Saturday, October 23, 2004
I am no longer the one people stare at in public
OR
Such a Feral Hippie Cutie
I had left it up to Matt if he wanted to tell his friends where we'd been the other day and he made the choice to tell them we'd gone for a facial and manicure. Silly boy.We're at the bike shop surrounded by all these manly men poking notsogentle fun in his direction, until finally one of them hands him an umbrella and dubs him "Mattie Poppins".
Honestly he just sets himself right up. Friend Steve says, "We're going to FrightNight at the PNE tonight, what're your plans, do you want to come?" Without a thought, Matt says, "I think we're staying in to do my hair." Dead silence broken only by me trying desperately and unsuccessfully not to snort from behind my hand.
Off to eat my dinner and watch a movie (we got Bob & Doug - Strange Brew - CLASSIC Canadian movie).
We're ear candling tomorrow (may as well girlie out for the entire weekend) and then I am heading back 'home' to that place I live for a few more days.
Until then, the progression of hair dreading yesterday.
braids to kink it all up
Mr. Fuzzy Head
Dread completion, step one, beeswax and backcombing to 'fake' it until
they have time to bind themselves.
Friday, October 22, 2004
The Longest Possible Distance Between Two Points
I'm sorry, I realize that these two men had a worse day than I ever could have but the simple fact is that in an area of roughly 3 million people, on the day I had a JOB INTERVIEW WHICH I COULD ONLY GET TO BY USING ONE OF THESE TWO BRIDGES, the stupid motherfuckers decide to off themselves.They're both fine, more's the pity, but it can't be a good feeling to have that many people loathe you - one of Matt's friends, who should have been at work at 8:30 - finally got there at 2:30, because he couldn't even turn around to go home. And don't even get me started on what I think of jumpers during rush hour and their desire to actually kill themselves as opposed to a little attention grabbing.
I mean, c'mon, don't even bother to insult my intelligence by implying that wasn't totally planned. Seriously.
What normally would have taken two ferry rides and a round trip total of 8 hours, yesterday cost me four missed ferries, 250 miles of extra driving and a grand total of 14 hours. At a job interview I was exactly THREE POINT FIVE hours late for.
I'll come back and tell you all about it some other time but I shall just leave you with that lingering feeling of awe at the serendipity of my life until I can do so.
And a little bit of jealousy that I may have just had the BEST EXCUSE EVER for being late.
But, I have a boy with tiny little braids all over his head (his hairs a bit fine for dreads so we're trying to kink it up a little for better traction) sitting on the couch drinking a smoothie while I look at him and think, "wow, that's girlie, if I just hadn't had sex with him twice looking like that, I'd think there was something wrong with him." HA. *snort* *guffaw* I kill me.
Anyways, have to get the braids out as I am SO not going to the spa with him looking like that.
There will be pictures later too. Be afraid. Be very afraid.
Tuesday, October 19, 2004
I thought I should include the picture that 'started' that whole thing.
Meet Mr. SweatySweat.
Acceptance, some thoughts
Alright, so if you haven't guessed by now - I'm going away on a plane tomorrow. For a job interview, a spa day, a hair dreading and some other fun stress relieving things I shall not mention.I may blog from Mattie's or I may not - I may post a picture of the dreadlocked boy so you can all see how bad my styling skills are. Heehee. So, just pretend that I am gone until Monday. And since I have 8 million things still to do before leaving tomorrow, I cannot stay and talk to you. I sorry. But here's the post I promised. Well, one of them anyways. Take care, all.
I've been thinking about acceptance the last few days. What we accept in those around us. What we expect from those we care about.
Having lately worked with people who had absolutely no understanding of how I can put up what they consider to be an unattractive picture of M2 that he's emailed or be okay with him not wanting to wash his hair or dread it is something they used to pick on me for.
T2 would never send a 'girl' he liked what he considered to be an unattractive picture.
JB could never be with anyone who didn't wash their hair every day.
SD would never date anyone without knowing their salary.
PR would never look twice at someone unless she knew everyone else was looking at him too.
I wonder what happened to us all along the way.
If you are the perfect person who only does what you think the other person wants, so that they love you or stay with you or like you - rather than being yourself - then what happens when inevitably you ARE yourself?
And who do they love, then? If it's not you then what's the point?
I remember a line in a book (Suicide Blonde, Darcy Stenke) that went “Once you see your lover doing something you cannot talk to them about, then that is the end of the relationship."
I'm not saying that I haven't made an effort to act like a lady / normal human being / someone I'm not - but never - not in 15 years, in not one single case - has anyone I've ever done that around as a date lasted more than two weeks.
Just because I don’t believe in it or am unable to sustain it, it doesn't mean I don' t try once in a while. Mostly because I've only ever met two or three men who would actually accept me for the person I am. Men who think the person I am is interesting and cool and fascinating. But, that's rare and sometimes, it's nice to not be alone. Sometimes, you start to think that you could actually just subdue your self for a little while if that will get you what you want.
But, it never gets you what you want. Not if you want love and self-respect and happiness. ‘Alone’ is a matter of definition. I would rather be alone with the self that’s real than surrounded by people who have no idea who I am.
I know for a fact that a couple of the guys I worked for are men whom their wives have never actually met. Or met only briefly. And, really, they're not bad guys. In fact, I absolutely adore a couple of them.
But, which is the real one? Is it at-home guy? Is it the guy I know? Who? Which one? And then, that leads me to wonder if I even want to be friends with someone when I know that about them.
Things that are perfectly acceptable in our friends, whom sometimes we love more than anyone else, suddenly become unacceptable things in those we date. Is that because we perceive them as a reflection of ourselves? "Ew, look at what he's wearing / doing / saying - Jen, what is wrong with you? He's your boyfriend, why can't you get him to....."
I have that picture of M2 up because I like it. Because it's M2, exactly M2, and nothing else.
He is who he is. Which is why I like him. I am who I am. Which is why he likes me. Simple as that. I don't care what he does, what he says, what he wears, how old he is, what *you* think. In fact, he can do whatever the hell he wants - chances are I'll be standing right beside him, thinking he's fabulous.
That doesn't mean I LIKE the ugly pictures he has of ME. But it also doesn't mean I'm going to search them out and destroy them when he's not looking. I've seen friends do that. It's frightening and sad all at the same time. If I look at those pictures and make an effort to see what *he* sees, then how can I hate them? Because *I* think they're ugly? I should really get over that.
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Something is beautiful only because someone else sees it as being beautiful. I could go on but what it comes down to is that I have no right to tell anyone what they should think is beautiful and no one on this earth has the right to tell me that. Finito. End. That's it, there's really no other room for debate. If you think something is ugly and I think something is beautiful, then so be it. I don't care what *you* think. I care about what *I* think.
I tried to explain to JB that I thought that she'd meet someone eventually where those things didn't matter. She was genuinely appalled so, somehow, I don't think she ever will. And it’s not because she’s ‘young’. She’s 29, three years older than M2. It’s because she will always be more concerned about what other people, even complete strangers, think than what she herself feels.
Which is really sad because that trust and that freedom to be exactly who you are is the single most precious thing you can give someone. Or get from someone.
I know this because I have been blessed to experience it, however briefly, more than once. So, I know how it feels. I know it's possible. I know I'll never settle for anything less.
But, hang five, I don’t want to offend anyone so I’m off to find a boyfriend who is a outwardly polite nicely groomed politically acceptable paragon of pleasing appearance with a neat, freshly washed coiffure who publicly and obviously loves his non-tattooed politically correct girlfriend who speaks in a soft humble tone and wears twinsets.
It doesn’t really matter if those twinsets happen to cover the bruises he inflicts when no one can see him.
And suddenly I realize, unacceptable hair on a boyfriend who sends an email at midnight that ends with “I’ll see you in my dreams.” Oh my god. What the hell was I thinking? We should kill him before he infects the others.
Monday, October 18, 2004
Plotted, stacked, packed
At least partially. But because I am laying on the floor and this is hard on my back you will not be getting pictures.Went to see LFD today - all tests back and good and wonderful. He's upset though, that I'm leaving. Got up and threw his arms around me. I may even have seen him tearing up. He's so cute.
Interview confirmed, ferry reservation made, paint to cover the hair dye klutzy Jen flings about in the bathroom purchased. I stopped for what may be my final coffee at BadAss, picked up a giftie or three for M2 and slogged through the 3 cm of snow home again.
Our spa is Le Petit and we now have... well, here, cut and paste so I do not have to type.
he:Oh yeah, what was the name of the facial and manicure that I would be booking for the lovely lady?
(not sure who he was talking about but I answered him anyways)
me: You'll have to ask them cause the first one says they tailor it (BKamins is a type of product)so that would make it the same as the second one? Do not know the difference. Tell them I'm old with combination skin so losing the first five layers of skin to look 5 years younger would be nice. (kay, maybe skip that last bit).
he: OK, so we are booked into the spa on Friday starting at 12:15. I tried for around ten, but that would have meant we would have a 1 hour break between facial and manicure (I can't beleive the number of times I have said facial/manicure today, next thing you know I'll be ordering lattes and saying "oh my god" with a lisp) which I figured wouldn't be so good/relaxing. With the 12:15 start, we are doing them back to back.
No offense intended to those who drink lattes and talk with a lisp (actually on second thought - I order chai lattes and have a slight 'ch' problem. he's a crafty one, isn't he?)
Back hurting. Going away now. Cheers.
Brief
M2 has just sent me the dimensions of Betsy (the car) in the hopes that I can compact my life down enough to fit in there as opposed to paying $380 I can't afford to rent the minivan. Plus the $100 I was going to ship UPS. But, even if I ship $300 worth of stuff and get the rest in the car - that's still a $180 savings.Of course, he thinks in metres, so I have to convert to inches first. And because I cannot sleep, I have plotted the dimensions in tape on the living room carpet, measured the different sizes of containers and have just (very scientifically) plotted the best way to pack it in. Theoretically. I now actually have to pack and stack and then start all over again because I'm sure more stuff has to go.
Computers, cats and plants are big space wasters, however necessary they may be.
I have searched and chosen the spa and picked the treatments we're getting but will come back with that tomorrow when all my chores and errands are done. Seems a bit silly to let M2 spend $200 on something as frivolous as a day-spa but a) it's my 'reward' for quitting smoking and b) the stress relief will be priceless at this point and c) what sort of fool would I be to say, "Nooo, Mattie, I'd much rather have you give me that money so I can ship predominantly useless bits of paper and those shirts I haven't worn in 7 years to the island that will have to be thrown out six months from now anyways."
And so, now come the harder choices.
Sunday, October 17, 2004
Ty-erd
Oh god, Vanessa, I do not know. I am not even contemplating the massive messy fuckup-ed-ness of this portion of my life until the fuckwit calls tomorrow.Although I only sold about 40% of my stuff (based on the amount of boxes I had left when the rest of it was packed up), and the rest had to be hauled home because the Women In Need shoppy wasn't open (or they knew it was me and did not want to answer the phone) I am now $300 "richer" than I was before two days spent in a freezing cold garage in subzero temperatures selling off all that I own and sitting there mostly alone. I say mostly alone because in a total of 12 hours - only about 15 people came in.
One point two five people an hour. Each spending roughly 20 bucks.
You figure these things out when you have all that time on your hands.
Today, it was -9 when I left the house and -5 and snowing for most of the day.
And although I feel as unproductive as all get-the-hell-out, I suppose it was worth it.
And many thanks to Philly (as I was frantically calling people at 11 am and begging for a space heater on Saturday morning about the time I could no longer feel my feet) for her suggestion to run home quickly, poke some holes in a couple potatoes, zap them in the microwave and put them in my pockets. Yeah, thaaaaaaanks.
Shari came through with (among other lifesaving and big-hearted things) a space heater about 3 pm but in the interim I had gone home and unpacked a couple boxes to pick up a heating pad. Which I then sat on most of the day, alternating with stuffing it up my shirt and holding it over my face.
Last night my face started to hurt. I think it's wind chapped or frost-nipped or just plain angry with me.
Whatever. It's just going to have to get over it.
Preferably before I go to bed. In five minutes.
And just to illustrate a point. Of some sort, because I'm not sure what point I'm trying to make but I'm sure I will come up with one before I'm done typing - - - the lovely Amber (from Makeshift Daisy, which I am too tired to put here as a link but is over there in the list) came by to meet me yesterday, bearing gifts.
Which makes her even more fabulous then I was previously certain of.
Remarking that I was off to a hot bath prompted her to say something like (I was tired and may not have been even making sense at that point) "And you can use one of those lovely bath bombs that are in your bathrooom." Which frankly was a fabulous idea because where I am going I do not have a bath-tub.
But, just for a second there, my mind went completely blank except for the voice screaming "USE THEM? USE THEM? ARE YOU MAD? DANGER, DANGER, WILL ROBINSON."
Ahhh, my point, there it is - the reason I have so many things is because I buy wonderful things for myself and never use them. Because then they would be gone, you see. They would be gone and there would no longer be the possibility of utilizing their loveliness. Some of those bath bombs, I've had for five years. I should be throwing birthday parties.
Don't even get me started on the candles. It can be pointed out, and I'm sure someone will, that - in the case of some of my things, like the candles - by not using them I have now had to sell them and therefore have forever lost out on the pleasure they were created for, as well as the money I have spent on them.
I've never pretended to be rational.
I did however, use one of them last night. And it barely caused any mental anguish at all. Who knew?
