Friday, November 14, 2003
burning question of the day
I watched the munchkin scarf down an errant piece of gum from the sidewalk and I wondered.... when mom told me that gum I swallowed stayed in my tummy for seven years ... would that account for my potbelly? Would the Belly never have existed if only I'd never sucked back all that double bubble as a kid? Could I do a knarly cleanse and have the Belly magically disappear?Day 37 v.2
yj @ 12:25PM | 2003-11-15| the real question is, can you blow bubbles with your bellybutton?
Thursday, November 13, 2003
missing Allegria
There was just a knock on my door and two frantic, but quite goodlooking, men asked me if the could go out on my balcony as they thought their cat had taken a header from the 8th floor. They call her Cirque de Soliel Allegria (obviously, for good reason). So, having just a second of rape/pillage/murder visions I noticed one of them, in his panic, didn't even have shoes on, so I figured they really were owners/tenants and let them in. As they leaned over my balcony, screaming, "Allegria!" "Cirque!" and searching for pawprints - I found myself thanking the pet god in the sky that mine was too large to fit through the railings. They left to search the balcony on the second floor.
I hope they find her.
luckycharm @ 1:29PM | 2003-11-14|
8 floors is an awfully long way to fall. I hope she's okay. I also do the quick murder scene when someone knocks at the door. Actually, since about 10 years ago, when a woman in my city was murdered by the guy there to clean her carpet. Just what you need to hear, huh?
away message
No? Well, I'll be back eventually...
Wednesday, November 12, 2003
actually....
I have to include these emails. Cause it was funny as hell. And even funnier when you realize these people are all VP's.Me: "Someone left an order request (******) in the last hour or so on the Grand and Toy stickie, but the number does not exist in the system. Please let J know what it was exactly you were looking for and what division to charge it to."
Response #1: "It was for my Lear jet. Did they get the shag carpet option added to the order?"
Response #2: "T, you flew your lear jet up to Nova Scotia to see the total eclipse of the sun, you're where you should be all the time, and when you're not, you're with, the wife of a close friend, the wife of a close friend, you're so vain, I bet you think this song is about you, don't you?"
Response #3: "Yes, and have you noticed he's wearing a scarf these days (albeit not silk - guess he paid too much for the lear jet)."
I think maybe I'm not the only one not getting enough sleep around here.
Tuesday, November 11, 2003
good intentions
I had the gumption this morning to do updates, make changes, add some stuff. And then...I made a vacation package spreadsheet for Mexico. Listing what each hotel had, pricing out the cheapest providers across hotels, early booking bonuses, etc. Isn't T lucky that I'm that anal retentive? I want the spa with the bathrobes, the balcony shower and the in room double jacuzzi. *hoping for big bonuses this year* But, maybe we'll not mention the less-stars pool area top-optional one.
And then, watching the snow fall, I remembered that I actually own winter-weight work pants/skirts so I had to go through my closet.
I finished 'Suicide Blonde'. A good example of using too many words to say simple things, words that I think no one ever uses in their mind when they have conversations with themselves. But, strangely, it suited the story and turned out to be quite a good book. A quote....
I like the thought of that.
Day 34 v.2
luckycharm @ 5:23PM | 2003-11-11| T is lucky. You are like my hubby. He does all the homework.
Monday, November 10, 2003
okay, I lied
I just have to say, working for a day, and then getting a day off.....is a wondrous thing.And, I changed my mind about the backgrounds. I think I'll switch them every month or so instead of every couple days and then sticking with my favorite. Just cause....I'm lazy...and effort stretched out over a long time beats effort in more condensed frames.
The new link down over there, GroupHug, is a confession site, so if you're a bit queasy, don't click on it. But, I find this one strangely hilarious.
And one final thought(s) about Saturday night....
The inevitable part of any gathering lately, has been the "how're you feeling?" question, that I both dread the asking of and eagerly anticipate the 'getting out of the way' of. The Tomato, who had knee surgery about 6 months ago, but refuses to stop his weekend sports, had survived softball season intact only to blow it out again last weekend in the first basketball game of the year. With my latest round of testing passed and acknowledged, he turns and looks at me a moment before he speaks. "I feel so badly whining on about my knee when really, it's not going to kill me, and I think about how you never even told us until it was over, and I wonder how you must feel listening to me complain." And, I have to think, it's so hard to explain to him. The best I can do is endeavor to make him understand that it didn't hurt. Not physically, apart from the surgery, and that the painful part was internal, emotional and something that needed to be dealt with privately. That I wasn't trying to shut them out, only come to terms with it myself before sharing it with them. And that it is such a different experience than constantly being in pain 24/7 that he shouldn't even be wasting a moment's thought.
But the simple act of that question being asked makes me realize that in some way, removing myself from the world this last year, has hurt them a little. And although, I think they understand it, I love them for making themselves okay with it.
And this may be a calculating way to think, but after experiencing firsthand how Todd's close friends reacted to him when he was at the end of his life, I know how much more important it is to have those you love there with you at the end rather than at the beginning. And while I hope I'm okay with the knowledge that that may happen to me, my intuition tells me it won't. My biggest fear is that what happened to Todd, will happen to me, and those people I so desperately want and need will turn to each other and say "Well, we weren't really all that close to her anyways," and then go on about their lives without a second thought. Even now, ten years after he died, the memory of those words I heard far too many times, causes my heart to flinch away and my humanity to curl up and sob in the corner.
And on the inhumane side of me - there's a tv commercial on now, with this woman who has lung cancer who worked in a restaurant where everyone smoked, although she'd never been a smoker. And the line that sticks in my head is, "My doctor told me I have a smoker's tumor."
I have some major problems with this ad. One, it's bullshit. Two, she's blaming everyone, she's made herself into a victim. And that may sound really cruel, but I feel I have the right to say these sorts of things. The doctor's don't know. Period. And statements like that from doctors are irresponsible and deceitful. It's like when dad got prostrate cancer and one sibling is convinced it's because he ate red meat and the other equally convinced it's because he smoked and drank. It's just because. Cancer is opportunistic. It just is.
Stop for a second and think about all the people in your life who have cancer this very minute. For my immediate family, which is pretty tiny, out of the nine of us over 30 there's four. This woman is implying that she, her choices, or cancer aren't to blame but all those smokers who forced her to work there. We've known for the last 25 years that smoking is bad for you. She's known all that time. So, why does she all of a sudden become this blameless victim? She's the one, with full knowledge of the dangers, who got up and went to work every day. And don't tell me that she couldn't leave and do something else. I've done it and I've survived and provided for myself, and I've pretty much come out the other side being something I never thought I'd be - content and happy within myself. And sure, it's not easy, but it can be done. They should have stuck with the Barb Turbak commercials, at least she didn't make smokers out to be consciously evil. And you can say that's because she was a smoker herself, but I think it's because she wasn't playing the victim.
*steps down from soapbox and goes to check what's on TV*
s. @ 8:23AM | 2003-11-11| I hate that ad, too! But its a deep, dark secret, because you're not supposed to hate actors who're pretending to have cancer.
Sunday, November 09, 2003
Sunday afternoon
I lay down my book to feel the perfect silence of the room. Not so pristine, for although I cannot hear the traffic outside, there are telltale sounds that the quiet is not inviolate. The dog breathes gently in the entranceway, where she lays on the tile to find comfort for her ancient hips and knees. I can hear a clock ticking over the rush of water in gargoyle Simon's fountain as it labors in vain to inject humidity into the dryness of the air.I realize suddenly that there are five clocks at the end of the living room. Sychronized in time only for a brief spell every minute. It makes me feel disjointed, as if I exist in five different places at once, rather than being present in only one place. One real place.
And I list in my mind how many things I've yet to do in that real place, before picking up my book and continuing to read.
moi @ 9:25PM | 2003-11-09| your life is just so much more vastly interesting than mine; cruising the streets, out partying or just laying there. kisses on your sunday bebe.
analysis
I shouldn't say really that it was a complete waste of time, that's just snarky of me. I love the people I went to actually see, although Nuttall was never around since he's a constant networker. Which is not a bad thing actually, as he was pretty drunk and in touchy feely mode. I got up to go navigate through the 'beautiful' people and stopped by to see him at one point, whereupon he promptly stuck his hand in my top and announced to the world at large that he liked it better when I had breasts. Then, he kindly introduced me to the 4 people standing around him who I'm sure were wondering all kinds of weird stuff. He was kidding, I know, but I'm sure they didn't. I managed to snag an actual seat along the side of the bar, so when I finally returned from the traumatic bathroom trip and recounted the story, we all shook our heads indulgently and move into a discussion about how nice it is to have had friends for so long, that when you get drunk and all your eccentricities become so out of proportion, your friends just smile and adjust themselves accordingly.
I don't know if that's a sign of great friendship or a sign of complete indifference.
I do know that it was bad in my case, and in the Tomato's case. As this indulgence inadvertently fuelled both of our worst issues. I am inordinately proud of the two of us for being there for each other, at least, and (so far) surmounting the obstacles.
I also saw some people I haven't seen in a very long time. "Didn't we last see each other at the Superbowl party where Elway played his last game?" That was, what, 4 years? God, and I've missed him, he's funny as hell, in a kind of shy way, as he does the 80's dances in his seat while we laugh hysterically and the kids all think he's just a loser.
Sitting along the side of the bar felt a bit like we were judges and should be holding up our little scorecards as the people passed by. M and I actually made the motions a couple of times. People watching is such a wonderful thing. There seems to be two sides, the young 20 somethings, who frankly to me, all look alike. Long straight hair, identical clothing and superior attitudes. Then there's the aging beauty queens. Who, either attached or not, are achieving varying degrees of success at catching the eye of the men who seem slightly confused as to which 20 something they were trying to pick up. Their hair is a bit stiffer, a bit bigger, their clothes are just as tight but they don't seem particularly comfortable in them, nor do some of them seem to have friends to check them for appropriateness before they leave the house. They are the people who used to spend 4 nights a week in Cowboys and the Drink, knew all the staff, had VIP cards, back in the heyday. And I guess I'm one of them. Except I have short spiky hair, am usually dressed in some variant of endless boyishness or business casual and am in the bar only thinking of getting back home to the feather bed and a good night's sleep. I had my fun, back in 'the day', but sometimes it's better to leave the party just when you're having the most fun. You know?
But, there were good conversations, I know it meant a lot to Nuttall to have me there and, if I choose to do so, I've reintroduced myself to the endless rounds of parties, wine tastings and functions that these guys all attend.
Since I mentioned that I'd be in Mexico next year for Christmas, it's been decided that I 'owe' 2 nights this year. Christmas Eve is usally the trucking company's brother party and NY Eve is either Blue Rodeo or Tom Cochrane. Although, if Nuttall is hitting BR since he usually attends the Black and White ball, I think I may bail and go with the Tomato to see Tom Cochrane.
I wonder if I can get away with jeans...
I missed 'Queer Eye for the Straight Guy' for this?
So, earlier I figure I'll scoot over to the drugstore next door to get cash then call a cab. They're out of money. So I slide my way two blocks to the Shell station, only to find that the money I put in the account I had the bank card for, hasn't passed it's 5 day hold yet. So, I slide my way back home, call a cab and then go 10 blocks past where I'm going to get to the bank machine I can use to get money out of the other account. With a very bitter cab driver. Who kept yelling about punching people in the face and the number of accidents caused by shitty drivers in this province every year.
Needless to say, by the time I get there, I just want to go home. It doesn't help that in a city of 1 million people with an overabundance of bars, they actually pack in about 20 people per square foot. 20 condescending, rude and not very attactive beefcakes with their mitts wrapped around glasses of wine. (uh, hello?)
And the guy who sat half on me and then kept slamming his elbow into my head...well, that's another story. After tapping him on the shoulder four times, slapping his back and finally smacking him in the back of his head to get his attention, he apologizes, cause he didn't realize he was in my personal space. Like, you thought that solid thing you kept jamming your elbow into was the wall?
I used to enjoy these things much more when I was a drunken idiot too.
Day 32 v.2
