taking inventory

People always view the end of the year as a chance to start fresh with a new year and think about what they'd like to change in their lives. Not me. I like to evaluate how many people will come to my funeral.

I've been doing this since I was a little kid, probably about 7 or 8, when I started having major existential crises. That was when I started waking up in the middle of the night, wondering how I could prove I exist and trying to convince myself that other people were alive and not just a figment of my imagination. I'd sit down and try to think of who would come to my funeral if I were dead the next day, and depending whether or not my siblings were angry at me, my numbers would be pretty low. My parents were the only ones that were always on the list.

Even still, the only people that I know would come to my funeral are my parents. For everyone else, I know that it's not a given; stuff comes up, people have family priorities or work or something. And that comes to mind every New Years, that as long as my parents are alive, they're my only sure thing. I'm glad to have them, that we have a good relationship and that their health is good. I try not to think about what will happen when something happens and they're no longer there. Sometimes it's really hard to avoid.

Which is why I take inventory of how many people I'm still on speaking terms with and the degree to which they seem to like me. Whether or not they might like me enough to come to my funeral. And going into the new year, if I've survived the holidays in one emotional piece, I try to make efforts to catch up with people I haven't talked to for a while or make plans to visit people nearby that I don't see often.

This year I'm not sure I want to do the inventory because I'm afraid to learn the results. Sometimes it's just easier to hide under the covers and pretend everything is fine.

oh, boo

I'm feeling a little sulky today. After getting myself to bed at a decent hour in a sober state after my work party on Friday night, I woke early on Saturday, feeling less than well. My throat apparently didn't get the memo that I refuse to get sick, like, ever.

I chose to pretend that my throat was just taking a while to wake up and went out to run an errand and meet my friend for a hangout. I headed out to Burnaby to get my 360 degree camera from its holding cell at FedEx. I restrained myself from tearing open the box instantly and letting everything fall all over the train. (When I later tackled the packaging in the evening, I was excited thinking about all the expired film I have to use up in it when the weather or my location improves.) I headed downtown to meet Jill at the library, and we decided to wander down to Denman to try a newish restaurant. I should have been dubious, since every "new restaurant on Denman" seems to serve dinner, not lunch. True to form, the place was closed. Thankfully, Denman has a few ramen shops, and we love us some ramen.

Since Kintaro had a line (as always) and we didn't care to stand in line, we went to a place a few doors down that I've not been to, but Jill had. She had the vegetable ramen and I had a spicy miso ramen. One thing I love about most ramen shops is the menu includes relatively accurate pictures of what each type of ramen should look like. I look for two things: 1) mabo dofu ramen (which very few places have) and, failing that, 2) corn. I love corn in soup. When I see recipes with corn I get all excited and giddy for no apparent reason. My mother never put corn in soup, I have no special connotations with corn soup, yet I will almost always buy soup if it has corn in it. (Case in point, I think I was the only foreigner who bought the corn chowder at McDonald's when I lived in Japan. I loved that shit.) Two of the pictures included corn, so I thought the spicy one would numb my increasingly pained throat.

We had a nice chat and hid out over tea (me) and beer (her) for a couple of hours. By the time I got near the bottom of my bowl, I was nodding off. Jill, too, seemed overwhelmed by the sleeping pills they must have slipped into her broth because she agreed that a nap would be needed soon. I just headed home, not even stopping at the shop to buy the cold-related necessities I would need if this throat thing stuck around. As soon as I laid out on the couch, I was out.

Yesterday, though, I was angry at myself for not getting provisions. My milk had turned a few days ago and I don't like plain tea at all. I need milk. NEED, do you hear me? I tried to choke down pots of tea with lemon and honey, but it's just not my taste. It was a struggle. So at some point I decided that soup might be the better hot liquid. At some point a week or two ago I thought I might go on a soup making spree, but overworked myself and didn't cook a single meal at home all week. (I don't think eating things raw or warming leftovers constitutes as at-home cooking.) So, feeling like crap, the most obvious thing to do was to roast up a squash for soup and start a separate pot of bean & kale soup.

This is my embarrassing admission: I am terrible at making soup. Horrible. If something doesn't have a bunch of meat to flavour it, I can't make soup taste good at all. And, seeing how I like to season, this is confusing to me. I read recipes that sound good and flavourful, but wind up with sub par flavours. So I wasn't hopeful about the squash soup. It looked like it was going to be runny, even with the wand blender (I love you, wand blender, all poison green and awesome. We're going to have to find new, exciting projects for you to work on). But, thankfully, it blended into a nice, smooth consistency with a lot of flecks of pepper. I took a spoonful and immediately ladled a small bowlful because it was so good. Maybe a bit too peppery, but still flavourful and it made my throat stop hurting the instant it hit.

The bean & kale soup, on the other hand, was not that good. Halfway through, after tasting the broth, I cooked up a chorizo and tossed it in. It didn't help enough, unfortunately. I added more salt and still... blah. I realised after the fact that using vegetable broth might be the downfall. Chicken broth is just so good in soup. There's a reason almost all recipes suggest chicken broth first. When I had a bowl for breakfast this morning, I had to give it a couple splats of hot sauce and it still could have used more.

I think of my mom's amazing ability to season everything to such a flavourful level. Her split pea soup (ham soup until I was old enough to not get creeped out about eating a bean soup) is still my favourite soup ever and I've yet to taste any split pea soup that comes close. In my state, thinking about it makes me want to wander to my butcher and buy ham hocks and other assorted meats, and make more soup. It isn't going to happen, though. My freezer is full.

on a high

Taking a break from blogging has been surprisingly nice. I found myself only writing when I was feeling low, giving the false impression that I'm absolutely miserable. I am going through an awkward stage right now and have had some rough days, but most days are either fine or I am too tired to have any sort of emotion. You, unfortunately, only seem to get me at my worst. Sorry for that.

But today is quite a nice day. A hopeful day, even!

Yesterday I arrived home after a work party* and discovered a delivery attempt door hanging thing. Wowza! In a (in retrospect) fit of insanity, I decided to order the 360 degree camera from the Lomo site because, since I've been working so much, I thought I should get something that I will enjoy when I no longer work 55 hours a week. The 360 just looks neat, literally taking a 360 degree photo. I ordered it on Sunday night and it was at my door at 1pm yesterday. That's fricking fast! Makes me think I still have time to send Christmas cards.

Unfortunately, I have about 18 piggy bucks to spend before the 20th, so will probably order something from them again in the next week. Might be time to just get film or something less camera-y. But I love the cameras...

Also went to the Christmas Market with my friend during the workday. There were a lot of sausages. Sausages are good and all, but I'm all about the pretzel and schnitzel (though I wasn't overly excited about the schnitzel. It was fine, but I'm sure a sausage with onions and sauerkraut would have hit the spot). Being the middle of the workday and all, we didn't have the specially imported German beer, but I like that, once inside, you can walk around with a beer in your hand. The Woodwards window display reminded me that I want to do the Woodwards window display walk sometime before Christmas. I toyed with the idea of making it a food-related thing as well, but I haven't put much more thought into it because I have very few thoughts lately other than "sleep," "work," and "sneeze." (I have allergies or something.) Maybe this weekend! Or another day when I don't work! Maybe I should see if other people want to walk, look and eat/drink. Hmm...

Tonight I'm finally going to get to the Waldorf, and in my birthday dress that was sewn specifically for the tiki room. Just a month-and-a-half late. One of my workplaces is having a Christmas party there, and the soul DJs have moved over there from the Astoria, so I'll be a dancing machine tonight. I didn't quite get a full night's sleep last night (or any night this week, to be honest), so I'm hoping I can stay upright until at least midnight or later. All I know is that I wish I could get my hair done before the parties, but I'm not sure the hair salon in the hotel is open at that time. Guess I can see.

The fit of insanity I mentioned is because I wound up putting down a down payment on adult braces on Tuesday, meaning I'll be watching my pennies a little bit until I get used to paying for braces instead of saving money. Boo! This is especially painful for me because I suffered through braces when I was in high school and they made me so miserable, especially during the elastic stage. But this time around I'll have non-grey ones, ones that will hopefully be hard to see at all, and will last only about 8 months if I keep them in my mouth long enough each day. When my dentist and I started discussing this possibility earlier this year**, I started crying thinking about getting the grey ones again. I think he was surprised, which is surprising since I seem to cry a lot around my dentist. There's never good news when I visit. But I'll be pleased to have straight teeth one day next year.

*At the bakery restaurant thing in the CBC building. I like food on sticks, and there were chicken pieces on sticks and cheese & bocconcini on sticks and two free drinks each and lots of people that I don't know. I did have interesting conversations with a couple of people from French radio and French TV, and won a shirt that is too small and a toque. I also ate one perogy, introduced for the news people only (the lucky bastards), and it makes me so excited to both make perogies next week with my delightfully awesome friend Rebecca and eat perogies until I explode on Christmas Eve with my family. I love flavourful perogies.

**You may be asking yourself, why the hell would anyone get adult braces?! The answer is simple: I have to get a front tooth pulled out because it's infecting my gums. It is gross. It is blackening. It has bugged me since I got a root canal in it about 17 years ago. Now it is being pulled out and leaving a space that is too small to get an implant and too wide to just leave. Thus... braces. Sigh.

Today I wanted to go into work to make up for some time I owe. Or ride the bus to the serger repair place with my broken machine. Or to the cheese shop in my neighbourhood that recently opened for their grand opening. Or outside my house at all.

The light is falling and I haven't left my house.

You might imagine that means I'm doing something useful in my house. I'm not; I haven't done anything today. I'm completely unmotivated to do the stuff that normal people would do around the house. There's just no real reason to do anything. I'm the only one who will see my apartment, the only one who eats here, the only one who has to live with the piles. What I do or don't do doesn't actually matter.

But this is starting to carry over into whatever life I have outside of my house. It doesn't matter if I leave my house on days like today because, even if I do, my interactions will be with strangers. It makes sense to just go to work instead of everything else because at least I'll be productive. And I can't even convince myself to do that today.

The thing is... It's become clearer that my life is always about 5 months from nothingness. I've got work for a while, but the end of each contract is always on my mind. It's never not on my mind. So it seems pointless to do anything around the house when I know I might lose it all in a few months. Irrational? I have no idea; it is a real possibility.

If I don't have a full-time job by the end of April that's it for me; my opportunities are done here. With my contracts done and nothing more permanent, I'm fucked. How do you convince yourself to do anything when you can't even imagine your life in 5 months, when there's just nothing there?

giving up (for real)

Today I realised that every guy I've dated the last few years is now in a committed relationship. Sigh. Bring out the dancing horses.

Years and years ago, an ex-boyfriend thanked me for giving him the confidence to date his (now) wife. Apparently I have some sort of magical skill in building up the men I'm with. I see it as a shift in power: I give them part of mine so they have lots and I have none. Recently someone I dated off and on informed me that he's going to commit with an old ex-girlfriend because, dating me, he realised he had the best connection with her and he was glad that I helped him realise that.

Wouldn't it be nice if I was the one thanking some guy for helping me find the person I fit with? But, based on the males I've known, that's never going to happen because these relationships are never about me; they're always about how it's going to help him. Of course I want the person I'm with to be happy. I would just prefer him to be happy with me instead of someone else. Yet it never feels very reciprocal. After I crumble, it always becomes apparent that it was one-sided, that I put in too much effort with not a lot of results.

So. I just give up. I'm going to hide at work and hide at home and then I don't have to worry about another disaster waiting to happen. My childhood friend told me this week that it only takes one guy to be the right one. Unfortunately I don't think I can wait anymore for him to get his shit together and find me.

quite the switch

Lately I've really not minded working. High praise.

At one of my jobs today, I was watching a film reel, trying to figure out when it was filmed and who the players were. This can often be a nightmare, with the reporter not bothering to say the name of the person at all and my knowledge of pre-1977 being a void (being soft-brained at that time and all). Sometimes, like today, it can be a fun little treasure hunt.

When there is audio, this makes things infinitely easier because you can sometimes pick stuff up based on what people are talking about, even if names aren't involved. Today's film was in that category. It was a film about SFU, likely from the spring of 1968, about the chaotic student protests at SFU. Leading the cause on the film reel was a mouthy student with an Irish(?) accent who spoke of social justice and giving educational access to people from all classes, rich or poor, since everyone deserved the right to an education. He went on and on. After a bit of research, it became apparent that this student was Martin Loney.

Who is he? you may ask yourself. From articles and brief bios attached to writing, he's now a neo-conservative writer/policy advisor who, despite having a PhD, hasn't been able to secure a stable academic posting in Canada. I just can't figure out how a seemingly liberal radical winds up writing about how terrible pay equity is and how minorities don't deserve special representation in a workplace. Social justice kept spewing (literally, spewing, as he barked the words out) from his lips in the film and, yet, seems to support the boys' club of the past now.

This might be a long-term research project when I have a bit more time around the three jobs I have to work to keep myself afloat. There must be more to this story than what reviewers have focused on. Because, going by those reports, he got an extreme version of what he was fighting for in the '60s and now doesn't want it.

call me crazy

OK, so I read a story about a woman who dated a psychopath. Not one of those stabby psychopaths that boil bunnies or anything like that. It was just a man she dated for 4 years, who was adoring and convinced her to buy a cottage with him and took care of her because he loved her so much, but said at the end of one day that he was done with the relationship, a day after the last payment for cottage renos. I did a mental catalogue search of the men I've dated over the years, to see if they had any of the signs.

And I discovered that I might actually be a psychopath. I mean, I do basically know right from wrong, but I don't always have guilt about certain things when the social norm would. I blame other people for what I do wrong sometimes, don't make long-term plans, don't have long-term relationships, am manipulative, am self-centred... There are more, but I don't really want to expose all the bad behaviours I have. Just... if you look at a checklist, it's possible I have many/most of those traits.

This would actually be somewhat comforting, being defined as a psychopath. It would give me a good excuse for never getting married.

substance abuse

I've alluded to the fact I'm working more than usual the last while. It's just what I need to do to get stuff in order and done. I hate it, though. I don't like sleeping for 5 hours, if I'm lucky, and eating one meal a day. Can't wait for next Thursday.

The thing is I've also done extra stuff to ensure I don't have a second to myself. I'm volunteering for OLIO Festival on Friday night and there are a couple of afterparties I'd like to check out, meaning very little sleep. On Saturday I'm volunteering for the Vancouver Specials tour and hoping to get to the houses before they close. I'm also trying to not have to resign from one of my on-call jobs because my availability is so sketchy. (Note to self: lie the next time someone asks you your availability. Honesty results in phone calls and emails.) And I have to put in extra hours at one of my jobs to catch up from illnesses/days away/the Olympics that have accumulated since March.

To combat this jam-packed schedule, I've turned to artificial means to see me through. Not drugs, at least not illegal ones. I'm on The Coffee. But it isn't really having much of an effect. I chugged a tepid milky, sugary coffee this morning and I'm still feeling a bit sluggish. I was going to take one of those iced coffee packets from Sbucks (and by take I mean drink), but then worried that much coffee in my bloodstream might cause my heart to explode out of my chest. Still... I would like to stay awake until my workday ends later tonight...

I still don't see myself carrying a coffee mug around, drinking The Coffee daily or even weekly. The amount of cream and sugar required to make that stuff palpable makes it less coffee, more melted coffee ice cream.

vacuous information

The last while I've been working more than usual, trying to juggle a few jobs with increased requirements and time on the job. Perhaps due to my lack of sleep/proper nutrition, I find myself filling up on crap. Not food-related crap; cultural crap.

I've always been a bit weird about pseudo-entertainment news programs like Entertainment Tonight and TMZ. When I don't want to think (which is pretty much any time I'm not at work these days), I turn to these trashy "news" sources to keep up-to-date with things that, in the whole scheme of things, don't matter. By and large, these people aren't doing anything more significant than what I do. They just have a lot of money and stylists and cameras fixed on them all the time.

One thing I've been following unconsciously is the dating drama of the Jonas brothers. This probably started ages ago when People was readily available in one of my workplaces and Miley and Nick broke up the first time. I can't pinpoint it exactly. Their publicists were just *so good* at getting them into entertainment news that they always seemed to just *be* there all the time.

I was surprised to hear these boys have (had?) promise rings, showing their commitment to their virginity. Like Brittany Spears. And Jessica Simpson. Like being pure means just not having sex. I keep hoping a sex scandal will come to light and another child star can fall. (I don't know why I want complete strangers to become tarnished. Perhaps jealousy. Perhaps it would be nice to see people in the spotlight appear to struggle through life like the rest of us. This is why I feel for LiLo.) And I have every confidence, if it's going to happen to a Jonas, it's going to be Joe.

See, the problem with Joe is he keeps dating famous girls. And he inevitably does something dinkish to end these relationships, which means the other person, being as famous if not more, has the same access to the media. When he broke up with Taylor Swift by cell, there was no way that wasn't going to get out. Because she's so charming, she totally made him look like a jackass. (No idea if he is. He is, however, the least talented of that family.) Today Demi Lovato mentioned how disrespectful it is that he's brought his latest girlfriend (some girl from Twilight) on the tour the brothers asked her (read: agents) to join. Is it necessary to have your girlfriend with you constantly for months at a time? No. Is it a good way to piss off your ex-girlfriend, whom you have to work with every single day for months? Yes. And, yet, this 18-year-old Disney talento is behaving significantly better than the 21-year-old dinkwad she dated. So I'm really rooting for Joe Jonas to, literally, fuck up.

If not with this latest girlfriend, then the next. Let's see... The next one has to be a singer, right? That's his pattern? Singer, actress, singer, actress...

Why do I even care about this? Why can't I sleep more so this won't be in my thoughts ever again? How the hell am I going to work 13 hour days for another week?

collection

My, my, it's been a while. Blaming summer and the weather is all well and good, but, really, I haven't felt much like writing anything for quite some time. And I don't even really feel like writing now. Vanity pushes me, though, guilting me. Someone must care that I haven't written, mustn't they?

September always seems like a new start, much more than January or the fiscal new year (May?) or any other time. It's the time to hunker down and ready for winter, holding safe the collection of memories gathered over the last months, meant to sustain the dreariness of the winter. Have I collected enough? Yearly, I realise around March that I haven't and the doldrums set in and I wrestle with them until the temperature or sun or spring buds get close enough to tag them in.

The problem with September also seems to be that my body refuses to let me have a fresh start. The start of school meant a late summer cold, and the trend followed me into university. And now I have a cold. I dislike it because it messes up my work and leaves me playing catch up more than I already do. I'm downing 16 Vitamin C tablets to try to boost the cold out of my body. Vitamin C makes me grumpy.

But once this cold is done, I can go back to juggling four jobs and trying to see friends until something happens. I've planned a trip to Chicago and am excited about that. I'm hoping to get to Seattle in November for a weekender. A visit to my parents', too. Hopefully these will top up my collection so I can get through to spring intact.

who to blame

While searching the database for film records at work, I stumbled upon some Friendly Giant records from 1978. The record that stood out had poetry by Jerome, the Friendly Giant reading from a book, and Rusty playing harp. Made me wonder how formative CBC was to me with that kind of highbrow exposure.

We watched a lot of CBC when I was a kid. When I was home with a 24-hour flu, my mom let me watch morning CBC until noon, at which time I could watch American Sesame Street on the PBS station from Detroit (their after school spot) and drift off to sleep with flat gingerale on the coffee table beside the couch. Saturday afternoons involved a bath and sitting with my dad during Hockey Night in Canada while our hair dried and we waited for dinner. I loved the home repair show led by a woman on a soundstage called Do It For Yourself, the only how-to show I'd ever seen that didn't have a woman in front of a stove or ironing board. I used to tape record songs from Good Rockin' Tonite and Video Hits to make mixtapes, and later did the same when we got our VCR. On our annual Christmas pilgrimage to visit my grandparents in Edmonton, my sister and I would wait for songs we knew to play on the radio, always excited when Bob & Doug McKenzie's "12 Days of Christmas" or Barry Manilow's "Let's Hang On" came on so we could sing along.

I suspect the same is true of my friends. A large number were either big CBC viewers/listeners when they were kids, or really are now. How different would we be without that exposure?

But then I realise that those people all around me. People who don't know what it's like to finally FINALLY get a full recording of the best song of the week on cassette, to hear Knowlton Nash's voice, to feel the rush of learning new French words in a town with only one French speaker so they could try it on him. I know these people are around me because they turn up their noses when I mention where I work. "Oh, I never watch/listen to the CBC. There's never anything good on it," they say. I immediately know we have nothing in common.

Isolationism forces you to be resourceful and to absorb whatever you can get. The CBC is what I absorbed. And I'm pretty protective of it when people diss it.

Some days I can't even believe I get to work there. Because it's kind of awesome.

on being successful

Today is a life-changing day.

This morning I tried to toast an English muffin in my toaster oven and, instead of toasting it, the toaster just sat there. No little orange light to show it works. No heat. No nothing. Eventually, after poking at the on/off handle for 8 minutes it finally started glowing a bit. It made me a little nervous that it doesn't work unless I beg it to, and even then there's no guarantee it'll work. Sometimes I need toasted things.

So I planned to pop by the shop today and see what my options were. The one I have is probably about 20 years old, judging from the fake wood paneling design (got it from a yard sale when I left home after high school). I figured I'd be able to find a sleek one that I can toast stuff in and broil fish in if needed. It wasn't hard to decide on one.

This is not very exciting news. This isn't what I'm excited about.

Next to the toaster oven section was the slow cooker section. I've been meaning to buy a slow cooker for almost 2 years, but have been trying to find one that I can live with. I didn't want a 6qt one (too big) or a 4.5qt one (too small), wanted it to be programmable, and wanted it to keep stuff warm for me in case I wind up late getting home (which seems to be the norm). Finally, finally, I found what I've been looking for. And it was on sale. And it can cook a 5lb roast.

You know what this means? I'll be living on pulled pork sandwiches as soon as cabbage season hits. (Coleslaw is infinitely superior to all other toppings/accompaniments when talking about pulled pork.) And I can finally cook from the slow cooker cookbook I've had on my bedside table for the last 10 months.

I can't wait to come home to a hot meal without having to cook it or hire someone.

project(ions)

Depending on the weather, I go through phases of productivity. When it's nice out, I try to be outside as much as possible. When it's grey and miserable, I just want to cocoon and bake and sew. (Really, I shouldn't bake right now, as I'm trying to cut back on things with flour and sugar, and baking is kind of all about the flour/sugar.) With the weather being so hit-and-miss lately, I'm not sure anymore what I should actually be doing, so I just wind up working instead.

A couple of nights ago I wanted to see if I had any patterns stored away that might be fun to sew. Since all my sewing stuff is stored in the same place, I also figured I'd go through some fabric and see if I had any denim lying around to throw an A-line skirt together. Instead I rediscovered a bunch of fabric cuts that I got over the last few years, but never did anything with. And now I really need to draft some skirt patterns.

Around 20 cuts of fabric between 1 to 3 yards each. All ridiculously cute. All that I want to wear right now in some form. I can't even begin to tell you how cute it is. So cute.

One of the larger cuts is one of my favourites. I'm glad I had the foresight to buy extra of it, though I can't recall what I was thinking when I got it. And, just like that, it's become a throw-on dress with about 2 hours of work. I want to wear it all the time, like little kids who wear their Spiderman pyjamas all the time. It has pockets. (Have I ever gone on about how much I love dresses with pockets?)

It's taking everything in my power not to cut into another piece of fabric until I get through a couple of other projects I wanted to get to first. But the one cut is so amazing... And the top version of this dress would only take an hour... Who will stop the insanity?!

For people who don't sew, I'm sure this is all quite riveting. I know how much I love hearing about someone's hobby that I have no interest in. Really, it may be a cry for help, a sign that I might need an intervention. I want to do nothing other than sit home and sew stuff for myself. Work cuts into sewing time, leaving my house means I can't sew anything, friends commenting on stuff I made just fans the flames.

In short, I need to win the lottery so I can stay home and sew all the time. And then when that gets boring I can go on fabric buying trips. Just for me and maybe friends who like to sew, too. Gosh, wouldn't that be fun?

back in the saddle again

OK, for real... I'm going to try to write more often. I'm not sure why it's been such a struggle the last month, but I've been finding better things to do than sitting down to write. I really should, though; I've got lots of stuff on my mind.

But today isn't the day to get into it. Soon, though.

back in the fast lane

Just home from a visit to my parents' house. This visit was almost identical to my last visit on my own last summer. It's kind of weird to replicate visits. The only thing missing was yard sales on Saturday morning, only because my dad took my brother golfing for his birthday. My family is rather predictable.

Did I do anything exciting? No. We went to a couple of thrift stores. Mom and I went across the border to Prince's and for a drive up main street Oroville (which is almost exactly the same as when I was in highschool, only with a yoga studio); I bought a yard of '30s fabric and scoffed at the pathetic cereal selection. Got to visit with my aunties and my cousin. I watched a lot of TLC, Food Network and HGTV, and a little bit of A&E last night.

OK, watching Hoarders freaked me out a bit. I see myself falling into that if something weird happens to me and I have another one of my episodes, and suddenly they're trying to take my kids and my cats away. Oh, wait... I don't have kids or cats. Whew. I'm fine now.

The big excitement for me was coming back with a bag full of coloured Pyrex and Fire King casseroles (with lids). I say a bag and I mean it: I wrapped it all up in my clothes and carried it on the bus like luggage. My mom tried to make me put it in a box, but boxes are for chumps. The haul: a Verde divided lidded casserole, a Dandelion Duet divided lidded casserole (for a buck!), a 1 1/2 qt Butterprint dish (no lid), two Fire King lidded bowls and a oval lidded casserole that looks like Gay Fad, but isn't marked on the bottom (from my grandmother). I only paid for the one casserole; the rest was from my mom, just stuff she hasn't used for a long time or ever, so thought, since I'm spending money when I find stuff, she might as well give me more. I'm pretty excited to add to the collection. I even have a shelf for it. I figured I might as well get rid of some stuff that was making me feel like a hoarder.

dj b-side

I've been working with my friend to make a dance mix for a dance-related exercise class we drop into weekly. It's been fun to send emails back and forth suggesting different songs that we both love. After 4 days of serious back-and-forth, I think we've got the setlist sorted and ready to go.

The issue now: choosing a DJ name for each of us.

There are DJ name generators that can give you pretty terrible names. The first one that was suggested was DJ Tastes Like Chicken. Thinking back to some of the DJs I met through my friend, some of those guys picked the most ridiculous names, thinking they wouldn't really do much more than a couple of one-off DJ gigs. Snuggles and Wisk were the worst of them, yet they were both pretty major in the jungle scene. Snuggles had a long-running syndicated jungle radio show.

Rachel nixed my suggestions for her: DJ Taco Bell, DJ Pork Rinds, DJ Oatmeal Cookie... I was thinking of things that other people might really love as far as food products go. I was especially fond of DJ Oatmeal Cookie, but agreed with her that it didn't really roll off the tongue very well. I finally suggested DJ Mixed Tape and she kind of liked that. We agreed on DJ B-Side for me and DJ MixTape for her. She pointed out that one was the song on the other side of the popular song and the other is an outdated format. But at least no one can complain if they don't like our mix. What did they expect with names like that?

Can't wait to give'er.

freakout

The clouds in the sky when I walked up Main tonight were weirdly menacing, yet slightly hopeful. Menacing because they were black and gray; hopeful because they were fluffy with patches of white. I really want to focus on the white bits (little fluffy clouds, as it were), but all I can see is the black and gray.

I met up with a guy I used to mess around with last week and he informed me that I'm not putting myself out there and I really should because he doesn't think I should be single. It made me sick to my stomach to hear that from someone who rejected me when I put myself out there. I'm still not at a point where I can fathom being interesting to anyone else, seeing how all I really do is work and sit around my house looking at fabric (lately). And, based on how interesting I am to my friends recently, I can see my doubt is well-founded.

A movie I've recently discovered, largely on the review of it being the saddest musical in movie history, is Les parapluies de Cherbourg. I watch it and cry, drawing non-existent parallels to my own life, while mental noting the colour combinations and styles of dresses. Any sad movie suddenly mirrors my life while I'm in this state and no amount of denial can convince me otherwise. I worry my life will be a tragi-comedy, where my ironic death will come sooner than it should have because of some stupid single person decision I will inevitably make because I am alone with no one to offer rational advice.

In short, I'm frickin' freaking out.

making the cut

The last couple of weeks I, thankfully, haven't had to think much on Monday morning. Weird, frighteningly unusual Sunday motivation has meant new dresses completed in the evening, ready for the worst morning of the week. Today's dress, while cute as far as fabric goes, is probably not going to be worn a whole lot, unfortunately. This makes me a bit sad since I had high hopes for it.

Problems with this pattern:
1) the stand collar, while cute, makes me look like I have no neck;
2) said-stand collar is lined with interfacing, yet it's on the bias, so I couldn't make it fit with the main dress part because there was no give, resulting in weird bunching on the dress part near the shoulders;
3) the closure instructions at the back give conflicting instructions/images from previous steps, resulting in a bit of a mess;
4) the pleats in front don't wholly line up with the centre front, meaning weird extra fabric that has to go somewhere, but should have been planned for before it came time to sew it;
5) dress is much too full, giving the impression my ass is much larger than it actually is, which, I grant you, is rather full at the best of times (can you call asses voluptuous?)... Still, I don't want it even bigger; and
6) it makes my ladies-in-front look pretty enormous, which is not what you want to put out there at a married-male-dominated workplace.

But now I know that this pattern needs some work and I can figure out how interested in doing alterations I am. (Chances are I'm not that interested.) I've plotted out another one that will require me to make a decision on lining (to line or not to line), so I'll have to check what lining options I have before I start cutting into it.

Rachel was over on Saturday and was impressed by these projects. If I really stop to think about it, I guess I sort of impress myself that I'm able to make things that I can later wear. Just knowing the problems makes it feel less impressive, and when I wear my clothes I am acutely aware of the errors above anything else.

Did I mention I bought more fabric this weekend?

worth mentioning

At work today it was nothing but singles. Lots of either mag (sound) reels or silent colour reels, but very few together in a matching pair. I took this as a small victory, proof that there isn't always a match for everything.

You know what I forgot to mention? And now, weeks later, feel weird about mentioning? I was physically touched in a non-sexual way by Britt Daniel. I swoon for Spoon. (I should consider making shirts or stickers or something for the next time they play here.) As I was trying to get the hell away from the Orpheum after the Spoon show (which was pretty awesome) I was walking across from the tour bus when I saw Britt come out the side door. A couple guys ran to him for autographs, but didn't have a pen, so I ran over and loaned mine to them. Britt signed, graciously, and then held out the pen towards me. I thought he wanted to sign something for me, so I said I didn't have anything to sign, but could we get a picture together? He pocketed the pen and his tour manager or whatever took my camera and took a shaky photo of us. But, if you saw the photo, you would get the point that it was me with Britt Daniel's arm around my shoulder. Dreamy Britt Daniel...

Tonight I'm going to Japandroids at an office space near my house. What I'd really like to do is go to the Cinematheque to see Albert Maysles talk about filmmaking, but not sure I'll have enough time. I could try...

Last night I met up with Cute Neal and Nicola for some Weird Weekends. I'm not sure if I've mentioned it, but I LOVE Louis Theroux. Such a crush on him. And, even though this show is, like, a decade old, it's still good. I prefer watching it with N&N because they introduced me to him and I don't want to have a secret, illicit rendezvous with Louis behind their backs. Last night we got through just one, which was totally fine because we had a fun time around the viewing. Neal was in Nashville a few weeks ago, so I saw pictures that make me want to go there, and Nicola showed me parodies of Shamwow that hurt my stomach so much from laughing that I had to motion for her to pause it so I could breathe. So awesome. Nicola drove me home and we had an hour-long chat in the street because we were having such a good conversation. I reluctantly went inside around 12:40am because of work today, but could have talked for hours longer. I attribute this to the coffee we had at 10pm. I adore them; such fun.

Tomorrow I was hoping to do a Jane's Walk route with John Atkin, but am waitlisted and I can't imagine enough people skipping out to allow me to go. Sigh. Am hoping to meet up with Wee B for a wander around the city somewhere. I thought a Biennale wander would be good, since I've been meaning to take photos (film, even!) of the latest pieces since last fall, but no idea what will happen tomorrow. Also want to see Rachel for ukulele jamming tomorrow night, so hopefully we can get it together either tomorrow or Sunday. I should practice a bit so I don't continue to suck at the uke.

So... things are pretty good. Let's hope that continues. And if it doesn't, I think it might be time to get Dance Dance Revolution so I never have a bad day again.

morning commute

One of the buses I see daily is the bus from 22nd Street Station to somewhere in Richmond, the 420. This morning, gazing at the lineup of obviously non-morning people, I wondered... How many of them were high?

on bitterness

Right, so I'm sitting at home instead of dancing. This disappoints me. Instead of exercising to music in a dress, I am sitting in pyjamas like the loser I apparently am.

I just have to accept that, if I want to do stuff like this, I have to do it alone. If I were more self-assured, I should have just walked over to the Astoria by myself and danced by myself and then walked home alone whenever I had enough. I'm just not that person.

I honestly don't have as many friends as people seem to think. My options for socialising are extremely limited because no one really seems to be into anything I like to do. I am alone 90% of the time. And this is why it's not really a big deal for me to be working stupid amounts because, really, it's not like anything would be any better if I had more free time. I'd just have more time to wish things were different.

Am seriously starting to lose it. Days like today make it really hard to remember why I don't disappear in another city. Not like it would be any different than being here, except I'd have a better excuse for not doing anything.

downswing

Can feel myself slipping into the bitter old woman persona that I've always feared.

There were some twelveteens on the bus today and their ironic Caillou backpacks and pimples made me roll my eyes, for some reason. I've been noticing this more often, my intolerance of young and skinny people. Maybe it's the skinny thing that's bugging me more.

The warming weather is nice and all, but people are wearing less, tighter-fitting clothing. I don't "do" tight. My winter/always paunch is going nowhere fast and I don't see my lifestyle changing to accommodate a lot of exercise time (or any exercise time, really). It's just lucky I've got all this work to give me excuses; it's not like I have any sort of social life to get in the way.

I'm going to a couples party tonight and, even though I like the couples, it is disconcerting being the only single person among them. I mentioned to a bunch of friends who happen to be in couples (because, really, all but three people I know are in couples) that I was interested in going dancing tonight after dinner and all of them said they'd have to see how they, as a couple, felt later tonight. Like, I can't get singular people in a couple to make socialising/weekend plans with me. This makes me bitter. This makes me think I need to overcome my cat allergies so I can start going crazy and hoarding recycling and cats.

cough cough cough cough cough

I wish this coughing would just stop.

Tonight I had plans to meet up with my friend and I spent 30 minutes before he picked me up just doubled over coughing. It reminded me of when I broke ribs coughing when I was sick in Japan for half a year. I don't think anything broke, but I'm tired of these coughing fits. There's nothing wrong with me except for this weird breathing/coughing problem that I've had this time for a week-and-a-half. Crapballs.

My friend and I went to Fatburger; I had a milkshake and onion rings (not impressive at all, I wouldn't get them again) and he had the daily special. We had a good chat about family stuff, as we've got a lot in common as far as aging parents, absent siblings, dealing with parental medical situations alone goes. I always feel better about my own situation when we talk because, while I'm likely going to have to take care of my parents on my own, it's good to know someone is in the same boat.

When I got home today from work, I was excited to see "The Young Girls of Rochefort" in my mailbox. Gene Kelly and Catherine Deneuve together! I can't wait to get the time to watch it. This week I also got "The September Issue" and "Vancouver Special," which requires a bit extra time to synthesize. This weekend is also Record Store Day and I'd really love to pop over to Red Cat and Neptoon for shows, but I have to put in a fair bit of time at work this weekend.

Geez, all that coughing is making me tired. Off to bed.

freeform

Coming in this evening, I watched as a medium-sized Scottish-looking dog ran away at full speed from his person, drunk on freedom. The owner kept snapping his fingers, like that would be enough to wrangle the dog back under his control. Unsurprisingly, the dog was more than a block away when I turned down my driveway.

Today I went to my friend's baby shower, which was fun but tiring. The Bridesmaids organised it, but I couldn't make the initial plenary meeting, so merely helped decorate and to get everything set up. The one bridesmaid totally tried to passive aggressive me into doing my assigned tasks her way. That didn't work, as I instantly do the opposite of what people want me to do in these sorts of instances. I might attempt a quilt for my friend, so based on when the baby is due and my ability to follow through, this baby could see this alleged quilt in, like, 3 years. Awesome.

Last night I went to karaoke for my friend's birthday. I convinced her that a karaoke box would be best because then we can dominate the song selection. She agreed. It was a lot of fun, but my voice is trashed today. I sounded like the fast food worker from the Simpsons for large parts of the day. "Enter Sandman" did it. Up to that point I'd done a stellar rendition of "Always Something There To Remind Me" that scored me 100% and a touching "I Was Made For Loving You." One friend thought I sounded like a CD because I was so awesome. I think she had a couple too many gin & tonics.

Tomorrow is another work day and Spoon at the Orpheum. Will be a full week of work and another show, and maybe some good stuff right at the end of the week. Wish I could sleep past 6am.

it'll never be over for me

I've been listening to a fair bit of soul music lately and it's made me weirdly optimistic. Most of the songs are professions of love, not wanting love to end, regretting when love did end. Men singing their way back into their ladies' hearts. Ladies wishing their men didn't treat them so bad. This is the kind of shit I love.

Apparently I should have been around in the '60s because men seemed to want to get and keep the girl. I could stand to be gotten and kept. (Not in a prostitutey way, though; just in a being wanted way.) When men were a bit more straightforward with their feelings. Like, "girl, I want you and I gotta have you" and "baby, I wish you were mine" and "honey, I want to hold your hand and make you mine forever." (I also appreciate that people dressed for a night on the town, that being out was worthy of effort. But that's a whole other post.)

The only parts that break my heart are when he pleads for her to change her name. Like unofficial proposals, spilling out set to horn sections and backup singers. It almost makes me want to get married and change my name. Sometimes I consider it when riding on the train and the pleading in my ears starts up. But then I remember: there's no one singing these songs to me. There isn't even anyone making mix tapes for me, hoping I'll read between the lines based on the song selection and order.

Cripes, Jackie Wilson was the bomb. Listen to any one of his songs and it will make you long for somebody to sing one of his songs to you.

losing

Whenever I get phone calls from my mom in the middle of the week I immediately brace myself. Midweek calls are never calls just to chat.

She called just after I got home from work. My uncle, one of the uncles I grew up seeing weekly, died last night. He'd been in failing health for years, had become increasingly hard to be around because he became quite mean and sullen the last few years, and I hadn't been able to see him the last few times I visited because of his health.

I wasn't surprised when Mom said he had passed. It was expected at some point. But I also didn't anticipate not being upset at all. I mean, I feel badly that he's gone and it makes me sad to know I won't see him again, but I can't be upset. I won't be going to the funeral. It's next Wednesday, the hardest day for me to get out of work. I'm not even sure I want to go.

For me, this is somewhat strange, as I'm generally a big crybaby about everything. I guess I'm just getting used to loss. Or perhaps, like when my godfather/uncle died, this will hit me hard years from now. I just don't feel like crying is the thing to do right now. Had it been his wife, my dad's last living sibling, it would be a different story. I would be an absolute mess. So perhaps it's the blood relative part that changes things a bit. I don't know...

As I grow older, this will be the norm. The loss of those I was once close to.

party killer

Last week I had a lengthy text message exchange with my friend. We agreed to instant message at a certain time after both of us finished with our nights out. He texted that some of the guys he'd been out with were at his house and he'd try to get rid of them as fast as he could, but they seemed deadset on staying until his house was free of booze. I figured, since they were already drunk, it wouldn't be long.

Three hours later, at roughly 5am, the last text from my friend came in. He'd given regular updates of what he had tried to kill the party. Because of the nature of our friendship, it always comes down to music. No better way to kill a party than playing crappy music. And, as any rational person would assume, if you play shitty music then no one will want to stick around. Not so in this circumstance.

I think the problem was that he started off with things that they might actually like while they were drinking all his beer. When he started playing what he perceived as crap, they were already in a good mood, ready to party longer. When he informed me that he'd played Flock of Seagulls and they'd all fallen asleep at his kitchen table, I knew what a complete failure he is at killing a party. I mean, he's a fricking DJ; those guys don't have any idea how to kill a party, only how to get the party jumping.

So that got me to thinking... What would I play to kill a party?

I know a few things that have made people lose interest in conversation and start staring off into space. First: Miles Davis. It is remarkable how people lose focus and realise the time and make a quick path to the door when you put on a 37 minute opus from his drug-induced time. Italian pop music from the '60s does the same. You toss on some Gigliola Cinquetti and people clamber for the door handle. I find men will be repulsed by Debbie (not Deborah) Gibson and teenaged Alanis. Oddly, Animotion does the same, though for me I would totally stay at a party that had "Obsession" playing... That song is dope.

If all else fails, I have a lethal stash of J-pop that is unbearable to listen to. You know how Japanese girls speak in cutesy high-pitched voices to sound cute? Imagine that put to music.

hack job

The Tylenol 3 is kicking in. I tried to tough it out this time, but there's no reason to be a hero here. I'm the only one who suffers.

This morning I finally got the gum surgery that was delayed in January. Remembering the same surgery two years ago, I was pretty nervous and on edge about it. That surgery was somewhat debilitating for a week and inconvenient for weeks after that. I didn't drink at all for almost a month and the plaster in my mouth made talking and eating more difficult than it really needed to. The resulting lisp annoyed me, but I got some make out sessions because of it. That was, literally, the only plus.

The surgery today was for a study group my dentist is in, which means I didn't have to shell out $900 for this surgery (just $150). He showed his colleagues how to do gum grafting because he's kind of an expert. It was about half the surgery of the last time, so the bottom front and the roof of my mouth are only half as bad. It also isn't as painful, for whatever reason, but am enjoying the pain killers anyway. Might as well kill whatever pain I can.

I mean, he cut a piece of skin off the roof of my mouth, sliced my lower gums, and tacked the skin to cover up the hole. It's kind of crazy that this is good for me, long term, because it sounds fucked up. I'm feeling a little like Frankenstein's monster, only it's in a secret place that no one will know about. But I'll know...

Hopefully this admission won't lead you to come after me with torches and pitchforks.

The downside of this surgery is that I can't make out with anyone for a few weeks and other activities are out for a while (activities I won't talk about here). Not that this will be a huge challenge, but I don't like not being able to make out when make out sessions come around. You've always gotta be ready to lock lips when the opportunity arises.

is this music?

Riding the train home from work (sent home early because of a lingering, horrible-sounding cold), I made a startling realisation: the males I find most interesting are music-centric. I know. This is shocking.

When I hear certain songs, I'm immediately thrown back into the male-related situations of the time. EMF, Pop Will Eat Itself, Stone Roses... highschool boyfriend. The Cure, Blur, Curve, Echo and the Bunnymen, The Smiths, The Breeders... these remind me of the guy who was an asshole the year we were together. King Apparatus, another. Twee entirely covered by one person. Any twee song I hear I think of him, as well as the Pixies, Atari Teenage Riot, Le Mans, and DC punk. If a guy friend doesn't like music it's harder to have conversations for long because I've got nothing much else to talk about. It's my fallback.

Case in point: the last guy I dated didn't seem particularly into any music I would ever listen to (new country... seriously) and I grew to resent him because we had nothing to talk about (and he was a bit of an asshat). Now, however, well after things ended, he wants to go to shows with me. I find this hilarious. And I'm dubious.

(You get cred with me if you know who sang the title song.)

viva las vegas

That little trip I booked to Vegas? Ya, that happened. It was pretty good.

Honestly, had I not met up with my friend, I'm not sure what I would have done. So much of the weekend was great because I got to hang out with him and meet some of the people from the Chicago scene. Those scooterists really take drinking to a recreational sport level.

I landed and headed to the hotel to meet my friend in the lobby. He wasn't there. I went upstairs to drop off my stuff and check if my cell worked in the States (it didn't. Those fuckers at Fido, who assured me it would work, are in my bad book now), and headed back downstairs. He wasn't there. I walked up and down Fremont, taking pictures of neon signs and avoiding every NASCAR fan in Vegas who were enthralled with Foghat for an hour. At that point I realised I'd be alone all weekend if I didn't do something, so called long distance from my room phone to his cell, only to find he was in the lobby trying to get my room from the front desk. Sigh. He came up and we went to meet the others before heading to the bar for the night's party.

The Beauty Bar was made more famous by a Sex and the City episode and the Vegas location has been around for 6 years or so. They shut down the alleyway, put up an outdoor stage, and had a great soulie band from LA called Police and Thieves. I was excited when the ladies came on with sequined dresses. The crowd was a bit lame, though, and didn't really move much at all, so we went back inside to the dancefloor in front of the DJ. Not a lot of action inside either (boring DJ), so we just drank a lot and I chatted with some of the others. Jason had seen someone with a guitar full of boozy slush, the sort that lets you suck it through the electrical cord straw and wear it with a guitar strap, and decided around 1:30am that he HAD to have one. So he and I headed out to see what we could find, only we never found it. It was good to hang out with him, though, and get a little one-on-one time. By the time we got back to the bar, most everyone we knew was gone, so we sat outside and listened to music and chatted. At some point we headed back to the hotel and said goodnight. I realised I would need morning reinforcements, so I headed out to the Walgreens, only to run into Jason and a couple of the other guys who were out gambling. I think it was about 5am by the time I dropped into bed.

For some annoying reason, I was up at 7:30am, but puttered around my room until 11am. After a quick call to the other room, I headed to the rally behind the other hotel. I saw a couple of the Chicago crew, but was hoping to meet up with Jason first because, you know, I'm kind of shy. He took his time (I found out he had been sleeping when I called, the lucky bastard) and I eventually made a move to hang out with the others. They were all very nice. Jason arrived around noon with a bag of Tecate, so the drinking started. We basically drank all afternoon in the parking lot, looked at scooters and talked about random crap. It was pretty fun. Eventually we went looking for oxtail soup for some reason... One of the guys wanted it. The casino restaurant we went to didn't have it, but I jumped on the chance to actually eat breakfast at 2:30pm. After eating, the most rational thing to do was to try out Lobster Zone, a vending machine that was part aquarium/part claw game. For $2, you can try to catch a live lobster which will then be cooked in the restaurant. The third guy in our group actually caught one, resulting in ridiculous photos of him resting it on his shoulder. The drinking was starting to catch up with us. Someone decided to head to the pawn shop in "Pawn Stars," so 9 of us headed off on an expedition down Las Vegas Blvd. Some of us were a little sluggish, especially since none of us really had much sleep (Jason had the most with 6 hours), so the lineup outside the shop was not a welcome sight. A velvet rope, a bouncer with a gun on his leg and a no booze rule meant I wasn't keen to spend much time in the place. It was a boring shop, just cases and cases of jewelry that I wouldn't want, though I pointed out to one of the guys that the massive jewel-encrusted crucifixes were pretty cool. He and I headed outside because it was a bit dull inside. The others trickled out, and a few of us decided to get a head start because we were the slowest walkers. We went to some buffet that did have oxtail soup, but we were all getting a bit bitchy with the lack of sleep and the huge amounts of beer. Once back on Fremont, I couldn't handle it anymore and went for a laydown in my room until the all-nighter. I didn't sleep, but I rested. It was wholly necessary to have done this.

I met up with the crew around 10:30pm and we headed across the street to the Plaza for the party. It was pretty swish, obviously a fantastic room in its heyday, but still pretty nice. I started drinking to catch up (losing 3 hours of drinking was significant) and noticed that two of the guys were practically passed out by 11pm. Jason fell a few times trying to walk up the stairs, though at the time I thought it was just because it was dark. The DJs were pretty good, but it took a bit for the crowd to start dancing. I hung out with Jason and his good friends John and Kris from Minneapolis, and we were all pretty jazzed when the guitarist from Paul Weller's band came out to play a few songs. People kind of lost it by this time. I went out to the ladies' and started talking to some guy from California who was lovely, only to be literally dragged away by Jason to do a Maker's Mark shot with him and John. No idea why this was a good idea, but it gave me the spins. Shortly after, Jason decided he would try for the standby flight at 6am (with NASCAR, it was unlikely he'd get home later in the day) so he and two of the other guys flying around the same time and I went to collect his stuff from his room. One of the passed out guys was passed out and didn't even stir when we walked in. I walked Jason and the others to the taxi, said goodbyes, and went for a walk down Fremont. You know how I hate saying goodbye... I bought $25 of candy that is sitting on my counter untouched. To bed at 5:30am.

I woke up at 8:30 because I was still drunk and feeling ill, and couldn't get back to sleep before the 11am check out. I contemplated paying an extra $20 to stay in the room until it was time to go to the airport, but that seemed like a cop out. I took the Deuce to the strip and walked around for hours. I went for lunch at some point in Caesar's Palace in a Japanese restaurant that wasn't as good as I can get here for less, but they were playing the hockey game, so I sat at the bar and tried not to say much. It was weird, after being around the Olympics for two weeks, to sit quietly when Canada won. Someone walked by with a slush guitar and I made a mental note of the place (Jason later admitted it was his biggest failure of the weekend, something he will remedy now that he knows where to get one). I decided to go to Madame Tussaud's to kill some time and realised it would have been more fun with another person. Alas... I finally just gave up, walked to New York, New York, and caught a taxi to the airport 4 hours before my flight. I was tired and feeling sickly, and that seemed the best thing.

Am totally into going again next year. It was good times, all around.

(g)olden times

I didn't mean to neglect you. Really, I didn't. It's just... it's been a busy time. Stuff came up. I can either recap the last month or I can pretend there hasn't been any lag in time.

Maybe I'll just tell you what I remember. Or maybe the Olympics recap is easier.

1) Wilco and Califone for free. Went with my friend Neal and had a grand old time, even though it totally poured. Did I mention it was free? Because that made it more awesome. It probably would have been awesome if we paid money, but free is always better.

2) Elliott Brood and Rich Hope with Rachel. It felt like old times, when Rachel could stay up past 11pm and not be woken up at 6am by small children. I miss seeing shows with Rachel because she is fun to talk to between bands. Great, high energy show. Could barely take pictures because of the temporary floor was bouncing too much. It was all a blur.

3) Canada VS Sweden Women's Hockey and Feist & Chilly Gonzales at the Orpheum. My sis got last minute tickets to the game, so I weaseled my way out of work and we went. It was a completely lopsided game, ending at 13-1 with Canada not even shooting on net in the 3rd period. It was fun to be in such an electric crowd, but so hard to watch after a while. In the evening I went to the Feist show and got backstage to meet her and had a brief encounter with Jian Ghomeshi. He spoke at length with my friends about the Laurie Anderson show and checked out the superzoom on my camera.

4) Julie Doiron. It was a weird night, with Julie playing after a hockey game, before Joannie Rochette skated. No other bands. Poor Julie... The crowd was not as into her as they would have been somewhere else. But there were some people into her. I went with Neal and met Sarah and Glenn there. After the show we all played games at the Canada Pavilion. I would fail as a ski jumper; Neal would be awesome.

5) I somehow talked my boss into requesting a team building day so we could wander around some of the Olympic pavilions. We went to the Mint, which was totally cool and worth the 3 hour wait. Holding the medals... I can understand the lure of athletes giving up so much for the chance to win one of those. We had a nice lunch a Scuie and then headed to the BC Pavilion for the da Vinci show. My boss and I headed to the Canada Pavilion while the others left for their return to the suburbs, and stumbled upon a mascot parade, which is scary if you're not ready for it.

6) The Olympics messed up my part-time work schedule so badly that it will be months before I can catch up. Nearly impossible to get to or from work after my day job. Walking into large crowds also gave me flashbacks to the riots of '94. Unnerving.

I don't know... It was fun. It wasn't as terrible as I thought it was going to be. It's hard to continue to be annoyed by such a horrendous waste of money when people are just so joyful everywhere you go. Am excited to try to get to some Paralympics stuff. Sledge hockey looks awesome!

as real as it may seem

My boyfriend-in-my-dreams and I just started dating. We work together somewhere that has big fir trees outside the window. His desk is near the window, away from the other desks, and he used to watch for me at his window in the morning before we started dating. I thought he didn't like me because he never talked to me. But then we did and he did and I did.

Sometimes he opens the window and says sweet things to me before I get into the building. My desk is beside someone else's desk, so he tries not to look at me because the person beside me is the sort that will think he's looking at him/her (I think it might be a woman).

Someone in the office thinks she has a chance with him because they went for dinner once during one of his depressive episodes (he gets them, too). But now he only has eyes for me. It's just easier if the others don't know we're together. Our little secret.

I don't know where we work, what sort of work gets done, but I am a librarian and so is he. His hair is brown and sticks up kind of crazy, and he wears shirts with thin vertical stripes because he thinks he looks pudgy (he isn't). He carries a big black messenger bag over his right shoulder, and he drives a navy blue car.

He really wants to make a go of this relationship because our commonalities are understood by the other. There is no fear between us, that something will be revealed to scare the other person away. We are a good match.

minor rant

I've been increasingly conflicted lately. Because of the cross-section of people I know, from different backgrounds and with very divergent belief systems, I've been seeing some ugly sides to friends and acquaintances during the run up to the Olympics, and now that it has started the gloves appear to be off.

Do I sever ties with people who are so judgmental and think smashing windows is OK? Do I eliminate those that do nothing but drink to excess and act like asshats around town? Are people actually friends if they avoid texts, emails and phone calls when you're supposed have plans together? What are the rules during the next two weeks? Is there any way not to take it personally when people say or do something that is against what you believe in normal circumstances?

Thank cripes I have some really excellent friends who are consistently awesome and non-judgemental. Without them, there would be no reason to ever attempt to socialise again. With them, there is always the possibility that things will be OK.

the crazies

On my way home tonight from work I listened to a conversation between a guy who really seemed to be crazy and some police officers who were doing a routine survey of the area under the Skytrain tracks. It makes me afraid of the people around me.

The guy was lighting matches while wearing what looked like a hare krishna uniform while squatting beside one of the columns that holds up the Skytrain at Main. So the cops did a routine questioning, basically asking what he was doing and if he was going somewhere since he was crouching near the bus stop. (I mean, I would want someone to ask a guy why he's lighting matches under the main mode of transportation that I rely on.) The guy launched into a lengthy tirade about being on public land and being able to do whatever he wanted and they should back off and leave him alone. This went on while he continued to hold matches and start flailing arms and asking for the Criminal Code of Canada. And the cops just stood there passively, not instigating him or saying really anything. At a certain point the guy started being combative and threatened the officers, and they warned him that if he continued with the threats he would be arrested. It would have gone on longer, but some guy came up and started to hug the weird guy and he stopped ranting.

David Sedaris claims that, once you set your mind to it, everyone looks retarded (his word). I just think everyone is crazy. My friend deals with a lot of certifiably crazy people, people who would be safer to themselves and others if they were in a facility that can monitor them. It seems like the Olympics are making crazy people more obvious.

And it hasn't even really begun.

special delivery

You know what's rad? Packages from the book fairy.

David Sedaris on LP? OH YES.

I'm also thrilled to have Artisan bread in five minutes a day and Savory baking to peruse while I wait for my chorizo, cherry tomato & goat cheese quiche to cool to eating temperature. This is the first time I've managed to get something cooked in days. I've been subsisting on dairy products almost exclusively. Yogurt, mainly.

Why isn't drinking yogurt popular here? I can barely get Yop, yet in Japan I lived on drinking yogurt. We even got them with our school lunches sometimes. The cruelty of geography.

Another cruel twist of fate is the lack of a usable turntable to listen to this LP. I keep meaning to get a USB turntable, but then buy stupid things like a trip to Las Vegas or a Wii instead. I should stop consuming things. Completely.

Except for this quiche.

true story

From Le Love

stuffed

Tonight I ate more food than one person should, giving myself heart pains and making me wish I had a liquid to ingest that would make the pain go away. As my plate emptied into my stomach I still didn't feel full.

This is much like my regular life outside of my autonomous competitive eating. I'm always trying to fill my head and my heart with more than a normal person should attempt at one time, yet I never feel full; it's never enough. No matter how much time I spend with friends or how many activities I pack into my day, the empty is still there. All this stuff isn't even a drop in the bucket.

What's most frustrating is I don't even really know what would make the empty disappear. I make poor decisions, hoping the resulting turmoil will do something, will at least give me an idea if it's helping to alter the container inside me. I try to find things to tempt at least one of my senses, hoping one will trigger something. But it doesn't change, the water level never goes up.

When I got home from work I put in a load of laundry and was angry that I had to go back and forth to check on it. I thought of all the people who had someone else to check their laundry for them sometimes. It isn't fair that I have to do this by myself.

nest(ing) egg(s)

My fear of being destitute is irrational, but I still do stupid things to sabotage myself and make the irrationality seem more real.

This month I've spent an entire paycheck on stuff. Nothing in savings, nothing to my credit line, nothing to RRSPs... The computer was unexpected, but I could have managed it. But then... I discovered that Bath & Body Works is now open in Richmond Centre and then I got a Wii last night. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

It's still in the box. I haven't had time/effort to set it up and not sure if it will happen before Friday. It's just lucky I have nothing planned until Saturday evening. I'll figure out what was saved from my old computer (did manage to salvage photos/music, which is awesome) and sew the hell out of the dress I need for the Robbie Burns dinner I've got a ticket to on Saturday, and that's about it. Such excitement in my life.

I suspect subconsciously I don't see any point of planning ahead too much. Saving seems pointless because I'll likely have to work until I die anyway, and things I would like to save for (a home of my own, trips) I will never have because, alone, it's unattainable. (I'm not sure how much traveling alone you've done, but I've been alone on nearly all of my trips and I don't have the personality to engage with strangers everywhere I go. I just don't. So traveling alone is often very lonely and is why I visit cemeteries and natural history museums: people expect you to look miserable at them.) But a new camera or new tights are totally attainable.

Also, I bought 5 lbs of pink grapefruit because they were cheap. I'm not even sure if I like pink grapefruit. I like drinks made with pink grapefruit, but as a fruit on its own... No idea. But for a second I thought it was something someone my age would eat and in the basket they went.

I would go on, but I feel another ridiculous tangent coming on.

on the plate

Sometimes I wonder if I have a deathwish.

Often I complain that I have nothing to do, that I sit around my house constantly and get nothing done and see no one. During the week this is a half-truth, as most of my socialising gets done between Tuesday and Thursday, but little else. On weekends, it is absolutely true. The only people I generally see are the checkout people at whatever store I happen to need supplies from. Our conversations are brief and leave something to be desired (except for the meat conversations with my butchers). Large portions of time are dedicated to figuring out the best spot on my couch to watch unnecessary television programming.

When opportunity knocks, it's best to answer. To make sure I'm covered once my current contract is up (and to take up some of this lazy time), I took on another contract so I am not dormant at any point for the next while. I want to make sure, if I'm going to have limited work in 6 months (which is nearly inevitable), I want to have a bit saved up now and make sure I have other stuff in the works. So... I'll be working a part-time gig at the CBC doing film preservation/cataloguing. (For those of you who recall my work experience stint at the CBC, you can imagine how thrilled and grateful I am to be able to do this work again.)

In the meantime, I am hoping to buy fabric for a plaid dress for the Robbie Burns piping band soiree I'm going to next weekend with people from one of my jobs, meaning a hardcore sew-fest during one of these dormant days/evenings. Until the real work begins.

sweets

The field guide to candy has a recipe for fleur de sel caramels. This is interesting to know because I picked up some fleur de sel caramels from the chocolate shop on 21st at Main. If I didn't have a recipe for fleur de sel caramels, I might go bankrupt buying said caramels on a daily basis. They are that good. The sweetness with the saltiness... Tomorrow may involve a trip to Meinhardt's for supplies. Time to use my mom's candy thermometer.

I just swept up some fluff from my Bay blanket. It is satisfying to sweep up big red fluffs.

With Valentine's Day crap coming out in piles, I'm starting to get anxiety about having to hole up for large portions of February. It isn't fun avoiding the sympathetic glances and the you're-so-pathetic-going-to-a-movie-alone stares I get from partnered women every Februrary. I can't understand how buying red and pink crap and going out for dinner celebrates being in a relationship.

I feel sorry for the poor chumps who have to do crap their girlfriends/wives force them into to prove their affection. I see them miserably looking around the room, checking to see if anyone notices that their ties are too tight and their pants feel too snug around the waist. It isn't all of them, but there are enough to make it obvious. Valentine's Day is for women.

I miss the Japanese Valentine's Day. Women buy men candy, including male friends and fathers and brothers. Men don't have to do anything but remember who gave them candy. A month later is White Day, when men reciprocate. There's something civilised about this. (They have Valentine's Day-type stuff on Christmas, when couples and dates have a nice dinner and have sex in a hotel room. It's expected.)

But, in the end, it all comes down to candy.

the sun will come out

The sun is out today; the rareness makes me wish I didn't forget my camera at home so I could capture reminders that the days will be less gray and dreary at some point. The forecast hereafter is for nothing but rain. I understand the meteorlogical reasoning for rain in this particular climate, but it doesn't mean I have to like it.

Yesterday I got a replacement computer, the same as I had before, so it was an easy transition to the new system. A new OS and different widgets, but an essentially similar situation. I felt so weird not having something to do when I woke up daily at 5am (for no apparent reason... why does my body hate me so much?) and enjoyed my early morning much more today than previous days. I also got a webcam (finally!) so am able to Skype with friends. I was starting to feel like a Luddite. This morning I had my first fully functional chat with Eileen, mic and all. Was so nice to catch up with her. Now I should be talking with people more. If only I had anything going on to talk about.

Last night I had an absolutely delightful evening with the Jacksons. (I also forgot to ask them if they might have three children so I can call them the Jackson 5, but it's probably for the best that I forgot.) He made a delish dinner of squash gnocchi with pancetta and dressed salad with seasoned cherry tomatoes and goat cheese (seriously, how much do I love goat cheese? I would put it in every salad I ever eat if I could). She provided many topics to consider during our conversation. Must remember to book a karaoke night soon. I feel the need to belt out "Always something there to remind me" in a karaoke box after a session with Naked Eyes on the turntable. I love the mic.

With weather so nice, I'm torn what to do after work. If there's any shred of light, I doubt I'll want to be inside. I just can't actually remember when the sun goes down anymore. If the sun sets at 4:44pm, how much light will I have from 5pm onward? Maybe I should get a sun lamp thing to stop myself from going all "The Shining" and shit.

Tomorrow I get a day off, but have no idea what to do. Don't want to spend money (but want a Wii...), yet the weather is supposed to be more rain. Maybe it's time to stock the freezer with more baking. I've been berrated for not having chocolate chip cookies in my freezer on more than three occasions lately, so maybe it's time to convert frozen fruit to frozen baking. Or make a chocolate babka bread to see if I can do it. Mmm... chocolate babka...

baby, give it to me now

This week is just dragging, isn't it?

My computer isn't cooperating with me, refuses to boot up, and is causing me great anxiety at the possibility of having to replace it (goodbye, idea of Wii). I know we've had a good run, but I would rather not have to replace it. I don't need the newest technology; I just need something reliable in a Mac form. Will see someone tomorrow night to see what they can figure out.

Last night I met up with Terry for coffee (as a verb, not a noun) and got the copy of Grease 2 that he picked up for me. We had fruity things to drink because neither of us have been sleeping particularly well and thought caffeine would just mess everything up. Nice chat, as always, and when he dropped me off he said I would probably stay up and watch the movie anyway. I denied it.

My laptop still works (though won't connect to the internet for some unknown reason), so I sat up in bed for a while and scrolled through my favourite chapters. Seriously, some of those songs kick ass. "Reproduction" and "Let's score tonight" come to mind immediately. The whole thing looks a bit more current than 1961, clothing and all, and I can't believe how brutally hot Maxwell Caulfield is in that. (Have you done an image search for him recently? Not as adorable as he was in that film, but married Hayley Mill's sister when he was 18 and is still married.) Freaks me out that it came out when I was 9 and I watched it so many times that I knew most of the dialogue and all the songs (we had HBO; it was on for almost a month).

It also points out that having a thing with a mysterious cool rider might be better than getting to know some dorky guy who won't live up to my expectations. Where does one locate one of those?

change of plans

So, this weekend I was supposed to seriously consider/purchase a couple of things. My mom and sister gave me gift cards for the Bay for a slow cooker and I'd wanted to pick up a Wii for my "new me in 2010" kick. Thought about maybe getting some pants if I found some on sale. Guess what I wound up with. Go on, guess. I'll give you a minute...

...

Think you know?

I got a Bay blanket. None of the other stuff. Just a Bay blanket. And not the Olympic Bay blanket that I've been thinking of. Nor the bright green one that I love. No, I found a bunch marked down 60% in wine or a weird light brown. I blew my gift cards on a twin sized wine Bay blanket, this time costing me an additional $70. It's my new couch blanket. I'm not exactly sure when this Bay blanket thing will end, but I'm extremely hopeful the ones from the Olympics will be leftover and I can buy one of those on discount, too.

Today was a lot of fun. I met up with TP for breakfast and a chat, then we headed downtown to wander around/not buy any of the stuff I planned to. We eventually wound up at Oakridge, mainly because I wanted to find the pants I like that are now on sale, but instead we went to Sherlock Holmes at the Empire. I liked it a lot; it's pretty spectacular visually and, I mean, Robert Downey, Jr. That guy... love him.

Currently I'm sporting a haircut that refuses to look the way it was cut yesterday. No pictures just yet, or maybe ever, depending on how it behaves in the coming days. Why won't it behave?

busty

The first post of the year, but I'm not interested in recapping right now. Something is bugging me.

This week the bra/breast cancer awareness thing on Facebook kind of pissed me off. Irrationally, I suppose, but, honestly, I don't really need to be reminded of one of my greatest fears. I think about it monthly when I do my self-exam. I think about it when I hear news from my cousin who fought it. I think about it when I see two of my old co-workers who are still dealing with it.

Searching around the blogosphere today, I found more than a few cancer survivors even more pissed off than me, understandably. Those who had mastectomies... what were they supposed to put down? Those that lost their breasts, were they supposed to just ignore the reminder of what they lost?

Maybe I'm being overly sensitive, but women should be thinking about their breasts without having to be reminded one month a year or through a social networking site meme. It should be a given.