s retired now, Mom.”
“Well, how would I ever know the difference.” And then she paused to allow the patient waitress to finally take our order. It was a suitable transition point to lay into Marella’s smoking, her “reckless sexual shenanigans” and her “unhealthy obsession with work.” Then this golden nugget: “Considering how little a role your father played in raising the lot of you, I don’t how it is that I have not one, but two daughters who think they have a pair of balls in their panties. I’d slice them off myself, but you can’t snip what you can’t see.”
And right on cue came Mom’s spaghetti and meatballs. Bon appetit.
KEN’S JOURNAL (via iPhone):
SWUNG OVER TO THE PACIFIC CENTRE @ LUNCH. DECIDED TO UPDATE MY WARDROBE SO I’LL HAVE SOMETHING I NEVER WORE W/CLARA WHEN I GO OUT WITH MARIBETH. ALREADY EXCHANGED 2 MSGES W/HER ON PLENTYOFFISH. SHE’S 40 BUT LOOKS 28. LIKES HIKING, KAYAKING, SNOWBOARDING & THE CANUCKS. NO MENTION OF PORCELAIN DOLLS ANYWHERE IN HER PROFILE!
DROPPED IN AT HARRY ROSEN & BOUGHT A HUGO BOSS DRESS SHIRT, 2 TIES, & A $325 CASUAL SHIRT BY ETRO THAT THE SALES ASSOCIATE ASSURED ME DIDN’T RESEMBLE A PAJAMA TOP. THE TAB SURPASSED MY MORTGAGE PAYMENT, BUT 1ST IMPRESSIONS ARE KEY. HAVEN’T ASKED HER OUT YET, BUT I’D BETTER STEP UP SOON. WOMEN LIKE MARIBETH DON’T COME ‘ROUND OFTEN.
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.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
DON’T STRESS, ANDY RICHTER! IT’S NOT WORTH THE WRINKLES.
January 26, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): The roadblocks have fallen away, and you’re finally making up for lost time.
Laura’s Log:
Roadblocks. I suppose they’re all around me at work. I can’t connect with any of my coworkers. They’ve all judged me, wrongly of course, but judgment ultimately comes from within and I can’t change their minds. They don’t want to be changed. Ernesto is, with good reason, the tyrannical, ranting boss who must go. When you nix a talk show, you don’t just axe the host; the sidekick must go, too. I’m the Andy Richter.
All I can do is focus on my work, plop what I’ve finished on people’s desks or into their email accounts and move on. I can work around them. I have no choice. Had that epiphany yesterday at 1:08 as the girls sauntered en masse back into the office after lunch. They were loud, even obnoxious, sounding like a drunken posse, whooping it up for the sake of solidarity, daring Ernesto to lay into any of them about punctuality. To see me crumble in front of them would only be a bonus.
Reminded me of sixth grade when Lanie Robinson decided my shoes were an embarrassment to the group and, just like that, I no longer existed to her, Meredith, Melanie or Grace. We never spoke again—except when clueless Mr. Gates forced us together for the occasional group assignment. Back then, it nearly killed me. I’m not going back to sixth grade at my thirty-two. My current desk and chair are way more comfy.
Brought my iPod to work today. Adele and Duffy are rockin’ workmates.
KEN’S JOURNAL (sent via iPhone):
OLYMPICS LESS THAN 3 WKS AWAY. STREET CLOSURES ARE POPPING UP, BUT NOT MUCH OF AN INCONVENIENCE YET. TIRED OF ALL THE PEOPLE WHINING TO THE PRESS. IT’S THE OLYMPICS, PEOPLE. ONCE IN A LIFETIME. CAN YOU CHILL?
OUR NEW DEVELOPMENT IN BURNABY SEEMS TO FINALLY BE A GO. CLEARED THE BIGGEST HURDLES @ CITY HALL YESTERDAY. STILL MORE RED TAPE, BUT I THINK CONSTRUCTION WILL BEGIN IN APRIL. THIS ONE IS MY BABY. WON’T MAKE ME SET FOR LIFE, BUT I’LL BE A HOT REAL ESTATE DEVELOPMENT COMMODITY FOR YEARS TO COME. IT’S FREAKIN’ EXCITING!
WISH MY PERSONAL LIFE WERE LOOKING AS PROMISING. SET UP AN ONLINE PROFILE LAST NIGHT ON PLENTY OF FISH. PROBLEM IS I DON’T HAVE ANY PICS OF MYSELF TO POST. CLARA’S IN THEM ALL AND CROPPING HER OUT DIDN’T HELP. THAT MYSTERIOUS ARM AROUND ME CAN’T PASS FOR A SCARF. TRIED TO TAKE SNAPS OF MYSELF BUT THEY MADE ME LOOK LIKE A DORK…WITH A TON OF WRINKLES ON THE FOREHEAD. HOW’D THEY GET THERE ANYWAY?!
I’M TAKING SARA OUT FOR DINNER TONITE. SHE’S NOT BAD W/THE CAMERA. I NEED HER TO WORK A LITTLE MAGIC. FIRST IMPRESSIONS COUNT, RIGHT?
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): The roadblocks have fallen away, and you’re finally making up for lost time.
Laura’s Log:
Roadblocks. I suppose they’re all around me at work. I can’t connect with any of my coworkers. They’ve all judged me, wrongly of course, but judgment ultimately comes from within and I can’t change their minds. They don’t want to be changed. Ernesto is, with good reason, the tyrannical, ranting boss who must go. When you nix a talk show, you don’t just axe the host; the sidekick must go, too. I’m the Andy Richter.
All I can do is focus on my work, plop what I’ve finished on people’s desks or into their email accounts and move on. I can work around them. I have no choice. Had that epiphany yesterday at 1:08 as the girls sauntered en masse back into the office after lunch. They were loud, even obnoxious, sounding like a drunken posse, whooping it up for the sake of solidarity, daring Ernesto to lay into any of them about punctuality. To see me crumble in front of them would only be a bonus.
Reminded me of sixth grade when Lanie Robinson decided my shoes were an embarrassment to the group and, just like that, I no longer existed to her, Meredith, Melanie or Grace. We never spoke again—except when clueless Mr. Gates forced us together for the occasional group assignment. Back then, it nearly killed me. I’m not going back to sixth grade at my thirty-two. My current desk and chair are way more comfy.
Brought my iPod to work today. Adele and Duffy are rockin’ workmates.
KEN’S JOURNAL (sent via iPhone):
OLYMPICS LESS THAN 3 WKS AWAY. STREET CLOSURES ARE POPPING UP, BUT NOT MUCH OF AN INCONVENIENCE YET. TIRED OF ALL THE PEOPLE WHINING TO THE PRESS. IT’S THE OLYMPICS, PEOPLE. ONCE IN A LIFETIME. CAN YOU CHILL?
OUR NEW DEVELOPMENT IN BURNABY SEEMS TO FINALLY BE A GO. CLEARED THE BIGGEST HURDLES @ CITY HALL YESTERDAY. STILL MORE RED TAPE, BUT I THINK CONSTRUCTION WILL BEGIN IN APRIL. THIS ONE IS MY BABY. WON’T MAKE ME SET FOR LIFE, BUT I’LL BE A HOT REAL ESTATE DEVELOPMENT COMMODITY FOR YEARS TO COME. IT’S FREAKIN’ EXCITING!
WISH MY PERSONAL LIFE WERE LOOKING AS PROMISING. SET UP AN ONLINE PROFILE LAST NIGHT ON PLENTY OF FISH. PROBLEM IS I DON’T HAVE ANY PICS OF MYSELF TO POST. CLARA’S IN THEM ALL AND CROPPING HER OUT DIDN’T HELP. THAT MYSTERIOUS ARM AROUND ME CAN’T PASS FOR A SCARF. TRIED TO TAKE SNAPS OF MYSELF BUT THEY MADE ME LOOK LIKE A DORK…WITH A TON OF WRINKLES ON THE FOREHEAD. HOW’D THEY GET THERE ANYWAY?!
I’M TAKING SARA OUT FOR DINNER TONITE. SHE’S NOT BAD W/THE CAMERA. I NEED HER TO WORK A LITTLE MAGIC. FIRST IMPRESSIONS COUNT, RIGHT?
Sunday, January 24, 2010
MUZZLED
January 24, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE: Frustration can be motivating. Don’t give up -- prove the naysayers wrong.
Laura’s Log:
When things seem hopeless and completely out of control, I turn to an impartial source for guidance: my horoscope. Only today I just want to scream after reading it. Frustration can be motivating. Really? I thought frustration can lead to deep despair. Isn’t that why I’m bothering with astrology in the first place? To be honest, I was hoping it would say something helpful like: “Today is the perfect day to go shopping. Updating your wardrobe makes you ready to conquer the world.”
OK, there is that credit issue from excessive shopping in December. Perhaps the next shopping binge should wait a month (or seven). Hate denying myself an opportunity to buy a new blouse. Suppose it’s not so urgent, given my present social circumstances. Tupper would prefer I throw on the same unwashed sweatshirt with old food stains to sniff anew.
I could just make a quick trip to Oakridge and buy a pair of those adorable red Canadian Olympic mitts. Only ten bucks. But then they only take Visa—personally, I think the Olympic sponsors have a stranglehold over all of us—and that would run counter to my need to rediscover something called a zero balance. (Or is that an urban myth?) What goes up must come down,…right? Damn, no mitts it is. I shall deprive myself of blouse, trendy mitts and name brand groceries until I pay down the credit cards. Or make some headway at least. Why do generic labels always look so ugly? Why not package the cheap stuff in calming colors like mint green and cinnamon instead of traffic-light yellow?
Hey, it seems frustration can be motivating. You astrologers are so wise.
But I’m not giving up lattés. Everyone has a weakness, right? For me, it’s lattés. And Dodger.
KEN’S JOURNAL (via Blackberry):
AT LEAST IT WAS AN AWESOME SUNRISE. STILL, WISH I WEREN’T WAKING UP TO IT ALONE. DEE DEE PARTED WAYS WITH ME IMMEDIATELY AFTER DINNER AT VIJ’S. SURE IT TOOK NINETY MINUTES TO GET A TABLE, BUT I THOUGHT WE WERE REALLY CONNECTING. SURE, SHE DOESN’T KNOW A THING ABOUT THE CANUCKS OR REAL ESTATE OR POLITICS. (“PROROGUING? THAT’S SUCH A FUNNY WORD. ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT SOMEONE IN FAVOR OF ROUGHING IT? I REALLY DON’T LIKE CAMPING.”) AND I CAN’T IMAGINE WHY ANY WOMAN (OTHER THAN A NUN) WLD BE SO PASSIONATE ABOUT MAKING STAINED GLASS WINDOWS AS A HOBBY, BUT SHE WAS HOT.
BUT WE FOUND OUR COMMON GROUND. WE BITCHED ENDLESSLY ABOUT PARKING PROBLEMS WITH THE UPCOMING OLYMPICS. (SURE, I HAVE A RESERVED SPACE AT HOME AND WORK, BUT I CAN MUSTER UP SOME EMPATHY EVERY NOW AND THEN.) AND IT WAS CLEAR THAT NEITHER OF US HAD A CLUE ABOUT LUGE. OR BIATHLON. OR SKELETON. STILL, IT WLD BE A PROUD MOMENT IF CANADA MEDALED IN THOSE (OR ANY) EVENTS.
DESPITE ALL THAT AMAZING CONNECTIVITY, SHE GAVE ME A LITTLE WAVE OUTSIDE THE RESTAURANT AND INSISTED ON WALKING TO HER CAR BY HERSELF. I REALLY WANTED TO BE A GENTLEMAN—YEAH, AND AT LEAST GET A GOODNIGHT PECK—BUT SHE BECAME SWEETLY DEFIANT WHEN I PUSHED THE MATTER. SWEETLY DEFIANT,…NOW THAT’S A NEW ONE. THERE MUST BE TWO HUNDRED & FIFTY WAYS TO SAY NO AND I’VE ONLY EXPERIENCED HALF OF THEM SO FAR. I’M NEVER GONNA FIGURE WOMEN OUT.
SHOULD’VE STAYED HOME & WATCHED CANUCKS TROUNCE CHICAGO.
LIBRA HOROSCOPE: Frustration can be motivating. Don’t give up -- prove the naysayers wrong.
Laura’s Log:
When things seem hopeless and completely out of control, I turn to an impartial source for guidance: my horoscope. Only today I just want to scream after reading it. Frustration can be motivating. Really? I thought frustration can lead to deep despair. Isn’t that why I’m bothering with astrology in the first place? To be honest, I was hoping it would say something helpful like: “Today is the perfect day to go shopping. Updating your wardrobe makes you ready to conquer the world.”
OK, there is that credit issue from excessive shopping in December. Perhaps the next shopping binge should wait a month (or seven). Hate denying myself an opportunity to buy a new blouse. Suppose it’s not so urgent, given my present social circumstances. Tupper would prefer I throw on the same unwashed sweatshirt with old food stains to sniff anew.
I could just make a quick trip to Oakridge and buy a pair of those adorable red Canadian Olympic mitts. Only ten bucks. But then they only take Visa—personally, I think the Olympic sponsors have a stranglehold over all of us—and that would run counter to my need to rediscover something called a zero balance. (Or is that an urban myth?) What goes up must come down,…right? Damn, no mitts it is. I shall deprive myself of blouse, trendy mitts and name brand groceries until I pay down the credit cards. Or make some headway at least. Why do generic labels always look so ugly? Why not package the cheap stuff in calming colors like mint green and cinnamon instead of traffic-light yellow?
Hey, it seems frustration can be motivating. You astrologers are so wise.
But I’m not giving up lattés. Everyone has a weakness, right? For me, it’s lattés. And Dodger.
KEN’S JOURNAL (via Blackberry):
AT LEAST IT WAS AN AWESOME SUNRISE. STILL, WISH I WEREN’T WAKING UP TO IT ALONE. DEE DEE PARTED WAYS WITH ME IMMEDIATELY AFTER DINNER AT VIJ’S. SURE IT TOOK NINETY MINUTES TO GET A TABLE, BUT I THOUGHT WE WERE REALLY CONNECTING. SURE, SHE DOESN’T KNOW A THING ABOUT THE CANUCKS OR REAL ESTATE OR POLITICS. (“PROROGUING? THAT’S SUCH A FUNNY WORD. ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT SOMEONE IN FAVOR OF ROUGHING IT? I REALLY DON’T LIKE CAMPING.”) AND I CAN’T IMAGINE WHY ANY WOMAN (OTHER THAN A NUN) WLD BE SO PASSIONATE ABOUT MAKING STAINED GLASS WINDOWS AS A HOBBY, BUT SHE WAS HOT.
BUT WE FOUND OUR COMMON GROUND. WE BITCHED ENDLESSLY ABOUT PARKING PROBLEMS WITH THE UPCOMING OLYMPICS. (SURE, I HAVE A RESERVED SPACE AT HOME AND WORK, BUT I CAN MUSTER UP SOME EMPATHY EVERY NOW AND THEN.) AND IT WAS CLEAR THAT NEITHER OF US HAD A CLUE ABOUT LUGE. OR BIATHLON. OR SKELETON. STILL, IT WLD BE A PROUD MOMENT IF CANADA MEDALED IN THOSE (OR ANY) EVENTS.
DESPITE ALL THAT AMAZING CONNECTIVITY, SHE GAVE ME A LITTLE WAVE OUTSIDE THE RESTAURANT AND INSISTED ON WALKING TO HER CAR BY HERSELF. I REALLY WANTED TO BE A GENTLEMAN—YEAH, AND AT LEAST GET A GOODNIGHT PECK—BUT SHE BECAME SWEETLY DEFIANT WHEN I PUSHED THE MATTER. SWEETLY DEFIANT,…NOW THAT’S A NEW ONE. THERE MUST BE TWO HUNDRED & FIFTY WAYS TO SAY NO AND I’VE ONLY EXPERIENCED HALF OF THEM SO FAR. I’M NEVER GONNA FIGURE WOMEN OUT.
SHOULD’VE STAYED HOME & WATCHED CANUCKS TROUNCE CHICAGO.
Friday, January 22, 2010
A CHILL IN THE AIR
January 22, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Your face is a photograph of your feelings. Vulnerability is your strength.
Laura’s Log:
Cute barista’s name is Dodger. He asked my name for my latté order and I said—get ready to cringe—“I’ll tell you mine, if you tell me yours.” I smiled bravely through the whole exchange as the guy behind me impatiently went through an episode of odd throat clearing noises. (He should really give up smoking or knock it down to just three packs a day.) Dodger. Even the name is adorable. Adopting a cockney accent, he explained, “Me mum got a thing for Dickens.” All I know is I want me some more. Please, sir.
And that’s where the fun stopped. I was welcomed with hideous glares from Ann-Marie and her entire entourage, which seems to be everyone but Ernesto and me. I’m guessing they got together for drinks (arsenic?) after work last night and took a vote. It’s unanimous, then. Laura is sleeping with the boss. She’s going down on him. Bad choice ‘cuz he’s just going down.
“Good morning, Donna.” Grunt.
“Hello, Laverne.” Sneeze?
“How was your daughter’s birthday, Amy?” Dunno. Suddenly urgent need for Amy to turn, grab the phone and reorder toilet paper for the office. I suppose that could be a dire concern.
Poor Hester Prynne. I feel your pain.
9:35 Ernesto summoned me to his office. Closed the door. Thank god it’s a windowless cave. (Looked up to scan for tiny spy camera. Not sure what to look for.) “What’s going on out there?”
Time for me to be the dodger. “Oh, it’s just last minute preparations for the Olympics, I guess. Don’t you like the Royal Bank’s new look?”
“Not outside. In the office. I’m getting a sense something’s about to boil over.”
“Yes. I think you’re right.” I paused. Ernesto wasn’t a good boss. He was crass, lewd, insensitive. But what I couldn’t handle was he was a yeller. If something went out five minutes late or a power outage (like on Monday) meant he couldn’t proceed with online Scrabble, he’d swing into a tirade berating every worker in sight as well as the Harper government, Oprah and everything blue in “Avatar”. (I agreed with respect to “Avatar”, but there were better ways to make one’s point. No?) Katherine once asked, “What’s the matter with your boss? Always seems to be in recovery from laryngitis.” If only.
Ernesto continued to stare at me, waiting for more. Never had a poker face. Clearly, I knew more. I had no feeling of loyalty to anyone. Not to Ernesto. Even at his best, he’d basically poisoned poor Tupper. Not to the girls—gosh, why “the girls” anyway? I was the youngest at 32. When would we be the women? How could I side with them when they’d decided without a shred of evidence that I was a slut? A slut with remarkably bad taste.
And for a second time in the day I heard throat clearing. Spill it, Nebergall. “They’re working to get you fired. Sexual harassment, sir. And they think we’re sleeping together.”
It was the last statement that seemed to horrify him most.
KEN’S JOURNAL (sent via iPhone):
HALF A MILLION?! THAT’S HOW MUCH GIL WANTED ME TO INVEST IN UNTITLED FILM PROJECT THAT MIGHT HAVE MEG RYAN ON BOARD. HALF A FUCKING MILLION! OR MORE. NEARLY CHOKED ON MY STEAK. (THANKFULLY DIDN’T. DAMN THAT PIECE OF MEAT WAS TOO GOOD TO WASTE!) SURE, VANCOUVER REAL ESTATE HADN’T TAKEN THE HIT LIKE IN OTHER AREAS, BUT I DIDN’T HAVE THAT KIND OF CASH EVEN DURING THE BOOM. BALLSY OF GIL TO ASK. BALLSY AND FUCKING STUPID.
CAUGHT END OF CANUCKS GAME. WELLWOOD SCORES! DON’T KNOW WHY, BUT I LIKE YA, MAN. STILL DON’T THINK IT’S ENUF TO KEEP HIM AROUND. HOW YOU LIKE MOOSE, KYLE? AWFUL CHILLY IN MANITOBA.
CLARA’S SISTER WANTS TO COME BY TONITE TO CLEAR OUT THE REST OF CLARA’S THINGS. SEEING BESS ALMOST AS BAD AS SEEING CLARA. BESS WAS POISON TO OUR RELATIONSHIP. “YOU CAN DO BETTER, CLARA.” “WHAT DO YOU SEE IN HIM?” AND, LINE FROM JANET JACKSON, “I KNOW HE USED TO DO NICE STUFF FOR YOU, BUT WHAT HAS HE DONE FOR YOU LATELY?” YEAH, PACK IT UP, YOU VENOMOUS BITCH. AND DON’T GIVE ME NO SHIT ABOUT THE PORCELAIN DOLLS. IT’S JUST CRUEL TO DUMP A GUY AND LEAVE HIM TO STARE @ A FREAKIN DOLL COLLECTION FOR THREE MONTHS. SCALPED, YEAH. CLD’VE BEEN MUCH WORSE. BELIEVE ME.
WON’T GIVE BESS THE SATISFACTION OF SEEING ME EVEN GLARE @ HER. I’LL BE COMPLETELY STOIC. YEAH, TELL CA CLARA I’VE TURNED TO STONE.
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Your face is a photograph of your feelings. Vulnerability is your strength.
Laura’s Log:
Cute barista’s name is Dodger. He asked my name for my latté order and I said—get ready to cringe—“I’ll tell you mine, if you tell me yours.” I smiled bravely through the whole exchange as the guy behind me impatiently went through an episode of odd throat clearing noises. (He should really give up smoking or knock it down to just three packs a day.) Dodger. Even the name is adorable. Adopting a cockney accent, he explained, “Me mum got a thing for Dickens.” All I know is I want me some more. Please, sir.
And that’s where the fun stopped. I was welcomed with hideous glares from Ann-Marie and her entire entourage, which seems to be everyone but Ernesto and me. I’m guessing they got together for drinks (arsenic?) after work last night and took a vote. It’s unanimous, then. Laura is sleeping with the boss. She’s going down on him. Bad choice ‘cuz he’s just going down.
“Good morning, Donna.” Grunt.
“Hello, Laverne.” Sneeze?
“How was your daughter’s birthday, Amy?” Dunno. Suddenly urgent need for Amy to turn, grab the phone and reorder toilet paper for the office. I suppose that could be a dire concern.
Poor Hester Prynne. I feel your pain.
9:35 Ernesto summoned me to his office. Closed the door. Thank god it’s a windowless cave. (Looked up to scan for tiny spy camera. Not sure what to look for.) “What’s going on out there?”
Time for me to be the dodger. “Oh, it’s just last minute preparations for the Olympics, I guess. Don’t you like the Royal Bank’s new look?”
“Not outside. In the office. I’m getting a sense something’s about to boil over.”
“Yes. I think you’re right.” I paused. Ernesto wasn’t a good boss. He was crass, lewd, insensitive. But what I couldn’t handle was he was a yeller. If something went out five minutes late or a power outage (like on Monday) meant he couldn’t proceed with online Scrabble, he’d swing into a tirade berating every worker in sight as well as the Harper government, Oprah and everything blue in “Avatar”. (I agreed with respect to “Avatar”, but there were better ways to make one’s point. No?) Katherine once asked, “What’s the matter with your boss? Always seems to be in recovery from laryngitis.” If only.
Ernesto continued to stare at me, waiting for more. Never had a poker face. Clearly, I knew more. I had no feeling of loyalty to anyone. Not to Ernesto. Even at his best, he’d basically poisoned poor Tupper. Not to the girls—gosh, why “the girls” anyway? I was the youngest at 32. When would we be the women? How could I side with them when they’d decided without a shred of evidence that I was a slut? A slut with remarkably bad taste.
And for a second time in the day I heard throat clearing. Spill it, Nebergall. “They’re working to get you fired. Sexual harassment, sir. And they think we’re sleeping together.”
It was the last statement that seemed to horrify him most.
KEN’S JOURNAL (sent via iPhone):
HALF A MILLION?! THAT’S HOW MUCH GIL WANTED ME TO INVEST IN UNTITLED FILM PROJECT THAT MIGHT HAVE MEG RYAN ON BOARD. HALF A FUCKING MILLION! OR MORE. NEARLY CHOKED ON MY STEAK. (THANKFULLY DIDN’T. DAMN THAT PIECE OF MEAT WAS TOO GOOD TO WASTE!) SURE, VANCOUVER REAL ESTATE HADN’T TAKEN THE HIT LIKE IN OTHER AREAS, BUT I DIDN’T HAVE THAT KIND OF CASH EVEN DURING THE BOOM. BALLSY OF GIL TO ASK. BALLSY AND FUCKING STUPID.
CAUGHT END OF CANUCKS GAME. WELLWOOD SCORES! DON’T KNOW WHY, BUT I LIKE YA, MAN. STILL DON’T THINK IT’S ENUF TO KEEP HIM AROUND. HOW YOU LIKE MOOSE, KYLE? AWFUL CHILLY IN MANITOBA.
CLARA’S SISTER WANTS TO COME BY TONITE TO CLEAR OUT THE REST OF CLARA’S THINGS. SEEING BESS ALMOST AS BAD AS SEEING CLARA. BESS WAS POISON TO OUR RELATIONSHIP. “YOU CAN DO BETTER, CLARA.” “WHAT DO YOU SEE IN HIM?” AND, LINE FROM JANET JACKSON, “I KNOW HE USED TO DO NICE STUFF FOR YOU, BUT WHAT HAS HE DONE FOR YOU LATELY?” YEAH, PACK IT UP, YOU VENOMOUS BITCH. AND DON’T GIVE ME NO SHIT ABOUT THE PORCELAIN DOLLS. IT’S JUST CRUEL TO DUMP A GUY AND LEAVE HIM TO STARE @ A FREAKIN DOLL COLLECTION FOR THREE MONTHS. SCALPED, YEAH. CLD’VE BEEN MUCH WORSE. BELIEVE ME.
WON’T GIVE BESS THE SATISFACTION OF SEEING ME EVEN GLARE @ HER. I’LL BE COMPLETELY STOIC. YEAH, TELL CA CLARA I’VE TURNED TO STONE.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)