Years and year ago, my dad went
away somewhere and brought back a big notebook for me. It was covered in Looney
Tunes characters on the outside, and the edges of the pages were gold. Dad told
me that not only could I write in it like I was apt to do as a voracious reader
and writer for my age, but I could also use the cartoons on the outside to
trace and draw into my own artwork. What kid gets excited over a book with
blank pages to write in? I did.
Showing posts with label Stories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Stories. Show all posts
Monday, March 14, 2016
Wednesday, September 30, 2015
The boots of regret
Something like 10 years ago, I went down to Washington D. C. to play in an annual volleyball tournament. Along the way, our driving convoy stopped in Grove City, PA to shop at the outlets there. It was my first time there, and man, were there ever deals!
I was still a new player back then, young and probably barely employed. But I made out like a bandit on things that cost me no more than $10 - 20 apiece. I stuck to the stores that I was familiar with and was pretty sure that I could afford to shop in: The GAP, Aeropostale (and this was before it came to Canada), the Nike Store...it was there I scored some great deals. Thinking I'd done all I could, I tagged along with another friend into a shoe store I'd never heard of before. Today, I couldn't tell you what it was called, but that's where this story REALLY began.
While she shopped, I browsed. As I browsed, I came across a pair of knee-high boots. Back then, I guess stretchy leather was not as common because when it came to these kinds of boots, you either had tiny little calves that fit the all-leather made boots, or you had giant-sized calves that had to be squeezed into boots that were part leather, part ugly-black-elastic-stretch-section-in-the-back. Being of the latter half of the population, I didn't have high hopes with these all-leather boots.
But then.
They fit! They fit like a glove! They were all leather! I was astounded. I took a few steps in them and they were comfortable. I checked out the brand name on the box - Kenneth Cole. All I knew was that it was a brand name that was typically out of range for my starving-student budget.
But then.
I flipped my heel and looked at the price tag stapled to the bottom of the boot: $98. $98?! You can never get boots - knee-high boots - for less than a hundred dollars!
But then.
My inexperienced shopping mind made the following "logical" deduction:
I should have bought those boots.
Perhaps I should have. but hey, they were just boots, I could find another pair. And so, feeling a little bit of regret, I decided to find myself a pair of replacement boots. That's when the REAL regret kicked in.
I couldn't find another pair.
All leather boots didn't fit me. Boots that did fit me had that terrible ugly elastic section in the back. Any boots that came close to being not-ugly-enough-to-want-to-buy were astronomically expensive. None of them were comfortable.
It plagued me for years that I couldn't find another pair. The scene played over and over in my mind: me standing there with the boots ON my feet, deciding I didn't need them, and then me walking out of the store without them. I wanted to scream at that past reflection of myself, buy the damn boots! You'll never find the same!
I regretted it. Oh, I regretted it hard. For YEARS. Since then, I've made it a point in my life to be sure that I'll never regret NOT buying something while I could, again. And that is the story, of the boots of regret...
...
...and that, honey, is why I HAD to buy these new Kenneth Cole boots while I was supposed to be grocery shopping!
I was still a new player back then, young and probably barely employed. But I made out like a bandit on things that cost me no more than $10 - 20 apiece. I stuck to the stores that I was familiar with and was pretty sure that I could afford to shop in: The GAP, Aeropostale (and this was before it came to Canada), the Nike Store...it was there I scored some great deals. Thinking I'd done all I could, I tagged along with another friend into a shoe store I'd never heard of before. Today, I couldn't tell you what it was called, but that's where this story REALLY began.
While she shopped, I browsed. As I browsed, I came across a pair of knee-high boots. Back then, I guess stretchy leather was not as common because when it came to these kinds of boots, you either had tiny little calves that fit the all-leather made boots, or you had giant-sized calves that had to be squeezed into boots that were part leather, part ugly-black-elastic-stretch-section-in-the-back. Being of the latter half of the population, I didn't have high hopes with these all-leather boots.
But then.
They fit! They fit like a glove! They were all leather! I was astounded. I took a few steps in them and they were comfortable. I checked out the brand name on the box - Kenneth Cole. All I knew was that it was a brand name that was typically out of range for my starving-student budget.
But then.
I flipped my heel and looked at the price tag stapled to the bottom of the boot: $98. $98?! You can never get boots - knee-high boots - for less than a hundred dollars!
But then.
My inexperienced shopping mind made the following "logical" deduction:
- I hadn't come on this volleyball trip prepared to shop
- Everything else I had bought on this unexpected trip was less than $20
- These boots were $98 and were 5x more expensive than anything else I'd bought so far
- I didn't need the boots
- Therefore, don't buy the boots.
I should have bought those boots.
Perhaps I should have. but hey, they were just boots, I could find another pair. And so, feeling a little bit of regret, I decided to find myself a pair of replacement boots. That's when the REAL regret kicked in.
I couldn't find another pair.
All leather boots didn't fit me. Boots that did fit me had that terrible ugly elastic section in the back. Any boots that came close to being not-ugly-enough-to-want-to-buy were astronomically expensive. None of them were comfortable.
It plagued me for years that I couldn't find another pair. The scene played over and over in my mind: me standing there with the boots ON my feet, deciding I didn't need them, and then me walking out of the store without them. I wanted to scream at that past reflection of myself, buy the damn boots! You'll never find the same!
I regretted it. Oh, I regretted it hard. For YEARS. Since then, I've made it a point in my life to be sure that I'll never regret NOT buying something while I could, again. And that is the story, of the boots of regret...
...
...and that, honey, is why I HAD to buy these new Kenneth Cole boots while I was supposed to be grocery shopping!
Friday, May 30, 2014
Pregnancy rage
Early on in my pregnancy, like, in the second month or so, all was well during the day. Malcolm and I were still the newlywed couple, very much in love and even more so now that we knew we were expecting a new addition to our family. But at night...
...at night, Malcolm had the AUDACITY to try to cuddle with me! I'd be all settled for sleep on my side of our king-sized bed when all of a sudden, he'd put his arm affectionately around me, kiss me goodnight and go to sleep like that! WTF? The moment I was sure he was asleep, I'd pincer his wrist between my thumb and forefinger like it was used tissue, and fling it back onto his side of the bed. Some nights he'd try to reach for me again and I'd scoot further away. There was at least one night that ended with me balanced on my side on the very edge of the bed, trying to stay out of his reach. I had the most trouble falling asleep those nights because I was fuming.
Who does my husband think he is, trying to show me affection while I'm TRYING TO SLEEP?!
And then, just the other night, I was boiling a pot of water on the stove. Malcolm walked by, noticed this, and put the lid on the pot for me. I nearly lost my shit.
If I'd have WANTED the lid on the pot, I would have PUT the lid on the pot!
It's not just Malcolm that sets me off either. I nearly assaulted a friend because she admitted she's parked in the expectant mother spots before, without ever having been an expectant mother.
I...can't...even....
Luckily, in all of these instances, I've realized that there was an element of psycho to them so instead of acting on my feelings or letting them explode out of my mouth, I silently fumed and brooded the fire away. Sometimes it could take a few days or weeks, but I made it.
So all these times that people warned me of "pregnant brain" or raging hormones and emotional swings, I at first dismissed them. But now that I'm halfway through my own pregnancy, I have to say that they are SO true. Those of you who are expecting should probably be told about these things. But really, it should be those of you who are NOT pregnant but that will probably find yourselves in the presence of someone that is - YOU are the ones who should be warned about pregnancy rage. Because you could be a victim. And it could be bad. Trust me.
Monday, May 05, 2014
What did the fox...wait, fox?!
Slacking in any area is getting blamed on baby brain. :) Oh yes, we're having a baby!
As with other big events in my life, I've started yet another journal just for this one. I'll probably share more of those posts later, but there was one thing that took place last night that I just can't skip.
With being pregnant, I've been having amazingly lucid dreams. So lucid, that I'll wake up in the morning (with some crazy difficulty every time) and wonder...was that real? From things like attending SilentR's wedding, to cooking cocaine in an RV à la Breaking Bad, they're pretty hilarious, but surprisingly detailed and convincing. However, none are probably as convincing as Malcolm's dream was to him last night. He told it well in his own words, so I won't ruin it...
As with other big events in my life, I've started yet another journal just for this one. I'll probably share more of those posts later, but there was one thing that took place last night that I just can't skip.
With being pregnant, I've been having amazingly lucid dreams. So lucid, that I'll wake up in the morning (with some crazy difficulty every time) and wonder...was that real? From things like attending SilentR's wedding, to cooking cocaine in an RV à la Breaking Bad, they're pretty hilarious, but surprisingly detailed and convincing. However, none are probably as convincing as Malcolm's dream was to him last night. He told it well in his own words, so I won't ruin it...
Monday, January 20, 2014
The big day
It really was the happiest day of my life. While there were more tears shed that day than any other, they were tears of joy and happiness. It went by so fast as I was told it would. It felt like it was happening to me, rather than as as planned--not to say that it ran wildly out of control--it definitely didn't. I don't even have any words. Perhaps I'll just capture pieces at a time.
...
Find the pieces under the wedding label.
...
Find the pieces under the wedding label.
Tuesday, January 07, 2014
Quotes of the moment
These are the ones that are amusing me right now:
"She was up and gone in a flash; lithe like a ferret she was!"
- JB, describing someone escaping an awkward seat on the TTC
"This will allow me to expedite the meeting quicker."
- Someone at work from the department of redundancy department
"it's a cold day when celsius and fahrenheit meet." [sic]
- mimster's FB status...because it's true
"She was up and gone in a flash; lithe like a ferret she was!"
- JB, describing someone escaping an awkward seat on the TTC
"This will allow me to expedite the meeting quicker."
- Someone at work from the department of redundancy department
"it's a cold day when celsius and fahrenheit meet." [sic]
- mimster's FB status...because it's true
Saturday, October 19, 2013
The origins of the onion
Our wedding day was filled with joyous tears. A lot of them. I think Malcolm started it. And I love him all the more of it. Anyway, to excuse the constant welling ups, Malcolm made the comment - multiple times - that someone in the building must have been cutting onions.
When it came time for our speech together to everyone, we were no exception to the tears. Just as the tears started up, I was distracted by a body sneaking through the crowd towards us. I realized it was TCHC just as he slunk up to the head table, but had no clue what he was up to. Nearly sidelining me from what I had to say, his purpose came to light a moment later.
He wordlessly placed an onion - what turned out later to be THE onion - on the podium and slunk away again with just a quick nod at Malcolm. Malcolm presented the onion to the audience.
"Here's the culprit!"
There was laughter and more love. And more tears, even though that onion remained whole the rest of the night.
When it came time for our speech together to everyone, we were no exception to the tears. Just as the tears started up, I was distracted by a body sneaking through the crowd towards us. I realized it was TCHC just as he slunk up to the head table, but had no clue what he was up to. Nearly sidelining me from what I had to say, his purpose came to light a moment later.
He wordlessly placed an onion - what turned out later to be THE onion - on the podium and slunk away again with just a quick nod at Malcolm. Malcolm presented the onion to the audience.
"Here's the culprit!"
There was laughter and more love. And more tears, even though that onion remained whole the rest of the night.
What's in a name?
Both of the mothers were scheduled to arrive later that morning which left the bridal suite filled with just us young girls - the only married one was our makeup artist and she had only had her wedding a little over a month before mine.
Thank goodness the moms weren't there.
The topic of conversation was about what to do with your maiden name. Señorita and my makeup artist, Charming, were of Hispanic/Filipino tradition: their names consisted of both their mother's maiden name and their father's last name: Señorita Looking For Fun, and Charming Iss Living Talent.* Their tradition followed that at marriage, they would drop their mother's maiden name and adopt their husband's family name; Señorita would lose "For" and Charming would lose "Living."
*obviously these names are made up, but the initials are (pretty much) true for illustrative purposes.
However, while Charming and I both wanted to take our husbands' names, neither of us wanted to lose any of the ones we already had. After some excited discussion, the suggestion was made to just smash our maiden names into our already existing middle names and take our married names as our solitary last name. That made me Melody Amazing Choiceto Love, and Charming Iss Living Talent Sublime. The difference was that to do this, we'd require a legal name change versus just assuming his last name. And then came the comment from Charming:
"My name is going to be so long!"
"But it'll be worth it - you get to keep everything AND get a bad-ass last name to boot. Just get it legally changed."
"Yeah, you're right. And while I"m at it, I should just switch my second and third names so my initials will be 'CLITS.'"
I died.
...
I shared this story with Brodder and we had a laugh.
"That's like 'Coors Light Iced Tea,'" he pointed out.
"Oh my god, it is! Someone didn't think that one through."
"Or maybe they did. And it gets funnier the drunker you get - 'I'd like some more CLIT, please!'"
Oh gawd.
Thank goodness the moms weren't there.
The topic of conversation was about what to do with your maiden name. Señorita and my makeup artist, Charming, were of Hispanic/Filipino tradition: their names consisted of both their mother's maiden name and their father's last name: Señorita Looking For Fun, and Charming Iss Living Talent.* Their tradition followed that at marriage, they would drop their mother's maiden name and adopt their husband's family name; Señorita would lose "For" and Charming would lose "Living."
*obviously these names are made up, but the initials are (pretty much) true for illustrative purposes.
However, while Charming and I both wanted to take our husbands' names, neither of us wanted to lose any of the ones we already had. After some excited discussion, the suggestion was made to just smash our maiden names into our already existing middle names and take our married names as our solitary last name. That made me Melody Amazing Choiceto Love, and Charming Iss Living Talent Sublime. The difference was that to do this, we'd require a legal name change versus just assuming his last name. And then came the comment from Charming:
"My name is going to be so long!"
"But it'll be worth it - you get to keep everything AND get a bad-ass last name to boot. Just get it legally changed."
"Yeah, you're right. And while I"m at it, I should just switch my second and third names so my initials will be 'CLITS.'"
I died.
...
I shared this story with Brodder and we had a laugh.
"That's like 'Coors Light Iced Tea,'" he pointed out.
"Oh my god, it is! Someone didn't think that one through."
"Or maybe they did. And it gets funnier the drunker you get - 'I'd like some more CLIT, please!'"
Oh gawd.
Thursday, June 13, 2013
The creepiness of carb withdrawal
"Hey, there's a bagel in the kitchen that you should go eat."
"Oh thank god - I'm starving! Wait, why don't you eat it?"
"Because I can't eat it - I'm getting married in a month! You're getting married in four months; you still have time!"
"Okay fine."
And so I got up from my desk and headed to the kitchen. To my surprise, she followed me. She wasn't getting food and she already had a drink in hand, so I chalked it up to just being social.
I got to the kitchen, and sure enough, there was one last lonely bagel on a breakfast platter, with cream cheese on the side, waiting to be used up. I grabbed a plate and opened up the tub of cream cheese, ready to dress my bagel.
"Wait!"
"What?"
"Aren't you going to toast that first?"
"Oh, I hadn't thought about it. Yeah, I guess so."
"Well, it's just that that's what I would do."
"Oh, well, okay."
I tossed the bagel into the toaster, and together, my co-worker and I waited, chatting and making small talk with other visitors to the kitchen. When it was ready, I topped it with cream cheese and headed back to my desk, friend still in tow. I sat down with my bagel and took a bite before continuing my conversation with her.
"How's the bagel?"
"Good. Thanks for letting me know it was there."
As we kept talking, I noticed something. Rather than make eye contact with me, my friend kept eying the bagel. Whenever I would pick it up for a bite, her eyes would follow it from the plate to my mouth and back.
"Uh, did you want some of the bagel?"
"No! Of course not!"
"Well you can't take your eyes off it..."
"It just looks really good."
"You're starting to creep me out."
"I'm kind of going through carb withdrawal."
"I can tell."
"So is it good?"
"Yes, but I think you need to leave."
"It smells really good."
"I really think you need to leave."
"Can you describe the taste to me?"
"Okay, you really need to go now."
"I'd better go..."
...
The things that we women do to look good on the big day. I'm dreading the days that I force myself to go through carb withdrawal and become a food perv myself.
Wednesday, May 08, 2013
Thank goodness I'm vain
I approached the waist-high sinks in the ladies rooms after using the facilities. While washing my hands, I checked out my hair and shirt to make sure I was presentable. While I dried my hands, I stepped back for a more full-length review of myself.
THANK GOD I DID!
My skirt was tucked up awkwardly into itself in the back, providing anyone following me with a free show. Thank god I was in the ladies room. Alone. Whew.
Monday, April 15, 2013
Tucked in
She feels a gentle caress of cool fingers against her cheek. She reluctantly opens her eyes to investigate and sees him reaching across the pillows. He sees her open eyes and smiles at her- she'd fallen asleep while reading - book still in her hand.
"Hey baby."
Against her will, she eyes fall closed again as she gives a weak mew of complaint and exhaustion, content to let the book sleep with her on the pillow, pressing its words into her face. Her last vision is of him still smiling at her.
She feels the fingers leave her cheek as gently as they arrived. The book is eased out of her grip. There's the soft sounds of padding feet as he makes his way around the bed and she hears him mark her page before placing the book into its dusty void on her night stand. Her lamp snaps off.
He places one last kiss on her temple before crawling back under cover on the other side of the bed so as not to disturb her. She sleeps soundly.
"Hey baby."
Against her will, she eyes fall closed again as she gives a weak mew of complaint and exhaustion, content to let the book sleep with her on the pillow, pressing its words into her face. Her last vision is of him still smiling at her.
She feels the fingers leave her cheek as gently as they arrived. The book is eased out of her grip. There's the soft sounds of padding feet as he makes his way around the bed and she hears him mark her page before placing the book into its dusty void on her night stand. Her lamp snaps off.
He places one last kiss on her temple before crawling back under cover on the other side of the bed so as not to disturb her. She sleeps soundly.
Friday, November 02, 2012
Friday randoms
It's Friday. It's lunchtime. I'm ready for the weekend.
...
My work email spellcheck accepts "guesstimate" as a legitimate word. Huh.
...
Is it bad that I read this article and found it (morbidly) amusing? Yes, I know there's not much information, and yes, I know that it's sad that a man was killed in this accident, but the circumstances just take a turn for the ridiculous without that vital extra information. From what I could glean from the article, my brain rewrote the events as this:
...
Dear Winning Lottery Ticket,
I know we haven't met and we've never actually spoken in person before, but I was kind of hoping we could change that this weekend. Whadda ya say?
melody
...
My work email spellcheck accepts "guesstimate" as a legitimate word. Huh.
...
Is it bad that I read this article and found it (morbidly) amusing? Yes, I know there's not much information, and yes, I know that it's sad that a man was killed in this accident, but the circumstances just take a turn for the ridiculous without that vital extra information. From what I could glean from the article, my brain rewrote the events as this:
It was a dark night as a man walked down the lonely road at 3:30 am. Suddenly, out of the darkness, a car appeared, driving too fast. So fast, the man was struck in a instant. While the car took off, the man stumbled, dazed and disoriented, now in the middle of the roadway. Being as dark as it was and the hour that it was and at that particular intersection, a second, smaller car appeared too fast and struck the man again.I know, I know, it's not funny...but it kinda is...
The little car screeched to a stop. Panicked, the driver dialled 911 and desperately called for help for the man on the road. The driver jumped out after the call and ran to the man who was amazingly intact and trying to pick himself up a second time.
"Holy shit, are you okay?!"
"Yeah, I think so," came the disbelieving reply as the man swayed unsteadily to his feet.
"Dude, take it easy, I just called the cops - they should be here any second."
"Thanks - I think I might be okay."
Sirens could be heard approaching the scene. The driver called after the man, trying to convince him to stay, but he had already begun to swagger off into the night. A moment later, a police cruiser swung into view going too fast and struck the poor man a third time.
"Aw fuck."
...
Dear Winning Lottery Ticket,
I know we haven't met and we've never actually spoken in person before, but I was kind of hoping we could change that this weekend. Whadda ya say?
melody
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
The keeper of coffee country
After walking for what felt like miles, I finally found a dilapidated little coffee shop at a neglected intersection on the edge of downtown where I could sit and wait for Malcolm to finish a training session. When I entered, I felt at least three of a possible five pairs of eyes on me, sizing up the intruder attempting to enter their territory. And what strange citizens they all seemed.
All patrons were of retirement age or older, and were mostly men. There were two mustaches, one 10-gallon hat, an abundance of pockmarks and various scars, and a mysterious black suitcase on the floor. As far as my first glace told me, no one was atually drinking any coffee, which was probaly just as well - the proprietor seemed already overwhelmed with the line-up of two.
The shopkeep himself was a character. Owner of half the pockmarks in the place, his face was round and jolly and of an undetermined origin. His accent was undeniably thick, but even when he paused to answer the cell phone screaming at his belt, the language he used lent no clues.
He had to ask me three times about my order of a medium coffee.
"With cream and sugar, please."
"Just sugar?"
"Cream and sugar, please."
"How many cream? How many sugar?"
"One of each, please."
"Small?"
"Medium, please."
Still flustered by the line-up of me and the mustached man that had come before me, theshopkeep spent a confused moment ringing in my order, wondering why there was a pile of change already on the counter. I knew it had been the man's before me because we all three had watched him leave it there as payment. The shopkeep's eyes widened in enlightenment when he remembered too, a moment later.
Nevertheless, I found the panic endearing. And after me, and having dispersed the crowd, he returned to his element of keeping that shop and keeping it well. One customer at a time, he remembered regulars and served the strangers. He had well-wishes for the man who was freshly released from a hospital stay; he had congratulations for the man who earned an extension on his work as a labourer; he made suggestions for a girl who had to feed her picky sister.
When he disappeared into the back to re-stock, the citizens stood sentry for him.
"Eh! Captain Kirk! When a customer comes, call me!"
"Ya!"
*pause*
"Any customers yet?"
"Nope!" came the chorused reply from the Captain and his crew.
Locals who bordered on homelessness came to warm themselves with a small cup of coffee and to whet their whistles on free cups of water that the shopkeep poured with the additional warmth of generosity. They discussed the latest deals on thrift items - where to find the best clothes or the latest shoes - sympathized on having to settle on bad weekly lodgings, and apologizing for not being around due to late rent cheques.
This tiny microcosm continued to buzz until the 8 o'clock hour rolled around and I gathered my things to go. One last look around the place and then I stepped outside into the brisk autumn air. And then, like a mere hour ago, the coffee shop slid back into a non-existence without outsider eyes to believe it.
All patrons were of retirement age or older, and were mostly men. There were two mustaches, one 10-gallon hat, an abundance of pockmarks and various scars, and a mysterious black suitcase on the floor. As far as my first glace told me, no one was atually drinking any coffee, which was probaly just as well - the proprietor seemed already overwhelmed with the line-up of two.
The shopkeep himself was a character. Owner of half the pockmarks in the place, his face was round and jolly and of an undetermined origin. His accent was undeniably thick, but even when he paused to answer the cell phone screaming at his belt, the language he used lent no clues.
He had to ask me three times about my order of a medium coffee.
"With cream and sugar, please."
"Just sugar?"
"Cream and sugar, please."
"How many cream? How many sugar?"
"One of each, please."
"Small?"
"Medium, please."
Still flustered by the line-up of me and the mustached man that had come before me, theshopkeep spent a confused moment ringing in my order, wondering why there was a pile of change already on the counter. I knew it had been the man's before me because we all three had watched him leave it there as payment. The shopkeep's eyes widened in enlightenment when he remembered too, a moment later.
Nevertheless, I found the panic endearing. And after me, and having dispersed the crowd, he returned to his element of keeping that shop and keeping it well. One customer at a time, he remembered regulars and served the strangers. He had well-wishes for the man who was freshly released from a hospital stay; he had congratulations for the man who earned an extension on his work as a labourer; he made suggestions for a girl who had to feed her picky sister.
When he disappeared into the back to re-stock, the citizens stood sentry for him.
"Eh! Captain Kirk! When a customer comes, call me!"
"Ya!"
*pause*
"Any customers yet?"
"Nope!" came the chorused reply from the Captain and his crew.
Locals who bordered on homelessness came to warm themselves with a small cup of coffee and to whet their whistles on free cups of water that the shopkeep poured with the additional warmth of generosity. They discussed the latest deals on thrift items - where to find the best clothes or the latest shoes - sympathized on having to settle on bad weekly lodgings, and apologizing for not being around due to late rent cheques.
This tiny microcosm continued to buzz until the 8 o'clock hour rolled around and I gathered my things to go. One last look around the place and then I stepped outside into the brisk autumn air. And then, like a mere hour ago, the coffee shop slid back into a non-existence without outsider eyes to believe it.
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Struck
Due to sporting schedules and an extended sleep-in, Malcolm and I didn’t manage to get to the Whitby Ribfest on Saturday as we had originally planned. However, undeterred and with an appointment-free Sunday, (kept clear in the event that such a mis-schedule should happen) we made our way over to the venue to take in a late lunch just yesterday.
Looking out the front windows at home, the skies shone clear and sunny. It wasn’t until we’d piled into the car and were well on our way that we noticed the dark clouds following us. Our reaction?
“Meh.”
We’d just returned from a state-side shopping trip that had us facing clouds much like the ones chasing us that Sunday and while the American clouds had flashed and boomed, they didn’t let a single drop fall and instead passed us over completely and disappeared. Why wouldn’t this be the same?
When we arrived at the Ribfest, it was pretty clear that the clouds were not just going to pass us by as before. So, we made the decision to divide and conquer the food options before meeting to find seats in the food tent. Mission accomplished. Just as a light rain began to fall, we were sitting ourselves down, dry under the tent, to fest on our rack of ribs and blooming onion with extra ranch sauce.
We took in the sights as we ate. The rain was doggedly persistent, but not the heaviest of downpours. The band didn’t cower away, but instead completed its set before clearing the stage for Mother Nature. Other rib enthusiasts circled the tent, looking for a way in and a dry seat while spending more time shielding their precious fare from the rain rather than themselves.
It didn’t take long before everyone had either found a seat or had piled in to stand under the tent’s sprawling shelter. Lightning and thunder had crept in along with the rain, but, like the rain, weren’t enough to distract anyone from digging in.
And then.
The loudest crack of lightning – lightning, not thunder – I’d ever heard erupted overhead. The surprise and volume of the lightning made everyone duck their heads simultaneously as if it would have helped to escape the boom. Screams sounded all through the tent. A woman trembled, “was that a gun shot?” Malcolm assured her it wasn’t – it was too loud.
The screams we had first attributed to being from frightened children had not subsided. As they wouldn't stop, we looked for the reason: seeing the commotion halfway down the tent from us, we knew it before we saw it – someone had been struck by that lightning.
On-site paramedics flew into the crowd throwing tables and chairs through the air and out into the rain to gain access and make way. Security personnel swarmed those of us still shockingly seated and ordered us out of the tent. As we made our way away through the drizzle, we caught snatches of speculation.
“Did you feel that? I felt the shock in my legs.”
“I felt that through the ground.”
“Someone got hit by the lightning.”
“There were a few ladies lying on the floor over there.”
“Man, that’s exactly where we were sitting before we decided to move.”
As we neared the main intersection, emergency vehicles began pouring onto the scene. Fire, EMS, police - it felt like all hands were on deck; definitely more than enough to treat just a few people.
When it was all said and done (and Malcolm and I were at Bass Pro Shops after finishing our ribs at home), I was innudated with updates as to what had happened. Lightning had indeed struck our lightning-rod-equipped-tent. It had run down to the ground, and then back up through the bodies of those in the immediate vicinity of the struck pole. 17 people were treated for non-life threatening injuries - mostly burns, but some trampling too - and the Ribfest had closed shortly after we'd been evacuated.
A close call, but we were witness to an awesome display of Mother Nature's wrath and lived to tell the tale.
We also bought a lottery ticket, but didn't win. :( I guess they did say that it doesn't strike twice.
...
Weather update for today: Toronto's on tornado watch, extreme thunderstorm watch, and extreme heat alert. If Mother Nature ate corn flakes, some asshole apparently peed in them.
Looking out the front windows at home, the skies shone clear and sunny. It wasn’t until we’d piled into the car and were well on our way that we noticed the dark clouds following us. Our reaction?
“Meh.”
We’d just returned from a state-side shopping trip that had us facing clouds much like the ones chasing us that Sunday and while the American clouds had flashed and boomed, they didn’t let a single drop fall and instead passed us over completely and disappeared. Why wouldn’t this be the same?
When we arrived at the Ribfest, it was pretty clear that the clouds were not just going to pass us by as before. So, we made the decision to divide and conquer the food options before meeting to find seats in the food tent. Mission accomplished. Just as a light rain began to fall, we were sitting ourselves down, dry under the tent, to fest on our rack of ribs and blooming onion with extra ranch sauce.
We took in the sights as we ate. The rain was doggedly persistent, but not the heaviest of downpours. The band didn’t cower away, but instead completed its set before clearing the stage for Mother Nature. Other rib enthusiasts circled the tent, looking for a way in and a dry seat while spending more time shielding their precious fare from the rain rather than themselves.
It didn’t take long before everyone had either found a seat or had piled in to stand under the tent’s sprawling shelter. Lightning and thunder had crept in along with the rain, but, like the rain, weren’t enough to distract anyone from digging in.
And then.
CRACK!
The loudest crack of lightning – lightning, not thunder – I’d ever heard erupted overhead. The surprise and volume of the lightning made everyone duck their heads simultaneously as if it would have helped to escape the boom. Screams sounded all through the tent. A woman trembled, “was that a gun shot?” Malcolm assured her it wasn’t – it was too loud.
The screams we had first attributed to being from frightened children had not subsided. As they wouldn't stop, we looked for the reason: seeing the commotion halfway down the tent from us, we knew it before we saw it – someone had been struck by that lightning.
On-site paramedics flew into the crowd throwing tables and chairs through the air and out into the rain to gain access and make way. Security personnel swarmed those of us still shockingly seated and ordered us out of the tent. As we made our way away through the drizzle, we caught snatches of speculation.
“Did you feel that? I felt the shock in my legs.”
“I felt that through the ground.”
“Someone got hit by the lightning.”
“There were a few ladies lying on the floor over there.”
“Man, that’s exactly where we were sitting before we decided to move.”
As we neared the main intersection, emergency vehicles began pouring onto the scene. Fire, EMS, police - it felt like all hands were on deck; definitely more than enough to treat just a few people.
When it was all said and done (and Malcolm and I were at Bass Pro Shops after finishing our ribs at home), I was innudated with updates as to what had happened. Lightning had indeed struck our lightning-rod-equipped-tent. It had run down to the ground, and then back up through the bodies of those in the immediate vicinity of the struck pole. 17 people were treated for non-life threatening injuries - mostly burns, but some trampling too - and the Ribfest had closed shortly after we'd been evacuated.
A close call, but we were witness to an awesome display of Mother Nature's wrath and lived to tell the tale.
We also bought a lottery ticket, but didn't win. :( I guess they did say that it doesn't strike twice.
...
Weather update for today: Toronto's on tornado watch, extreme thunderstorm watch, and extreme heat alert. If Mother Nature ate corn flakes, some asshole apparently peed in them.
Wednesday, June 06, 2012
On the Sleeper Train
The Head-back-open-mouther
It is what it sounds. Person sleeps with head back and mouth wide open. They could be a midway game – you know, the kind where you try to toss a sandbag into the clown’s gaping mouth to win a prize…except in this case, your prize is a dose of someone’s halitosis.
Despite strategic seating positioning beside the window whereby giving the sleeping rider a place to wedge their head upright, level, or even tilted forward against the window, they still manage to subconsciously maneuver back to their namesake position, allowing for other riders to check for cavities. Amazingly, there is no drool or snoring.
The Wild Head Bobber
This rider usually missed their chance at snagging a window seat and was unluckily allocated to an aisle seat with nothing to lean on laterally. Here, the onus is on the rider to sleep sitting straight up in their own seat. Attempts at this usually result in the wild head bob whereby the rider does not manage to keep his or her head against the head rest and instead ends up bobbing around with the movements of the train. There are lateral movements included as well as there is a tug-o-war between unconscious neck-muscle relaxing and conscious jerk-of-the-neck-muscles-back-into-the straight-position-ing.
A side effect of this rider not having anything to rest against for stability is the tendency to lean at random while sleeping. Other passengers have to react accordingly to the rider’s tilting body by either:
The Glass Divider Slider
When all the window seats are taken, aware of the dangers of leaning themselves out of an aisle seat, this rider snaps up one of the few side-facing seats just inside the doors of the train. This allows them the luxury of being able to lean against the glass pane that acts as a divider between those seats and the passengers entering or exiting the train car. However, this head rest comes at a price. This glass is somehow more slippery than the train’s windows resulting in the tendency for the rider’s face to slide around against the glass, providing a spectacle of smashed faces for those seated on the other side of the pane to be amused by.
The Forward Leaner
Not to be confused with the side-to-side leaner stemming from the wild head bob, this sleeping beauty starts off sitting up, and then slowly begins to tilt forward. It’s a start-with-the-top-of-the-head-and-work-your-way-down full body roll forward until the forward leaner has leaned their head so low that they’re doubled over and at eye-level with their crotch. Classy.
The Snorer
It is what it is and it afflicts any one of the previously mentioned sleeping riders on this list. If the rider is lucky, they’ll wake themselves at the first breath gone wrong and prevent any future snores from escaping. If they’re unlucky, then the snorer gets awfully funny stares, glares, and eye-rolls from the other unlucky passengers in the vicinity as they all just try to survive the long commute in and out of the city together.
The Twitcher
While this rider does not sleep awkwardly on the train, they do not sleep well on the train and tend to twitch and jerk at inopportune moments along the ride. Hold onto your belongings if you find yourself close to one of these.
…
And so now you know. I wish I could say that I categorized these sleep-types while I sat bright-eyed and bushy-tailed on my commutes to and from work this past week, but sadly, I cannot. I know them all because I assumed each of these positions myself at least once this week in a sad progression of sleepy embarrassment as I learned where to sit and how to sleep on the train. That is, except for the Twitcher. I am not one of those. But Slam apparently is. Apparently she managed to kick a man’s briefcase from across the seats during one of her twitches, a la Lucy vs Charlie Brown. He asked her if she was okay. She really should have asked him.
It is what it sounds. Person sleeps with head back and mouth wide open. They could be a midway game – you know, the kind where you try to toss a sandbag into the clown’s gaping mouth to win a prize…except in this case, your prize is a dose of someone’s halitosis.
This rider usually missed their chance at snagging a window seat and was unluckily allocated to an aisle seat with nothing to lean on laterally. Here, the onus is on the rider to sleep sitting straight up in their own seat. Attempts at this usually result in the wild head bob whereby the rider does not manage to keep his or her head against the head rest and instead ends up bobbing around with the movements of the train. There are lateral movements included as well as there is a tug-o-war between unconscious neck-muscle relaxing and conscious jerk-of-the-neck-muscles-back-into-the straight-position-ing.
- leaning away
- giving the rider a gentle and discreet nudge in the other direction
- taking videos and bets on when the rider will eventually lean too far and fall out of their seat.
When all the window seats are taken, aware of the dangers of leaning themselves out of an aisle seat, this rider snaps up one of the few side-facing seats just inside the doors of the train. This allows them the luxury of being able to lean against the glass pane that acts as a divider between those seats and the passengers entering or exiting the train car. However, this head rest comes at a price. This glass is somehow more slippery than the train’s windows resulting in the tendency for the rider’s face to slide around against the glass, providing a spectacle of smashed faces for those seated on the other side of the pane to be amused by.
Not to be confused with the side-to-side leaner stemming from the wild head bob, this sleeping beauty starts off sitting up, and then slowly begins to tilt forward. It’s a start-with-the-top-of-the-head-and-work-your-way-down full body roll forward until the forward leaner has leaned their head so low that they’re doubled over and at eye-level with their crotch. Classy.
It is what it is and it afflicts any one of the previously mentioned sleeping riders on this list. If the rider is lucky, they’ll wake themselves at the first breath gone wrong and prevent any future snores from escaping. If they’re unlucky, then the snorer gets awfully funny stares, glares, and eye-rolls from the other unlucky passengers in the vicinity as they all just try to survive the long commute in and out of the city together.
While this rider does not sleep awkwardly on the train, they do not sleep well on the train and tend to twitch and jerk at inopportune moments along the ride. Hold onto your belongings if you find yourself close to one of these.
…
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Water-log
By the time it was over, there was water on the floor, the tub ledge, the mats, the ceiling, the toilet--there were wet indentations in the toilet paper roll and huge wads of it in the toilet itself.
I had noticed a spider on the ceiling AFTER I'd started to shower. He was a mobile sucker and was making his way over my head where the shower controls and shower head was. I tried to discourage him at first by flicking water up at him (water on the ceiling), but while it paused him for a moment, it wasn't enough to deter him and he continued to mosey on over the taps of the shower. I really tried my best to ignore that he was there at all--I could barely see him without my glasses--but when he started to DANGLE from the ceiling, that was enough.
Out of the shower I flew (water on the mats), leaving the water running because there was no way I was reaching DIRECTLY UNDER the spider to turn the taps. I grabbed a huge wad of toilet paper (wet indentations on the tp roll) which proved to be harder than you'd think with sopping wet hands--the water kept melting the squares. Once I had an adequately gimongous mass of tp, I climbed back onto the edge of the tub (water on the tub ledge), aimed, and smushed the spider where he stood--upside-down on the ceiling.
Success!
I tossed the wad of a coffin down to the toilet below (water on the toilet) but missed (fail) because the wad stuck to my still wet fingers and changed the trajectory completely. I had to get down to retrieve the carcass (water on the floor) finally tossed him to his final doom in the can.
It was then and only then that I was able to finally return to my shower in peace.
Of course afterwards was when I noticed there was a spider over the sink...
I had noticed a spider on the ceiling AFTER I'd started to shower. He was a mobile sucker and was making his way over my head where the shower controls and shower head was. I tried to discourage him at first by flicking water up at him (water on the ceiling), but while it paused him for a moment, it wasn't enough to deter him and he continued to mosey on over the taps of the shower. I really tried my best to ignore that he was there at all--I could barely see him without my glasses--but when he started to DANGLE from the ceiling, that was enough.
Out of the shower I flew (water on the mats), leaving the water running because there was no way I was reaching DIRECTLY UNDER the spider to turn the taps. I grabbed a huge wad of toilet paper (wet indentations on the tp roll) which proved to be harder than you'd think with sopping wet hands--the water kept melting the squares. Once I had an adequately gimongous mass of tp, I climbed back onto the edge of the tub (water on the tub ledge), aimed, and smushed the spider where he stood--upside-down on the ceiling.
Success!
I tossed the wad of a coffin down to the toilet below (water on the toilet) but missed (fail) because the wad stuck to my still wet fingers and changed the trajectory completely. I had to get down to retrieve the carcass (water on the floor) finally tossed him to his final doom in the can.
It was then and only then that I was able to finally return to my shower in peace.
Of course afterwards was when I noticed there was a spider over the sink...
Friday, April 13, 2012
Not just cat-napping
I scooted upstairs to grab a book and found the cat still in bed. The sunlight was streaming through the windows and had been for hours, and yet he had not stirred from his comfortable spot at the foot of our bed, despite our warm feet having been missing since morning. I gingerly stepped over to him to see if he was awake enough for a pat on the head. He opened his eyes not even halfway and dared me to wake him.
I left him as I found him.
Monday, April 02, 2012
And probably more to come
My last post included "The (SECOND) Poo Story." Here's the first poo story, in case you were interested. It also includes an ehbaba poo story in the comments, much to my tired delight tonight. :)
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Extra extra work
I'm on the job hunt and in an attempt to ward off the "omg I don't have a job" panic, I'm open to taking up temporary jobs until I find a more permanent placement that I'm not just jumping at for the sake of jumping at it. My first temp job kind of started today on the referral of my dad - being an extra in a movie!
Today's task was wardrobe fitting; the call was for 10 am this morning. Considering the fact that we've moved out to the 'burbs and the film studio is right down by the waterfront in the city, I gave myself an hour and a half to contend with the morning's rush hour traffic of people heading off to their "real" jobs to get down to the fitting on time. Turns out I only needed 50 minutes. Rather than twiddling my thumbs in my car, I manned up and headed in. I located the building I was supposed to be in and, finding the door ajar, I let myself in.
The building was a giant-sized closet for a billion people at once. I didn't see anyone at first, only racks upon racks upon racks of clothing. But then, a voice.
"Hello?"
"Hello...I'm here for the 10 o'clock fitting? I know I'm really early..."
"Well, better early than late!"
"True."
And with that, my initiation had begun. My gracious host was an assistant who was the only one who could reach the high-up racks and who aspired to own a Caribbean restaurant in Japan ("No competition there--it's like being the only girl at the bar; she's going to be the most popular girl in the joint!"). We introduced ourselves (in Japanese, no less) and he settled me on a chair to await the one in charge of this wardrobe fitting. I was given some boots and my uniform (I'm not even sure that's what it was) and after trying it on, being tightened and tucked and photographed, I changed back into my own clothes and was done.
"Am I free to go?"
"Well, I wasn't exactly holding you prisoner."
"True."
Bidding adieu to my host and to the other extras who had managed to trickle their way in after 10 am, I left that oversized warehouse of a closet and headed home, the first hours of extra-work under my belt.
Today's task was wardrobe fitting; the call was for 10 am this morning. Considering the fact that we've moved out to the 'burbs and the film studio is right down by the waterfront in the city, I gave myself an hour and a half to contend with the morning's rush hour traffic of people heading off to their "real" jobs to get down to the fitting on time. Turns out I only needed 50 minutes. Rather than twiddling my thumbs in my car, I manned up and headed in. I located the building I was supposed to be in and, finding the door ajar, I let myself in.
The building was a giant-sized closet for a billion people at once. I didn't see anyone at first, only racks upon racks upon racks of clothing. But then, a voice.
"Hello?"
"Hello...I'm here for the 10 o'clock fitting? I know I'm really early..."
"Well, better early than late!"
"True."
And with that, my initiation had begun. My gracious host was an assistant who was the only one who could reach the high-up racks and who aspired to own a Caribbean restaurant in Japan ("No competition there--it's like being the only girl at the bar; she's going to be the most popular girl in the joint!"). We introduced ourselves (in Japanese, no less) and he settled me on a chair to await the one in charge of this wardrobe fitting. I was given some boots and my uniform (I'm not even sure that's what it was) and after trying it on, being tightened and tucked and photographed, I changed back into my own clothes and was done.
"Am I free to go?"
"Well, I wasn't exactly holding you prisoner."
"True."
Bidding adieu to my host and to the other extras who had managed to trickle their way in after 10 am, I left that oversized warehouse of a closet and headed home, the first hours of extra-work under my belt.
Sunday, December 25, 2011
Dawning on a dream
Like the sleepy child not yet ready to face the day, I yawned into the darkness, shifted my weight on my stone seat, and nuzzled my cheek onto Malcolm's shoulder. It was barely 5am. We could hear others shuffling around nearby, out doing the same thing we were doing in the same hushed tones as everyone else.
Once every few minutes, the darkness would be abruptly sliced through by a camera flash or someone checking their time on their phone or using a flashlight. If I thought it grew imperceptibly lighter, I would occasionally take out my good-in-low-light camera and snap a flashless photo of the darkness. At least the first five of these shots came out completely black. But as time dragged on the faintest of shadows began to appear. Details started materializing n the blind shots I was taking; a palm tree, a wall, a tower.
As the sky grew lighter and lighter, everyone - including me - began to stir and an atmosphere of excitement began to bubble. Cameras were alive capturing the stupas, reflecting ponds, the libraries and the walkways that the morning twilight was slowing uncovering. Fifty photos later we were ushered to a new vantage point - it was choked with other tourists eager for that picture perfect memory, but it was because this was the spot to be.
In the moments we waited, we were warmed and jostled to the point where we wondered if this was all worth it--but then, it happened. The blazing red sun finally broke the horizon and illuminated all of Angkor Wat in all of its timeless splendor. Cameras went crazy. But after grabbing a few of those once-in-a-lifetime shots, I stopped to put the camera down and fully savour the moment that. That moment that I'd always told myself I'd experience was finally upon me and it was breathtaking.
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