my constant concern

Often I forget what day it is, so it's not unusual for me to write the wrong date or accidentally forget to go into work on time because the date in my head is wrong. I tend to consistently send messages to one friend on the wrong day, mixing up the date and being off a day, but it happens regularly in general. This is bad on birthdays. I will sometimes specifically email around midnight to cover all my bases or call a few days early so I don't forget on the day-of.

Here's the thing about all this... I never used to be like this. I was so amazing at remembering people's birthdays and anniversaries, able to remember the calendar in my head and have an internal schedule that would magically make me remember everything I needed to remember related to dates.

Always on my mind is dementia and Alzheimer's. My grandmother is fully episodic. With bouts of dementia starting when I still lived in Edmonton, the mentions to my mother of incidents left me realising I would be in trouble should my mother start experiencing the same. She was in denial for 7 or 8 years about it all, blaming my grandmother's hearing aid or the cold she was getting over. Now, though, it is Alzheimer's; fully, completely Alzheimer's. There is no denying.

Sometimes when I talk to my mother I get nervous twitters in my tummy because she'll repeat things she just said in a short conversation, will be more foul tempered about daily occurances than she probably needs to be, and tell me about things she's misplaced around the house, only to find weeks later. These were the same things that made me watch my grandmother more carefully when I saw her regularly. These are the same things that keep me awake at night, trying to figure out how long it would take for me to pack up my life and move to take care of her if I'm right, wondering how long I have before I must deal with this in actuality.

And, yet, that I can't remember birthdays and anniversaries, that I get dates confused, brings on a whole new set of worries. That I, too, may be closer to my constant concern than I can handle. Where my mother has me, I have no one. That is my constant concern.

obsession, you're my obsession

Sometimes I think astrology is real.

Scorpios are known to be obsessive and I may have obsessive tendencies. Forgetting all the other negative traits associated with the sign, I'm totally fine with being a Scorpio and give credit to those that nervously say, "Ohhhhhh," when they find out I'm a Scorpio and still attempt to be friends with me. I'm not an easy person to be friends with.

Often I'm accused of liking people too much and that isn't always accurate. It more often has something to do with being mildly obsessed about something related to the person, like knowing someone likes doing something that I'm obsessed with and assuming they want to do that thing frequently. An example: I'm greatly interested in drinking beer, so knowing someone likes drinking beer I just assume they, like me, would want to go anytime at the drop of a hat. This is not always so, unfortunately, and then I'm labelled.

I bring up the obsession thing specifically because today I discovered a blog that deals specifically with one of my obsessions. I fricking LOVE coloured Pyrex and Pyrex Love shows off all the reasons to love coloured Pyrex. This woman's collection is AWESOME and makes me want to be more active with collecting it than I've been. (This is largely because of storage issues, but also because I don't like paying more than a certain amount and many places charge more than they should because of the kitschiness of it.) Last month I lost a mixing bowl to a precariously stacked drying rack and have been pained by the loss ever since. My personal collection isn't nearly where it should be.

Today I'm going for a wee walk to a few charity shops in my neighbourhood with hopes of discovering some coloured Pyrex and/or china settings. (I'm still waiting for the place setting I bought on Boxing Day with my Christmas money. Apparently the bonus rim bowl is still on its way.) I should really be doing this more frequently if I want to be serious about these collections. But, at the same time, I know that giving in to these obsessions will likely be detrimental to me, one way or another. Sigh. Maybe I'd be content with a couple of square coloured Pyrex dishes with lids. Maybe if I had been able to get my grandmother's collection of coloured Pyrex when they moved to a home I wouldn't be so obsessed with it all now.

Next week I'm going to Cloverdale to scour antique malls and hope for loads of sweet scores. Next Friday can't come fast enough. Today, however, I must begin my quest. And now.

the quest for bangers

Gosh, I'm still tipsy.

Not one to make more of St. Pat's Day than necessary (I'm nowhere near being Irish and think it's mostly lame to pretend to be of a specific ethnic background in the name of booze consumption; I don't need an excuse to drink on a weeknight), last evening I decided to turn tonight's hangout/drinking with an Irishish friend into something a bit more. Dinner and drinks seemed like a much better option than trying to get into any Irish-type bar to pay too much for drinks.

The timing of a communication with my sweet friend Sara resulted in her suggesting a coincidental trip to North Van to the British butcher she'd been wanting to visit. I, as well, had in the past seen reference to said butcher and thought it'd be fun to visit. We agreed we'd venture off the main peninsula for the sausages I wanted for tonight's dinner of bangers and mash.

We both forgot to bring the Translink directions (which, reviewing them now, were actually the least helpful ever and wouldn't have gotten us close enough to the shoppe anyway), so kind of winged it based on what we could collectively remember from the email communication we shared. We sort of got lost, but had a couple of nice diversions from our main goal (truffle purchasing, a visit to Cap Uni, bus transfers...). Eventually we got to the shoppe and I purchased four flavours of sausages for tonight: the Cambridge, the Cumberland, the Pork Apple and the Pork Leek. The eight links for tonight were extremely affordable and I had to stop myself from buying more (I will go back soon, or anytime someone wants to go). We figured out that Translink gave us the wrong directions when we saw a bus that would take us exactly where we wanted to go, so ran for that sucker and shaved at least 40 minutes off our travel time. Live and learn, I guess. The extra time visiting with Sara was rad, so I didn't mind the detours anyway. When we made it back downtown we stopped into the liquor shop across from Waterfront and picked up a couple of interesting beers for the evening and a cheap knock-off of Irish cream for a recipe.

Upon my return home, I started on a new recipe for a stout cake (less butter than the black & tan cupcakes) with an Irish cream icing. Eileen made it over while I was still beating the batter and we both revelled in the beauty of the fluffiness and richness of the batter. It looked like creamy icing, which generally means an awesome cake. Once that was into the oven, I got started on the rest of dinner between shots of Glenlivet and Irish cream. Eileen graciously made the icing while I worked on the savouries. I like turnips in my mashed potatoes, so peeled the crap out of all that, and trimmed some green beans. The sausages had to wait for the cake to bake, but everything smelled amazing by the time Jill and Mark came over, by which time Eileen and I were well on our way to being tipsy and giggly. Even with my poor timing for when each would finish cooking, everything went together so nicely. We each got a half of each sausage link and stuffed ourselves full of the yummy mash. Bangers and mash is easily one of the most kick-ass dinners during these colder months and I will definitely make more of an effort to make it for myself more often. My favourite sausage was the Pork Leek link. So fricking amazing.

Thankfully everyone was willing to tuck into the cake because I have no idea what I'd do with an (almost) entire cake on my own. Can't remember where I got the recipe from, but it was lovely. I substituted chocolate cherry stout for Guinness and the maltiness was quite nice with all the cocoa and cinnamon. Mark went back for three pieces while the other three of us had two. (I actually also threw together a rhubarb sponge cake while the sausages were roasting because I need to use up the rhubarb from my mom pretty quick. It paled in comparison to the stout cake, but would be good with sweetened whipping cream.) After dessert we were all pretty content to just chat and drink for a while.

I'm not sure how much we actually drank, but we finished off the Glenlivet, had the remainder of the chocolate cherry stout I used for the cake (Tin Whistle, really nice, but no Young's Double Chocolate Stout), tried the Brooklyn Dark Chocolate Stout (which was far more bitter than I thought it'd be), polished off the Irish cream, had a couple bottles of Harp's, tucked into the Crown Royal and finished the Pimm's. We were all liquored enough to be chatty and pleased with the evening, which is enough for me. (Today I also discovered that the liquor shop across from Waterfront carries He-Brew, which is good news, indeed! Can't wait to test out The Chosen Beer when next I have enough money to buy it.)

They all got some cake to take home and left me encouraged to plan more dinner parties in the near future. Such fun, and a relatively easy menu with tolerant friends. Tomorrow I'm going to try root beer bundt cake, so anyone want to come over for cake in the next couple of days?

paranormalish

I think I need to get the hell out of Dodge.

The last week has been a rough one. The turn in weather has felt like an indication of my circumstances, but I'm really trying not to think about it today. Instead, I'm thinking of Chicago. In a month I'll be there and it's all I can do to stop myself from spasmodically jumping around when I think of it.

One thing I may have neglected to mention is where I'll be staying. Usually I stay at the hostel between the Washington Library and The Auditorium, but this time I decided to shake things up a bit in the hopes I'd have a decent night sleep for a change. (I've never slept a whole night through at the hostel. I'm usually awoken by someone kicking my bed or slamming a locker or talking, and I'm a crappy sleeper at the best of times.) I managed to find a hotel that was surprisingly cheap to book, a bit more than the hostel but likely worth the extra money for solitary sleep (relatively).

The Congress is an old hotel, built for the World Exposition in 1893, and has been home to a number of noteworthy guests over the years, largely presidents though Benny Goodman had a radio show there and Al Capone held meetings there regularly. Most recently, I discovered that a variety of gangsters lived there in its heyday as well. But what gets me most excited are the possible current residents.

There are claims that Teddy Roosevelt's ghost lives there, though a number of non-famous ghosts have been spotted around the hotel. One of the ballrooms has been especially active the past year, with unreplicable noises coming from empty air spaces where there is no access. A couple of guys who do ghost tours of Chicago have filmed the ballroom a number of times and the bang that always sounds has never been recreated using the equipment around the room that wouldn't cause structural damage to the place.

People liked to kill people at the Congress. A lot, and often. Not so much recently, but at one time, back in its grandeur days, it was a place to be seen and, apparently, be killed if someone had a gripe with you. Because the ballrooms were the place to be during the early part of the last century, it's fitting to stay there in conjunction with the Chic Chicago exhibition. Some of the dresses I'll see were likely worn in the Congress. This gives me shivers.

I'm not so concerned about the ghosts. I've not read any reviews about there being a ghost problem. The only thing I'm worried about is being put in the dullest, most rundown room in the hotel. I'm hoping for the lakeside, preferably by the Florentine Ballroom.

brrr

I feel like a human popsicle.

My hydro bill is insane, four times what it was in the fall. The last bill was shocking, three times the normal bill, and I turned my heat down to cut costs. I've turned my heat down again (it was already at 13'C) to 10'C in the living room and to zero in the bedroom in light of this recent bill. Not that this is going to help, but I don't want to pay more.

I called BC Hydro to see if there was anything I can do to cut my bill, if maybe there was a mistake. Apparently, if you have electric baseboards, they automatically run even if you have your heat dial set to zero, to warm the pipes to prevent bursts (what happened in my kitchen then?). I have to go into the breaker room and flip the switch to stop paying for heating when there is no actual heat pumping into my house. This is annoying.

Today I haven't left my house because I couldn't think of a free place to go that was warm. This meant I got to watch terrible daytime TV between naps. One thing that creeped me out was a commercial that I've seen a few times. The Snuggie doesn't look tempting at all, but the people in the commercial look so happy. I guess they don't realise they look like they're waiting to go to a Masons meeting for a sacrifice. The Urban Dictionary even has a couple of entries for it, a couple that pinpointed why I think it's so creepy.

Despite my sub-zero condition, please never consider getting me one of those things, unless you want me to break into your home at night and lurk at the base of your bed with candles while chanting in tongues.

on the verge

I think it's time to do my taxes, if only to see if I'll get back enough to pay for rent for June. My anxiety with the uncertainty of work is starting to worry me.

This morning I finally went to the dentist for a checkup. I was upfront about my lack of coverage and that I wasn't sure I'd have a job after April, so really didn't want to pay more than I absolutely had to. The hygienist was very understanding and didn't polish or add fluoride (a $50 savings), and took an x-ray for free of the root canal that my dentist has been watching the last couple of years. When my dentist came to discuss the work that I need to get, I started to get teary. And it was frustrating to cry in front of my fricking dentist because it isn't his fault my stupid teeth suck or that I can't get any sort of stable job. After a brief description of my work situation and the bleak outlook this summer and possibly next fall, he said we'd talk again as soon as I know if anything changes because it has to be dealt with. Then he stopped me on my way out and said, if I was willing, I could likely knock off a bit of the cost if I let him do a study session on my teeth, which involves having a bunch of dentists come and stare at him cutting up my mouth and attaching parts of it in another area of my mouth. That made me feel better. Still don't know how much that would be worth, though.

At work this evening, my supervisor asked how the other jobs are going and it sort of upset me again. She kind of knew the public library wasn't in a good state right now, but she didn't realise how bad it potentially is. Needless to say, I'm applying for more jobs again. And... I think I'm going to apply for a job in Edmonton. I don't necessarily want to move to Edmonton right now, but I also won't be able to afford to live in Vancouver after June if work doesn't pick up drastically, and it seems like there are a lot more interesting postings coming out of Edmonton than in Vancouver.

On the upside, the moon looks remarkable tonight. So enormous and yellow and full. As I walked home from work, I had the awesome 12" vinyl version of "Killing Moon" running through my head. (I once played that version on my radio show and had so many people call in to find out how to get that version that I had to silence the phone line and stay an extra 15 minutes after to answer the calls. It's that good. So awesome.) It makes me think about vampires and death, but everything probably does at this point.

stranded

The snow yesterday was unwelcome. I hate when it snows here because, regardless of how much snow we get in a season, every snowfall wreaks havoc on Main Street. I gave myself loads of time to get to work yesterday, expecting buses might be running a little late. I didn't think they wouldn't run at all in the direction I wanted to go.

I watched 7, 8, 9 buses go the other direction, the sun shining brightly, the temperature a little above zero, the pavement wet but snowless. I waited for the bus, thinking that of course there would be a bus any minute now. I waited 25 minutes and no bus. Had I known no buses would be running up Main I would have walked to the Skytrain station, a 25 minute walk. Why wouldn't a bus be running when it's sunny?

My cell phone informed me I would have to get to the station in mere minutes to be able to get to Surrey in time for my noon o'clock shift. I stuck out my thumb, hoping someone would stop and take me along in the direction they were going anyway. I know this doesn't happen very often: in all the time I've waited for buses, only once was I offered a ride, and that was just a few weeks ago when a woman watched a bus drive away as I ran for it. After a few minutes of people looking at me and driving by, I gave up with the thumb. Stupid drivers.

But then someone came around the corner and asked if I wanted a ride. I asked if a couple others could get a ride and she agreed. She admitted she drove by, saw me with my thumb stuck out, and then thought about it and went around the block to pick me up. We had a pleasant chat, and I know she will think about picking people up in the future; we were all so thankful for the ride.

I'm sure people in Vancouver would like to be friendlier with each other, but crazies make it hard to let down the barriers enough to be friendly. I realised today that I make sure people don't speak to me every time I plug my (beloved) iPod into my ears. So I might have to make a deal with myself: if there are interesting-looking people on the bus I will try to take my earplugs out and make eye contact and be open to conversations. It probably will only happen less than 1% of the time, but the effort should be made.