Before Her time

I can remember when 30 was old. I remember thinking our local nightclub had an 'older crowd', and now I am that older crowd. 30 isn't looking so old anymore.

My BFF (bestfriendforever) Courtenay and I went to that nightclub last weekend with my younger sister and her BFF - and we left around midnight. We felt overdressed, old and withered. When did it all happen? Where did the last 5 years go? I look around me and my friends are shopping for christmas presents for their husbands, wives and children. I don't feel my age - sometimes I wonder if it's all been a dream, like I stepped out of my own life for a breather and forgot to check back in.
Life is funny that way. It doesn't feel like that long ago that I last stopped to look at the flowers, but I know I've long forgotten what they smell like.

Courtenay's roommate Sherry passed away of cancer just the other week. She too was just in her 30's. I remember her cheerful disposition, all her fridge magnets proclaiming that we must be HAPPY and carry positive energy with us wherever we go lest life's trials drag us down. She tried her hardest to possess these auras, and even when she wore a scarf around her head to keep out the cold and when she went for her chemo treatments to ward off the breast cancer, she remained focused. When they declared her cancer-free, we were convinced those brightly coloured fridge decorations were on to something. She didn't lose sight that life can pass us by quickly if we don't take time to look at it, cherish it and hang on to any moment of it we can.

The cancer came back, but this time in her brain. I was still thinking magnetic thoughts, as I am sure Court was and we thought Sherry would win this too - she was after all the type of person who was meant to live her life in all its entirety, she was entitled to. But it was only a matter of weeks before it took her down - Sherry became blind, could not eat and eventually was unable to move. The night before she died, Courtenay, Brooke and I were talking about Sherry's condition and about possibly visiting with her. We talked about the quality of life Sherry would have in her condition and that it could be months still before it would take her - even then we still gave her a lifetime to live, because she was the type to pull through. She didn't. She died early the next morning.

The last time I saw Sherry was last Christmas at her Home Depot staff party. She came with makeup on, earrings and a bright festive scarf on her head. She was feeling great and getting better. Her hair was growing back and she was getting stronger, enough maybe to come back to work. I didn't see her again, instead I settled for updates on her condition, first positive and then rapidly getting worse again. Life passes us so damn quickly if we don't take the time to notice - I should have come to see you again and reminded you about your magnets.

Sherry, I hope you are still dancing on the tables wherever you are, shakin' your groove thang.

"Asshole!", "No thanks, I've already got one."

Ahhh you gotta love public transit. The driver was telling those of us who had no choice but to make one with the front window in order to get on the damn bus, how he was accosted by a passenger yesterday who didn't have the money to pay and didn't care. Mr. Bus Driver said he was willing to let the guy on free but it was this passenger's flippant attitude he carried with him when he just strolled on without asking that ticked him off most.
I wouldn't piss off a driver who holds your life in his hands - besides you never know when you will meet him again standing there on the sidewalk in the pisspour rain and he mows through the ocean of a puddle you're standing beside.

Last night a lady got on with her much younger co-worker, and evidently she wasn't accustomed to taking transit. She made an appointment in another city not considering traffic or weather, and didn't give a hoot about whose ears she was yelling and bitching in. The bus I take is normally jammed full of people trying to get home - sometimes the driver will even let people in through the doors on the back of the bus. This was the case last night when she became irate, stomping mad at the people trying their luck at getting on the bus through the back.
"HEY! HEY! YOU! ALL of you fuckers trying to cheat- You can't do that!"
I look at her, smoke is practically shooting out of her nostrils - she's mad at the world and in a bad need of a drink and a smoke as she tells all of us unfortunate bystanders surrounding her.
"Everyone calls me a bully - at least nobody on this bus has had the guts to call me that, yet."

We slow down to a stop again where incredibly the driver opens the back doors to allow even more people on.
"Oh! What assholes!" I watch her get up from her seat and proceed to yell at all the weary workers who have pushed their way through the back doors; I'm fed up at this point of hearing her snarky smoker's hack and complaints so I turn around and tell her "The driver is letting the people on through the back because there's no room up front and the driver doesn't want to be a jerk and let them all stand in the cold and pouring rain. "
It humbled her only for a moment, unfortunately.
She then turned her attention to the poor guy who came with her - screaming and hollering his name; we could all see that even though he had his iPod cranked he could hear her; we all watched him turn crimson and start to make his way as far as he could from her. Poor guy.
Apparently he has an asshole too - hopefully he won't bring her with him tonight.

The little son-of-a-grinches that steal Christmas

Yes I know I have been MIA for a little while, but I didn't go far - but I'm back now to do my duty which is save our hard-earned money from going down the drain.

A little FYI, courtesy of one of my fave bloggers Norman who has informed her many readers that there is some thievery going on in the gift cards department.
Maybe it's because of lack of creativity, too much laziness or just plain procrastinay-tioon-eh but almost all of us resort to buying one of our loved ones a gift card every Christmas season.
You see them on the racks all pretty, colourful and convenient at stores like Old Navy, Chapters and Future Shop but now this is not a good thing. If you must buy a gift card, go directly to a cashier and ask specifically for a card that has been out of the public's reach (preferably stored away nicely in their cash tills or drawers, or better yet their vault!

Snopes has it explained here and it's been classified as truth so protect your pocketbooks and spare the tears of the little ones by reading up on why. And have yourself a Merry Frickin' Christmas you Grinch punks who do this to decent hard-working folk; may your shriveled hearts be served to you on a silver platter this holiday.

To me fair friend, you can never be old...

Nettie, my mother's best friend and strongest encourager in her battle against cancer, died this morning from her own fight; it was something we all expected was coming as her cancer had been in her life for several years, but even death draws faster than we can prepare for. After all the ups and downs of hopes and dreams and promises of new medicines to buy more time, the end has to come eventually - we just pray it never does.
I spent Thanksgiving dinner with Jeannette and her husband Marcus and his sister Lynne who came over from Scotland. Being Scottish both Marcus and Lynne have a great, quick-witted and biting sense of humour - and while Jeanette used to snort when she laughed, it took all she had that night to nod her head and grimace. And though looking at her reminded me of my mom the week that she died, a breathing skeleton with vacant eyes, she still had her fire because she got up on her own, unannounced to get the gravy started for dinner. Even with everyone trying to sit her back on the couch and take over she snapped back " You will screw it up!"
She even had a plate of dinner, with her hubby's Yorkshire puddings made the right way with two eggs and milk on the kitchen counter to warm to room temperature.

Marcus told the infamous "Marky and Nettie Love Story" after dinner. Though physically impossible with all the drugs in her system Jeanette seemed to have a glow come from within her as he shared their wild tale of true love. She sat there with her eyes closed as if listening to a bedtime story, and every once in a while she would open her eyes and look at her husband and give him a knowing, loving look. He told of how they met in the 70's - Jeanette was working at UBC and Marcus was working on the ships in Scotland; his brother was attending UBC at the time and was an acquaintance of Nettie's. On a short break from the ships, Marcus decided to come over to visit his brother and as it happened there was a party the next night. Of course Jeanette was there and according to Marcus, the moment he laid eyes on her when they were introduced it was like he was struck with a big arrow of certainty and was immediately high on the love drug. They were both in relationships with other people at the time but had both been so smitten with one another that they knew that no matter what the outcome was, they would have to be together. Marcus continued to tell us that they spent the next night together ( although no sex was had) and the next night (when the sex was had) Marcus asked Jeanette while they were taking a walk together "I know this sounds a bit insane especially considering we've only known eachother three days, but would you fancy getting married? Oh and could you let me know soon, my trip is coming up short and I've got to get back to the ships."
It wasn't until a little later on that night after Marcus had told us the story and everyone had gotten up to tidy up the dishes that Jeanette had mustered up the strength to tell me this : "Heather I didn't know much then or know what to think, but all I knew when I met Marcus and he asked me to marry him, that NO was not an option. "

I will miss Jeanette so much. Saying goodbye to her is like letting go another piece I had left of my mother - grief comes back again, though this time it is a little easier, and a little more bittersweet.

To me, Fair Friend, you can never be old,
For as you were when first your eye I ey'd,
Such seems your beauty still. - William Shakespeare

3:24 am

Note to self *

Buy DECAF coffee.

Don't get too close to me - you'll wish your Mama never had you.

Evidently this evening I'm a wee bit cranky (Schmoe, be thankful you are working tonight. <3) and the end is nowhere in sight.

Today at work was bearable thank goodness, because it was just me and the new kid, and bailing was not an option. See my monthly issues are a bit more of a pain to deal with than what seems to be the average woman's ordeal. I keep telling myself that if giving birth ever becomes a reality in my life it will be like a picnic in the park just with sweltering heat and little pests everywhere, but a lovely, uneventful picnic lunch nonetheless. I must have a fantastic level of pain tolerance in order to be able to function when the bitch is in town. She always overstays her welcome and is known to hang around for a full seven days, and even sends her things a week ahead of time sending me in a mad dash for supplies and hard drugs and sends my fiance into hiding. When he has detected it is safe for him to come out, he tells me that two weeks out of the month are enjoyable for him -poor guy. Oh whatever, he still proposed to me.

So after work this evening I go to the store and I go about getting my usual groceries. I of course needed to make a stop into the feminine care aisle. I reach to grab a box of tampons when a male store clerk comes strutting down the aisle like Mr. GQ and asks me assuredly if he can assist me with anything obviously not taking note of where we were both standing. I gave him a blank stare as I held my box of tampons in mid-air, wondering if this guy was trying to be funny or completely out of his mind thinking he could possibly know more about women's feminine hygiene products than me. I swore I saw the colour drain from his face when he clued in and with a start looked at the O.B. box of buckshots in my hand, took one look at my face and bolted.
I didn't think so.
Well he made me forget about the pain for a moment.

I finally got what I needed and made my way to the register, and of course waited in line behind a guy with a fist full of coupons. It's probably my upbringing, but seeing a guy being so frugal with his groceries and taking enough time to cut out the rebates is really odd; I'm still not sure where I stand on that right now, you might want to ask me later.
By the time bizzo is finally rung through, cashier girl is working double time and has already started scanning my items through and before I can tune back into the real world after reading about Oprah's secret love-child with an Alien, it has come time for me to pay. Always wanting to be one step ahead, I go digging through my purse to find my wallet deep within; once located I try to find my debit card which is NOWHERE to be found. And now I am annoyed at myself. I am crampy, bitchy, flustered and now embarassed because I am holding up another customer who is heaving air and sighing so much that I cast my steely glaze their direction and the hint is taken. Cashier girl tells me to take my time, it's probably in my bag; she understands because she does it all the time. Well that annoyed me because I am really organized for the most part, this kind of shit doesn't happen to me, and I am not usually spacey and flighty but this bitch has been here almost a week and it's time for her to go cause she's wreaking havoc. Just to top it off, as I am tossing things out of my purse like Mary Poppins, I hear a familiar annoying voice at the end, "Can I assist you to your vehicle with your purchases?". I look up slowly to face none other than BuckShot boy from the Menstruation section.
"No. thank. you." I growled back in a tone that said "Can I help throw you into oncoming traffic?"
Finally I located the damn card, paid and got the hell out of there. Unfortunately with my period comes nausea, and it didn't help when 'Pee-Man' was there waiting at the bus-stop to get on. I seem to think this man suffered a brain injury of some sort in the past, because while not that old he is not completely altogether, as in a few pieces short of a puzzle, a jig-saw type. There are two smells that absolutely make me want to wretch and that is the smell of human urine ( most strong in the city when people pee on the exteriors of buildings) and cat piss. 'Pee-Man' unfortunately for all of us, smells like both; and today was particularly bad. I didn't know how bad right away, I just knew the moment that I saw him standing there picking his nose as if he was seeking the Holy Grail, that I would smell him and I might be sick. AMAZINGLY enough I held it together by covering my mouth and nose to avoid any asphyxiation and vomit inducing as well as turning off my hearing aids so I couldn't hear him clearing his noise by forcing the air out of his nostrils hoping to loosen up the walls.
Oh Lord help me.
Save me from this insanity.
Save this world from my insanity.

Menopause is looking real good these days.

Johnny Appleseed - AMEN!

Last night concluded all of the Thanksgiving shenanigans that might take place during the weekend with my family; it was also my cousin Nantina's birthday.

My aunt went on a baking frenzy this weekend and believe it or not made a killer pumpkin pie so I really didn't need to waste all my time buying the mass-produced styrofoam junk in the stores - whatever, I'll still eat it. My aunt also made two attempts last night to bake my cousin a cake. A simple no fuss 'any-dumbass-can-do-it-so-can-you' Betty Crocker type cake. Of course my aunt being a careful baker checked on the progress and upon seeing uneven shape on the surface thought that bubbles in the batter was no good and so after a few minutes of baking in the oven, proceeded to take the pan out and bang it on the counter, thus letting all air out of said bubbles. I don't need to tell you I am sure that the result was a VERY flat sad looking cake. It did not rise much more. She then flipped pan the over and the 'cake' flopped out. This sad brick simply would not do for her adult child and so she insisted she have another go; only this time would let the cake do it's thing. Everything was going according to plan the second time around, my aunt carefully making sure noone spoke too loudly or walked too 'heavily' in the house should the cake fall again. It all looked quite beautiful (a better word for 'normal') when she removed it hot from the oven; however things went terribly, terribly wrong when she flipped it over again to remove the cake from the pan and instead of coming out nicely in one piece it had come out in pieces. I'm sure my aunt was cursing herself because she knows as well as anyone that you are supposed to let the cake COOL before doing any flipping or any removal.

I will say that no cake goes uneaten in my family, and it doesn't matter what condition it turns out to be, just hand out the forks and they will have at'er.
We also do things according to traditions, however we also create our own. Instead of turkey we opted for beef dip for dinner - I'm sick of the bird anyway, it's over-rated. As usual there's very little of anything serious happening at the table, normally jokes are told and people are mocked and it's another day at our house, but as all families should do, we reflected on memories and went round the table sharing what we were thankful for in our lives. It went a little something like this:
Cousin Nantina : "I'm thankful for my mother who makes me not one, but two cakes because she loves her daughter oh-so-much."
Me: " I'm thankful to have an Aunt and Uncle who love us and support us."
Sister 1 : "Ditto"
Sister 2 : "Ditto"
Uncle Neil : " I'm thankful for John Labbatt." ( as he looks fondly at his beer can) " No but in all seriousness, I am thankful that 'The Rick Mercer Show' and 'This Hour Has 22 Minutes' has been moved to Tuesday nights because otherwise I'd be missing them right now."
Aunty Lou : " Wow Neil. That was moving. (rolls eyes) Well I am thankful for all my family whom I love, even though they are a little crazy and morals are questionable. And I am thankful for my little granddaughter Alyson and her sister or brother inside her mummy's tummy."
Alyson : (makes funny face) two year old's statement is inaudible.
Cousin Ian : "Yeah I wanna ditto what Aly just said and also I am thankful that I can pass gas and it doesn't hurt. I just did, did anybody hear it? It was AWESOME! Felt soooo good."
Alyson : shrieks of horror and disgust " NANA!! DADDY STINKY!"

And of course we ended it all with the glorious birthday cake that almost never was.

" And so I thank the LORD! For giving me the things I need, the sun and the rain and the appleseed! The Lord is good to me! JOHNNY APPLESEED! AMEN!

*food fight ensues*

For the Love of Pumpkin Pie

For some odd reason, I have not been able to get my hand on some pumpkin pie for about the last three years. I never used to care much for it, that nutmeg flavour really didn't jive with my tastebuds but as it always happens, the foods you hate as a kid suddenly get tastier with age (that or your tastebuds have all been killed off.). So in an attempt not to miss out this year I went to the store and bought two - one for myself and roomie, and another to take to my family's tonight for dinner. I went to one store near my apartment first, but they didn't have whip cream so I wasn't going to waste my time with the pie if they don't have anything to top it with. Just like how I can't eat my pancakes without syrup, I cannot eat pumpkin pie without the whip cream; and it can't be just any kind of whip/whipped cream, it has to be the CANNED 'whoooooooooosh' kind, not the frozen 'Cool Whip' edible-oil-product(or in other words trans fat)-in-a-tub stuff, nor the liquid cream in the carton that needs sugar added and a good beating - it has to have a nozzle and it has to make a noise. It is the only way to eat pumpkin pie. And I would prefer it be chilled ahead of time, thank you very much.

I blame my mother for this pie insanity.

What's up with this new canned chocolate whip cream? I'm all for chocolate in any way, shape, form and wrapper, and heck I will probably end up with a can of this whip cream in my hand, but what is it FOR? Oh I know, it's for the lonely Saturday nights watching movie marathons without Schmoe. * sigh. When he's here I'm sure I will find other uses.

This year I will not be having turkey - no, in fact I am having both Thanksgiving dinners with Scottish folk so there will only be roast beast, smashed tatties, turneeps and peas and Yorkshire pudding with gravy - oh and now, there shall be the heralded Pumpkin Pie. Bring on the whip cream!

whoooooooossshh!

Giving Thanks and Astronomical Wedgies

This weekend is the Canuck Thanksgiving; when I was younger I remember our dinners being loud, busy and full of hooliganry.

My family used to congregate down at our trailer in WA state and there we would meet up with our other family members and countless friends; it wasn't unusual to have more than 50 people in attendance, but this often resulted in quadruple the amount of food and several turkeys (one year we named them respectfully 'Charles, Princess Di and Camilla' - they even wore crowns.). There was always a large group of kids that we counted on being there and of course we would run around causing trouble, with the dogs chasing after us getting in the way of adults carrying trays of food, peeling potatoes and carrots and heaving picnic tables to form a dining area not unlike a mess hall. It was chaos and everyone loved it.

We were fortunate most years to have our friend Lisa Brokop join us for the weekend; this usually meant she was taking a break from recording or touring or just home to visit from Nashville. She always brought her guitar and would treat us to songs around the campfire, with her mother playing the accordion by her side. One year, Lisa brought her friend Doug Flutie with her for the big dinner - I of course had no idea who this man was, but figured he had to be famous enough when all these people came to my trailer and they weren't there to see Lisa. My dad would pester me to get his autograph, but never told me who he was. I know now he was a famous quarterback football player for the NFL; his brother Darren plays for the CFL. Now that I am older, I see him endorsing cheap long distance phone companies and breakfast cereals on t.v. whereas his brother has taken his place as a football star. That's gotta hurt, just a little bit.

As a kid I was pretty contemplative and was often caught deep in thought and analyzing the person in front of me; I remember watching this Doug Flutie man sitting in my dad's lawn chair in my yard in front of my campfire with my dog running around him as he talked about his kids and Sesame Street. I was baffled as to why my dad, a proud, silent man would be so coy as to ask me his young daughter for this man's autograph. What was so special about this guy? Hardly a hero, in my opinion.

Now that Thanksgiving is here again, I look back on those dinners that I so looked forward to every year, when everyone was carefree and when life seemed to hold fewer burdens. I think about the loved ones who are now gone and those whose lives are drawing to a close, never to join us again and I am saddened. But with pain comes the opportunity to consider what is still left to be enjoyed, what Thanksgiving dinners are yet to come when the children of years ago now have children of their own and a new generation is born to carry on their own carefree ways. I know that even though my trailer is gone and my parents will not be joining my family this year, that some things will never change - jokes will still be told, skits will be performed, children will sing and dance and my cousin Ian will still give us all wedgies when we least suspect it. Ya gotta love family.

How to Scar Your Child for Life

I first saw this a couple weeks ago and laughed my head off and quickly forgot about it. Today I was reminded of this sick contraption as I was thinking about how some people I meet in my daily travels (even my own family members, dare I say) seem to be a bit 'quirky' and I start to wonder what happened to them in their childhood that would make them so odd as adults. Well whatever it was, this gadget shown above is the 21st century's version of the ultimate trauma inducer.

This thing here is called the 'BabyKeeper'. It's actually a clever, albeit weird solution to a real issue that parents have when they are out running errands with their rugrats and run into the dreaded problem of having to use the facilities; how is one supposed to hang on to the child while they hold their pants ( or, err... 'other' belongings)? ANSWER : You just throw this bad boy ( not the kid) over the door and sling your child inside! There Junior hangs in wait as he watches the most mortifying scene of mum or dad relieving their innards in plain view. And if it stinks, he's got nowhere to run, perfect. I think I will use it as a method of discipline for my kid, even when he's 13 yrs old.

But not only is it a sick tool for minding your child while you are busy doing your 'business' but it's a PRACTICAL sick tool! Why not get your kid to hold your purse and coat while he/she watches you hover and squat? Kid kicking you in the head? No problem, give the baby a roll of toilet paper to occupy themselves. Just throw your coat over the kid's head to blind them like they do with animals who scare easily. Beautiful.

Just be warned Mum and Dad, this invention will haunt Junior for the rest of his days. He will think of you the day the class bully hangs him up by his underwear on the hooks in the locker-room and hate you for the pansy he has become. You'll get yours someday! And 'Shame' will be your middle name.

Jimmy Wants Donkeys

Yep, Jimmy wants Donkeys. Jimmy wants donkeys at his wedding. Jimmy's fiancee is actually considering having donkeys at her wedding. Apparently donkeys cost big $$$, so won't you support Jimmy in his quest for some ass?

www.jimmysdonkeyfund.com

'Cause hey, who doesn't like the idea of donkeys wearing sombreros and carrying saddlebags full of cervezas at a wedding reception? Who needs waitstaff when you can have Noble Steeds? Mariachi band? Save your money! Rent donkeys instead!

Operation Eden

Operation Eden

Clayton is still going at it - using his gift to help his Mom and little brother and thousands like them recover from the wrath Katrina left behind a year ago.

I'm glad Bush is there. I'm glad he is walking past the homes still left barely standing, walking past the people crying softly while sitting on the front steps of what used to be their homes. I hope his breath is caught as he walks past the thousand plus candles lit in memory of those who could not make it out.

My friend Suseh used her vacation time from work to take a trip to Mississippi a month ago to help Habitat for Humanity build houses. When she came back home, she was sick and dead tired and she said she felt as though she had worked so hard and yet accomplished so little - the work left to do is unthinkable. Barely a dent has been made in the devastation still left behind.

I am on the fence about this one year anniversary coverage that all the networks are devoting their time time to - while of course it is needed to remind the world that Katrina may be long gone but NOLA is still trying to pick up, I can't help but get past the feeling that it is boosting their ratings. Instead, I look to Clayton and others like him who have devoted their efforts and honesty and personal connections to document what is really going on.

For those of who who read my blog, if I haven't already convinced you to look at Clayton's photos, please do so - it's good to get a healthy dose of reality and pull the heartstrings.

Fountain of Youth contained in an Ass's teet - who knew?

World's oldest woman, Maria Esther de Capovilla, dead at 116

Born on Sept. 14, 1889 - the same year as Charlie Chaplin and Adolf Hitler - Capovilla traced her lineage to Spanish nobility, but enjoyed drinking donkey milk in her youth.

Interesting. ( can someone please fill me in on the relevance of the above sentence? Spanish nobility, donkey milk - I says pardon?)

Yes, Mrs. de Capovilla was the world's oldest woman on record - remembering of course that there could very well be many other cryptkeepers like herself amongst us; back in the day everything was documented by chiseling into stone tablets, so it's not easy to produce the proper documents and identification to prove one's true age and not just the one when everyone forgot to keep count. "You're how old again Aunt Agnes?" "Who? ME? Bah, I been long and dead years ago, I just came for supper."

Hmm, I wonder if Mrs. de Capovilla would get carded at the liquor store....

Anyway, yes so obviously in getting with the times, wallets decreased in size to accomodate the new pocket size I.D. cards and the engraved stones were far too heavy to lug around in one's back pocket let alone to fit in a leather billfold or purse, and stone was a commodity back in the day too, I'm sure of it. Bartering was the way they did it back then, they traded donkeys for stone, and donkeys were expensive! And imagine what a pain in the ass ( ooops, hehehe pun intended) it would have been to bring your donkey in for some rock, only to have no donkey to drag it home for you? Yes, those were trying times. Now today, you can definitely barter a piece of your own ass for 'rock', in fact we have a name for it : CRACK HO.
But Mrs. de Capovilla was lucky. She didn't need to trade in her ass for rock, no her family could afford proper identification and she was fortunate enough to have been able to preserve it all these years. So what did she do with all her donkeys you might ask? She kept them for her cereal in the morning! How do you suppose she got so bloody old?

Now THAT's a kick to the ball sack!

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Portobello West!

Oh I can foresee saying farewell to my hard-earned cash on the last Sunday of every month when this UBERcool market takes place at the Plaza of Nations!
The exhibitors list alone gives me goosebumps! One doesn't have to go trekking all over Vancouver to find all the unique styles and designs of local homegrown artisans and designers, instead they will congregate one day out of the month to show off their wares!

I am done for!
I wish I could have gone out to the very first market today, but conveniently one will be happening on my birthday weekend next month - oh yes, oh yes.

Kinda makes me think I should get in on the action and put my creative side to some use - maybe make some $ on the side. Oh but to make money you have to spend money and well all these other creative folks who already spent their money are now getting mine! Oh! The INSANITY!

Strange Dreams

I had a dream last night that my sisters and I woke our Mom up from her death. I don't remember exactly HOW we did that, because she was cremated and well that would take an awful long time putting her back together again. What I do remember, however, is that she wasn't quite finished healing, as if when you get to heaven there is a process that takes a duration of time in order for your new body to come to fruition, instead of the INSTANT renewal I'm sure we all imagine. She was groggy, and quiet, a bit ticked off like we all are first thing in the morning when we have to go to work and the only place we want to be is snuggled under the warm covers again. We tried to converse with her and make up for lost time but she was having no part of it. In fact it reminded me of how she was just days before she died, delirious from her pain meds and in and out of consciousness. In the dream it made us uncomfortable to be so selfish to keep her from healing properly for our own selfish wants to have our Mom back again, so we did what we had done when she was alive and in so much pain, we told her to go home to heaven, that it was ok and that we loved her. And just like that, she was gone.

Sometimes at night I hear her calling my name like she used to do to wake me up for school.
Scares the hell out of me sometimes but I like it.

When the odds of winning the lottery are not enough

So in my ongoing quest to gain more money to pay off my debts and live a half decent life I have decided to join a lottery pool with the three other co-workers; for $2 every friday I give myself four chances at winning millions, unfortunately we are up against the rest of the country. Thankfully the population of Canada is not nearly the size of the US, but that means our jackpot is not the grandeur sweepstakes that is the US lotto, however for this same reason I have a better chance of winning than say, Ms.Jane Doe of Springfield, Illinois.

I realize of course that my chances of hitting the jackpot are are slim to none and that I am potentially wasting my pocket change (ok so loonies and toonies can amount to some decent cash if saved up, but that takes too long) and of course should the planets and stars align in my favour and I do get lucky, I still have to split my winnings amongst the three others; still, that adds up to a whole lot of loonies and toonies and hat would pay off my ever-growing credit cards bills, pay my rent and send me to school!
It's been suggested to me that I get a part-time job on the side, or be creative - well prostitution is out of the question and what the hell can I make that would gain me some padding in my wallet? Sure I am creative and can come up with some decent artwork if I can get past my perfectionist tendencies and actually finish what I start.
Fresh out of ideas, I figure gambling is my best bet(no pun intended). Loan sharks are hungry and looking for fresh blood according to the newspapers these days- people are going missing and they just so happen to be gamblers with more to lose than they are worth and apparently dial-a-dope crack dealers are making a KILLING! But see, crack dealers are slime balls and I would hate to be one of them - I just want money, I don't want to ruin people's lives in the process.

Apparently it's not just me who's out to strike it rich; even the old people are all lined up at the lotto kiosks in the mall, camping out at the food court tables scratching their lives away. This morning on the way to work I was reading the daily free crappy newspaper that everyone gets hit in the head with pushy vendors and after reading the Employment section I read more about high school drug pushers and the governments feeble attempts at dealing with payday-loan type businesses and the glories of being a loan shark here in this gambling addicted region. It was there on the third page in I read a short quip in the top right hand corner about two old bitties in California, who appeared to be frustrated at their own financial stresses and saw little chance of winning the US Jackpot, decided to kill a couple of homeless guys for a few million bucks. WHY THE HELL DIDN'T I THINK OF THAT? Brilliant.
Old people are not as sweet and delicate as they appear. These two old bags were a tag team and devised a plan to befriend two transients and convince them to be signed onto the old bitties insurance. After all was said and done and everyone was had by two old tricksters, the ladies then ran over both homeless persons, dragging them to their deaths. I'm sure this didn't all happen in one day, which makes it even more sick to think both women did not have the conscience or heart to feel badly for what they were doing and were about to do.
Needless to say, it didn't work. Both homeless persons are now dead and two old women are in the slammer with their big fat debts still haunting them.

Cross that plan off the list then, back to the drawing board.

* I will find out tomorrow for sure if I have won anything. In the meantime I am off for a weekend island getaway, a little fun in the sun with my sisters and cousins - the forecast calls for great fun to be had under the sun, should be a good time. We just hope the seagulls don't drop their loads on our tummies as we bake on the beach.

My Love Hate Relationship with YouTube

I have been debating whether or not to get a bikini wax or even the full-on brazilian, however after viewing this video clip I now know I probably will never get that wax nor can I trust YouTube ever again.
Damn You, YouTube. Damn You.

Don't touch my Keith's or I will have to kill you.

I knew this was going to happen. My roommate stole one of my beers. Roomie, who is eligible for the senior's discount, frequents the local beer and wine store far more than I do. Her beer of choice is Rickard's Red, and while I like that one I much prefer my Keith's. See? I even put a possessive in front it : MY Keith's. I love this beer, and I hate beer-moochers.

I hate to be the bad guy who shows up at a party or get-together without libation in tow. Sure it's offered, 'oh go and grab a beer from the fridge' but it's an unofficial one-time only invitation. After that, you risk your reputation, your own future beer stock and even possibly, your life.

It happened before - roomie snagged one of my beers without informing me or asking. I had gone into the fridge to grab it, only to find I was grabbing at thin air. I go and check the empties and inventory tells me I should have one left and before I could second guess myself whether I had already drank it, there Roomie stood in front of me with my beer in her hand . " Oh, I took your last beer, hope you don't mind."

heh. old bag.

What was I going to say ? I couldn't be so low and trivial and have a tantrum about my last beer. No, instead I remembered that the chances were good of her coming home the next day with a case, and I would swipe one without her knowing. Sure enough I did just that and she never said anything, but it would figure that it would backfire on me; now she has taken it upon herself to go ahead and take my beers in the future.

Tonight after I had come home I quietly snuck into the apartment and placed my case of bottles in the fridge ever so carefully without making a noise - they were still in the plain white plastic bag so not to give away the contents, tucked away safely near the back of the fridge on the bottom shelf.

Sure enough an hour later I heard a knock on my door, it was Roomie in her sickening syrupy sweet voice asking if she could have just ONE beer.

I stomped and jumped up and down and cursed under my breath and then composed myself " Sure! Go right ahead! I hope you like it!"

God I'm such a wimp.

"It's a FREE Country!" - or is it?

I witnessed the most bizarre argument this evening, which is saying a lot considering I hail from a town of yahoos and public fights are a normal occurence.

They were already sitting there waiting for the bus when I came, just two teenagers 'in love'. She was sitting on his lap, they both weren't speaking and I thought nothing of it; enter stage left, an elderly lady who lives near me in another apartment makes her way into the shelter and sits beside the lovebirds. I was making some phone calls on my cell to help pass the time and I had turned around momentarily to check my surroundings only to see the two kids now completely engaged in a heavy make-out session. She was standing in front of him as he stayed seated and his head was lost in her chest while his hands groped her behind. Obviously this took me by surprise but the look on the lady's face made me tell my sister on the phone I was going to have to call her back later.

Now I know this older lady to be quite pleasant; her voice is soft and almost child-like and her hair is always done immaculately, twisted in a coil and positioned on top of her head and her blouses are always buttoned up to her chin. She walks slowly with the aid of her cane but always wears pumps with a two inch heel. Everyone knows her and they greet her because they can expect the same in return. I have to admit that just her presence and likeability makes her almost 'grandmotherish' even to a stranger and so the urge was there to get the kids to behave while in her presence. Before I could even think of how to I was going to approach them about toning it down a notch there she was with her cane waving in the air " You two oughtta be ashamed! Look at the both of you carrying on without a care in the world. Why you, young lady have barely got any clothing on at all and here you are displaying your 'ass'ets to everyone on Columbia Street! The NERVE! Teenagers these days, they all want to be Hollywood."

I thought for sure the two kids would be so embarassed at being scolded by a complete stranger in public for their sexual antics that they would stop and be on their merry way, but would you believe the girl actually got up in front of the lady's face and challenged her to fight? She was excessively rude hurling a string of obscenities the old lady's way, telling her that she was old and decrepit, cranky and ugly and not with the 'times'. She even pulled my favourite talk-show teenager line " You don't know me! Who are you to judge me, you don't know me!" The old lady's response was "Why would I want to know you? There's nothing to know, it's all right here for my eyes to see, and I don't want to know a two-bit whore." Well that last comment just added more fuel to the fire.

It never went anywhere, even with my own attempts at backing the old lady up in her arguments. I told the kids that it was disrespectful not only to her but also to me and I said it wouldn't be something they would want to brag about that they got into an argument with an elderly person. Hardly something to boast about.
The girl returned my comments with her bold statements " If someone wants to start sh*t with me, I throw the sh*t back. I don't give a f*ck if it's some old hag, I'll bring it if that's what they are looking for. It's a free f*cking country - didn't you know lady, this is CANA-DUH, we can do whatever the f*ck we want."
I was sure this lady was thinking her husband fought in the war so that this girl could get it on in public without any regard for others. I just hope she didn't think it was all pointless.

Would you believe that this lady then started to get on my case for revealing too much of my own 'goods' once we were seated on the bus and discussing what had just transpired. She did it in her not so subtle way and I did my best not to look as though her comment affected me, but humbled, I pulled my shirt up a little higher when she got up to exit the bus.
She was still muttering to herself and waving her cane in the air as she walked to her building. Poor old girl, I hope she can sleep tonight and learn to pick her battles in the future, some are futile.

Would you please stop that? Ma'am? Thank you.

"ohhh. otay."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5sCL_AATSv4

My trip home today on the loser cruiser reminded me of a MadTV skit where
Miss Swan is on an airplane and proceeds to annoy the sanity out of those seated near her in economy class. We watched it the other day at work, one of those days where instead of working hard we were hardly working.

My hearing aids were turned off as they normally are when I am the bus on my way to or from work - this keeps the noise levels at a comfortable level and it also helps me avoid the weirdos who try to make conversation, they see the hearing aids and assume I am deaf, not that I am ignoring them. Love these things. Some like to call it selective hearing, I call it peace and quiet. See there's benefits to being'impaired'.

Normally I would also have my eyes closed, most people do this to rest their eyes or catch up on some needed sleep missed the night before, I however do it so the perv standing in front of me doesn't think I am staring at his crotch and the woman beside him, her ass. But today on my way home was different. I was seated near the front of the bus, a miracle in itself to even get the chance to sit and though my hearing aids were off I could see the 'NEXT STOP' light on the ceiling to the right of me blinking on and then off, on, off, on, off, on, off. I knew it had to be one of three things : a child having a field day while mum or dad was unaware; a malfunction of the bell system or an aloof passenger leaning against the bell located at hip level for those in wheelchairs trying to stay out of everyone's way. The bus was far too full for me to see through the bodies to see if in fact someone was triggering the bell unbeknownst to them. I could see heads start to turn as the bell would ring and the light illuminate with every movement of the bus. Was someone playing games? Did they think this was FUNNY? Well I did - I tried my darndest to stifle my laughter as I imagined the bus driver giving way to his ticks of annoyance everytime the light flickered. I could see his reflection in the rear-view mirror trying to find the culprit, but it was fruitless, too many bodies. I heard a muffled announcement so I quickly turned my WHISPER 2000 aids on to hear "...if you could KNOCK IT OFF, I would appreciate it. And if anyone is aware of who is doing this, kindly come up to the front and tell me. Thank you." His obvious threat of bodily harm seemed to do little good as the bell continued to ring and light-up at every bump, turn and lurch. One person hollered at the driver to 'STOP THE BUS!! You missed my stop!" Only for the driver to slam on his brakes and retort back " How do I know when someone wants to get off, the jokester wants to get off at every stop."
This was all becoming too funny. It was clear there were no children on the bus and certainly someone would have glared the prankster into stopping the nonsense but still it continued. It could only mean one thing, and sure enough as the bus stopped to let another passenger off, people shifted to make room and there I saw her, the unsuspecting woman leaning against the bell with a worried look on her face.
The driver was still mad as hell that noone would fess up to the dirty deed and I didn't want to embarass the lady by hollering at her to please "step away from the bell". I was given a chance to approach her discreetly as a frail elderly woman stepped onto the bus; I immediately offered up my seat and went to the offending woman and explained that she was in fact the one to blame. I felt badly for her with an embarassed look on her face, one mixed with disbelief that she was the one causing the bus- driver to pop his anxiety pills, and the other passengers to curse under their breath. Sure enough she realized it was indeed her. The driver practically kicked us all off the bus once we approached the station. I swore the bus was still moving when he opened the doors.

Permission

Whose permission would you need to get married to the person you love?

Is it Friday yet?

Well here I am back at work after a long weekend; it was BC Day, not Canada Day as I am sure many Americans may have thought - but then again I bet they didn't even blink when it was Canada Day, three days before July 4th, but thanks anyway.

I don't have a lunch because rent broke me and it's starting to rain. The sun was shining when I left home this morning so naturally I didn't bring a jacket and an umbrella would have been of zero use to me unless it was for self-defense - little did I know at the time; so as you can see my day so far is not off to a good start - and it's only Tuesday.
You might be thinking "Relax, at least it's Tuesday and not Monday!", well that is exactly where the problem lies. When the calendar calls for the weekend to be a long one, we all jump for joy at the chance to sleep in on Monday but we forget so easily to read the small print where it promises us that the next four days are going to be long and grueling, and it NEVER, EVER fails. Go ahead and try to find it in your pin-up girls, exotic get-away locales and cuddly animal calendars, sure enough it will heed this little warning.

So I am debating whether or not we should even have these long weekends in the first place - I mean sure they are there in place to commemorate events such as Rememberance Day and hey don't the Brits actually celebrate a day where some dude named Guy Fawkes tried to burn down the Parliament Buildings? I realized after they were celebrating the fact that he got nailed for doing it, not praising him for trying - but hey they are English, they're funny like that.
Regardless, I don't know if an extended weekend is worth the extended week that follows... now if we would all just join together and call for the abolishment of long weekends maybe my voice will be heard.

anyone with me?

Hello? Those buggers took an extra day off - why didn't I think of that? DAMMIT!

TGIF- Freaky Friday - The Naked Nerd#links

TGIF- Freaky Friday - The Naked Nerd#links

If you're not asleep by 9:40am Saturday morning, then it's still Friday for you and this post is still valid.
Stumbled on this guy through some other yahoo - who was it? Can't remember, probably a Canuck though.

Love is Electric : For Sarah

Hey Sarah,

This is for you.

I believe you know what to do with it.

Don't worry about target practice, it's amazing the accuracy of our aim when the object is so irritating and thoughtless.

Have fun, and don't get too carried away - let him suffer a little.

Letter to Kotex

This was written by another ticked-off woman and though I don't buy Kotex products myself, I have had to use them and well, the sentiment is still true!

An email to Feminine Products Providers

Dear Kotex,

I recently noticed that the peel-off strip of my panty liner
had a bunch of "Kotex Tips for Life" on it.
Annoying advice such as:

-Staying active during your period can relieve cramps.

-Avoiding caffeine
may help reduce cramps and headaches.

-Drink 6-8 glasses of water a day to
keep you hydrated and feeling fresh.

-Try Kotex blah, blah, blah other products

Obviously the person behind this was someone who has
never possessed a functioning set of ovaries.

Go ahead and tell a menstruating woman TO HER FACE that drinking 6-8 glasses of water will help keep her
feeling fresh. See what happens and report back. I'll wait. While you're at it, dump out the coffee at work and remove the chocolate from the vending machine. I guarantee that the first responders will be females who just ovulated.

Look... females don't need or want tips for living on feminine hygiene products. Younger girls are already hearing "helpful"
stuff like that from their elderly relatives. Veteran females have already concocted their own recipes for survival, many of which contain alcohol. Printing out advice while sneaking in
ads for the brand THAT WAS ALREADY PURCHASED is just plain annoying, not to mention rude and enough to
send a girl running to the Always brand. Mostly we'd
like to forget that we even need these products. It's not a fun time, but DO NOT try to cheer us up by adding smiley faces or bunnies or flowery cutesy stuff to your products
or the packaging. Put it in a plain brown wrapper so we can
throw it in our carts discreetly and have it blend in among the wine and beer! There is nothing more annoying than having a blinding pink package announcing your uterine state to everyone in the store.

The ultimate goal of your product should be functional invisibility at every stage, including at the point of purchase. So take your tips for living and shove them right up your ass. (Try drinking six to eight glasses of water to make you feel fresher while you're
doing it!)

Ovarily Yours,

Miss PMS

You Are Animal

A complete lunatic, you're operating on 100% animal instincts. You thrive on uncontrolled energy, and you're downright scary. But you sure can beat a good drum. "Kill! Kill!"

The Muppet Personality Test

Oh and one more thing...

Just because I'm filled with spite at this moment and I find this particular quote funny, I thought I'd share :

"In passing, also, I would like to say that the first time Adam had a chance he laid the blame on a woman." —Nancy Astor

heh. *shakes head

P.M frickin' S.

That wonderful time of month again, I am pms'ing. Everyone look the hell out.
Daggers fly out of my fiery eyes, and smoke blows out my nostrils - I'm in that mood where I would knock an old woman out of my path, and not look back. (ok I would look back and help her up while apologizing profusely and then I'd walk her home to make sure she was okay and then probably offer to mow her lawn for the next year. but that's not my point.)

There isn't enough chocolate in this world to make me feel better.

Maybe Margarita-Madness at work is called for tomorrow.
Oh wait, how does that song go? "Tequila makes her take her clothes off."
Hmm... on second thought, maybe I'll just stay home - that way I can leave the sombrero on.

Bloody Hell. ( this pun was bound to happen.)
Pour me, POUR ME, pour me another shot of whiskey.

Pam and Kid to Do It Four Times

That's right, my eyes have seen it all. Pam and Mr. Rock are going to get it on four times after they tie the knot? Did I read that right? Is that it?

Getcher dirty mind out of the gutter, they ain't talkin' about a big ol' roll in the sack! ( ok well I only found that out the hard way cause the title certainly caught my attention, and well my mind has a little place in the gutter once in a while.)They are talking about getting MARRIED four times!

That's gotta be stressful - I mean literally throwing a big 'to-do' in every state in the U.S. of A would send most people to an early grave but I guess not for the Anderson-Rocks. Nope one wedding simply will not do.
Of course they won't be doing any of the dirty work themselves, I'm sure they will have planners for every state they intend to be wed but Pam did have this to say when asked how she was coping with her nerves:
"I have two words for you: champagne."

oh, Pam.

All this courtesy of Yahoo news, news about yahoos.

Less Socks, More Sandals Seen on West Coast

Well I am happy to report that the past few weeks of summer here on the West Coast have seen fewer socks and more sandals!
Yeah I know most of you would roll your eyes and mutter under your breath "Whooptee-freakin-doo-da. The sun is shining,It's what you DO."
Dear readers, how misguided and uniformed you must be of culture here in Beautiful BC, Canada where it is common practice for one to wear socks with their Birkenstocks, Tevas and even flip-flops( ok, well in that case it would either be children or Japanese in their traditional wooden tabi sandals and in which case they have special TABI socks for their TABI shoes so they are exempt from this fashion faux pas but everyone else should be shot).
God knows what the logic is in this, but I certainly cannot seem to figure it out for the life of me.

Apparently the West Coast is known worldwide for more than our supreme hashishishish; yes it's true, people in other corners of our planet crack jokes at their dinnertables about our choice of fashion here.
You might wonder what could possibly be so absurd in our closets that people are talking about it long after their vacation to Vancouver is over, well I shall give you a small taste of some of the sightings I encounter on a daily basis.
It would appear that some of us, namely men ( because us ladies love shoes and pedicures too much not to have an excuse to buy more or get another one and then show them off all at once!) have this thing about exposing their tender tootsies to the open air. I am not sure if they think mosquitoes will wander down and suck the blood supply out of their toes butit must be something drastic because these guilty folks will wear sandals and WOOL SOCKS in the summer heat! The only reason I have been given once by a guilty man clad in woolies and Tevas was " Well with our wet weather, I don't want my feet to get wet."
* slaps head.
Oh yes. Wool socks, manna from heaven for a BC man who loves to wear sandals, but can only ever get to second base.

Oh yes, I was blessed once more to be given the tiniest iota of understanding of this phenomenon that adorns our men with their warm sandaled "I'm-ready-for-the-rain-and-a-romp-on-the-beach" feet - my Dad once said to me after I asked why on earth he was wearing gym socks with his leather sandals :
" It's still cold out, not quite warm enough to wear sandals."
"But you are wearing sandals."
"Yes, but I have socks on."
"Put some shoes on then - DUHHHHHHHHH"
"But my feet will get too hot, they need to be OPEN and FREE just not exposed."
"Socks are not meant to be worn with sandals; it makes sandals completely redundant, pointless and possess no reason to be created - therefore you look like a dumbass."
ok well I didn't say the last part, but oh it was there, ready to come out and smack him silly up side the head.

No I don't understand this practice of keeping one's toes open but closed at the same time, personally I don't like dirty socks and that's nastier to me than my toes being subjected to sand on the beach. But then again, I can't seem to uderstand this new fashion craze that is the little neck scarf in the summer heat, or the down vest paired with a miniskirt and flip-flops or a hooded sweatshirt with a heavy knit scarf complete with Mountain Equipment Co-Op Capris - it's all about the urban outdoor preparedness, dressed to go from the mountains to the beach, to the city and back up to the mountains again, all in one outfit.

for the love of socks and sandals and the bermuda short - and a little neck scarf.

Story of Her Life

Unable to catch a break from anyone she meets, with their judgemental stares, ridiculing words and noses turned up, she trods on; she is late by an hour, her bus never showed up, and now her lawyer is gone and I wonder if he ever bothered to meet his end of the appointment.

I met her at my bus stop tonight after work; I was weighed down with grocery bags waiting for my bumpy ride home and there she was waiting. The first bus rolled past, most folks board and the bus shelter is empty once again, except for the two of us.
" Are you waiting for the Quayside bus?" I ask politely.
"No." she says quietly without meeting my eyes.

I risk being judgemental myself by making assumptions about her, but Quayside is a neighbourhood for the well-off and retired seniors, and I could see that she had circumstances working against her that wouldn't allow her to live in such a place. Knowing the only other bus that came to the stop was gone, I asked what she was waiting for. "I'm meeting a lawyer here."

I first noticed her at the bottom of the stairwell as I was walking down from the skytrain platform, she was wandering around; another lady a few steps down and to the right of me was muttering to herself and gradually became louder, so much that people were jumping out of her way pretending not to notice. My little friend was the only brave one to ask whom she was speaking to, the lady abruptly responded with her smoker's growl " Don't listen to me!"
" But were you speaking to ME?" my friend asked timidly, but assertively.
"No I ain't speakin' to you, I was talking to myself- I told you, I got problems."
My friend, looks ashamed and fearful all at once and casts her eyes to the ground to avoid any further altercation.

I noticed her frail body in its shadow-boxer stance and unlike the hundreds of faces I see in my daily journey, her's had a thousand stories written all over it. Her etched face tells me they contain secrets and abuses, some victories but mostly fights - and all of them seem to say they haven't an ending. The scars and bruises on her arms and legs confirmed it.

Sadly, I know this 'look'. Her eyes were vacant and wary, her laughter too nervous and child-like. Her bottom jaw jut out, her sharp chin guiding her; she had few teeth which brought her jaw unnaturally close to her nose, broken too many times to be fixed. Her arms suggested many failed attempts to end the battles against men, against addiction, against life.

How unlikely is it a lawyer would meet a client in a bus shelter? It seems absurd but given the situation, perhaps he was being kind to agree to meet her there as her means of transportation were limited... I will never know, but I admit my thoughts were that this lady was being misled - forever a pessimist in these cases I am, I suppose. I felt badly and I asked redundant questions I already knew the answers to : " Have you tried calling him?" " Do you have money for a payphone?"
With no access to money, she wouldn't have the ability to call the lawyer to inform them of her late arrival. How much I take for granted.

I offer her some change to use a payphone, the tired exasperation lifted briefly from her face. A bit shell-shocked, she thanked me and proceeded to find a phone. I fought off the thoughts running through my head that I could have possibly fed an addict some money to get her next fix... but petty change can buy little of what is needed to bring momentary heaven.

My bus still hadn't arrived when I saw her come back towards the bus shelter; she looked at me like she was ready to cry, arms thrown up in surrender she shook her head, nothing. I was not surprised, this woman does not get many breaks, this is just another for her.
Knowing I couldn't do much more to help, I mouthed the words " I'm sorry"; Her face told me she accepted that and believed me.

I looked around at the people who gathered, in their high profile business attire, yapping away on their razor-thin cell phones, some opting to hail a cabbie down because they can afford not to wait; some teens walking past sneer at her and avoid her, huddled down on a step with her head in her hands outside the Salvation Army that has closed for business. Story of her life.

The very least I could do was have some words with her, give her any hope at all. I gathered up all my grocery bags and hobbled my way to her. She looked up smiled at me as if I was a friend. Wow. It caught me off guard.
"So, what's Plan B?"
She had tears in her eyes; I get the feeling she isn't given many second options.
I suggested that if I were in her shoes, I would wait 15 minutes longer in case this lawyer is still hanging around, 15 minutes and no longer, as if her time is precious, not to be wasted. I tell her she has better things to do, and some calls to make.
Sadly I know she most likely did not have a fixed address, but I asked anyway. "I'm staying at the hospital.", as though this is natural.

I suggest she make her way back there and hopefully someone can help her out with her situation. She told me she was afraid to risk going back on skytrain without paying the fare because there's a fine, she learned that the hard way. I told her there are transit employees up on the platform, that all she needs to do is explain her situation, that maybe they can help her out, she nods, and I think it was just an attempt to make me feel better by not ignoring my suggestion but she knows well enough that the employees can be cruel and prejudiced - she's right, I've seen them discriminate, I remind her it's still worth a try.
My bus was finally approaching, in trying to make her laugh I say " Bloody hell - it's about damn time!" It seems to work, but waiting is her game, patience is not something she can give up.
I wish her luck and give her my last piece of advice to always have a back-up plan when travelling by transit, they go by their own schedules, hence why Iwas there for so long.
I didn't even have the money to give her the fare she needed, she understood and reminded me that I gave it to her already to use the phone.

Maybe I'm not a pessimist after all, maybe it's naivete, maybe it's hope that not all mankind is unforgiving; I just wish that somebody would help her, show some grace, just give her a break but it's the stigma that separates us from them, she is part of a minority marginalized to live away from society's eye, she has accepted that because she has no other choice. It's the story of her life.

Living Dangerously

I like living on the edge a little, going against the grain, stepping out from the crowd and doing my own thing; tonight I drink my pina coladas without rum.

No, it's definitely not dangerous, in fact the only thing lethal about it is the heartburn I know is waiting for me. It's bloody hot outside, in the 30's somewhere ( celsius for us Canucks, but down South it's 91 deg fahrenheit..... 91, is that it? Geez, it feels like I should be in the Sahara desert right now.), so this 'virgin' libation is some small effort in trying to stay cool and sane as possible.
I feel particularly somber today - I left early from work, my mind just completely taken hostage by thoughts of my dad, so I have decided to take it easy and maybe try to make sense of the nonsense in this head of mine. Unfortunately the walls in this apartment are also sweating, it's so uncomfortable even just to be still, so as soon as the sun starts to abandon my deck I will set up camp there to write more.

Screw this pina colada - maybe I will steal one of my roomie's beers.

Feb.11th, 2006

It Never Rains When You Want It To. - Norah Jones

What does one do when they want everything all at once and any bit of patience they have left has skipped town?
I need more patience.
I have plenty of time - but this is one case where time is the enemy.

I complain about life slipping past me sneakily, me completely unaware it is even going by and then next thing I know, tomorrow has come; well in this case, my tomorrows are dragging their sorry behinds and I am getting antsy inking out the days on my calendar. All these new inventions are patented everyday - when is someone going to finally really make a time machine? I could use one right now.

Feb. 5th, 2006

Have you ever experienced a time where out of nowhere the smell of someone you love dearly is all around you? You can be sitting there quiet, deep in thought or on a busy street going about your day and you are overwhelmed by the familiar scent of one you know so well and haven't seen for some time.

I wonder sometimes if this is just a figment of our imaginations... or if maybe God works in such small wonderful ways as giving us that tiny bit of comfort we might need in that moment. I don't think too much about it at the time it happens, because I am so overcome by the fact that the smell is so strong that the very person could be in the room with me! But the more it happens to me, the more I see the connection between how I am feeling that day and when I am aware of this smell. I don't think it is so coincidental these days.
When I am missing my Mom terribly, sometimes out of thin air her smell of sweet perfumes and stale tobacco will cover me. Sometimes it follows me and will linger, and sometimes I try to keep it with me, but the moment I smell it, it vanishes. Often it is just enough to calm me, to assure me I haven't forgotten her, and that surely, she hasn't forgotten me. And this happens more so with the smell of my fiance, and for that I am SO THANKFUL. I know his smell so well and it is such a comfort to me. I think it must be God who can send a pick-me-up in a time I need it most, to know that even though Joe is miles away from me, that really he isn't that far away at all, and to encourage me to hold on. It's not easy being away from the people you are closest to in life, the ones who hold the most important pieces of who you are - sometimes you do not feel whole without them. I thank God for these smells that seem to come out of nowhere at the times they are needed most. Love is truly sweet, even its aroma.

Nov. 26th, 2004

The Dreaded Christmas Advent Calendar

My family, namely us kids, partake in the christmas tradition of the chocolate Advent Calendar. Last night when I got home, I found one in my room lying on my bed, brand new in it's plastic wrap. Right away my first instinct was to throw that thing as far away as possible!! I curse that dreaded Advent calendar! I know, most people would think this bizarre - but you see, unless you suffer from a serious lack of willpower ( or 'don't-power, in my case) when it comes to chocolate like I do, then you will never understand what it is like to have a box full of chocolate at your disposal that CANNOT be opened until Dec.1....and after that only one window a day! That's cruel and unusual punishment! It's sick really.

And the problems don't just stop there. It's bad enough I can't touch this thing for another week but when I do get to rip that sucker open, it will be so unfulfilling. I remember when I was small, the calendars my mom used to buy for me looked the same - however, the difference was inside. You could actually see that it was Santa's head you were biting into, not just some molten piece of brown something-or-other that happens to have a chocolate taste to it. And wasn't the window for Dec.24th, the biggest one in the entire calendar??Not any longer- now it's almost as if your head is playing tricks on you " I could have sworn I just put a piece of chocolate in my mouth but now, a nano-second later, there's nothing there"And yet, I complain and complain and what do I do? I eat every piece of chocolate in those windows and continue to have this tradition carried on in my mouth and my family's mouth for many years to come, or until the bits of chocolate become so small it renders the calendar useless.

or I could pop every window open today and eat the evidence and act like I never saw the thing.

Dec. 13th, 2004

C-H-E-M-O spells Relief

So my mom had her first round of chemo just this past Thursday.
Luckily, my friend who happens to be the nurse who administered the drugs to my mom, told me that the drugs available now for my mom's cancer have less intense side effects than they used to. So my mom didn't experience any more vomiting then usual and she has felt relief already as the treatment has shrunk the mass on her pancreas and liver down a bit and she is not feeling the pain as it pushed against her other organs. Unfortunately though, she is very tired and weak.She goes in again this Thursday for her next round and I am a bit worried that maybe she won't be feeling so hot after this treatment. Her next one after that is Dec.23rd.

I asked her if she might feel up to going to our christmas eve service at church, and she says without a doubt she wants to go, but she doesn't know if she will be able to. Somehow the thought of going to church in her pj's and holding a 'sick-bucket' in her lap doesn't appeal too much to her.

Her old friends from high school got the news of her sickness and dropped by the house to visit. She hasn't seen a couple of them in years. I have always thought that situations like this that reunite people are so sad. It takes this much. One of the ladies had emailed my mom a picture of my biological father whom I have never met before - she forgot she had it and thought I would like to see it. I had one picture that I kept with me as a little girl... I must have been so afraid of losing it I hid it so well I can no longer find it. Figures.
Anyways, it was weird to see myself in this man I don't not know. I guess I have to give my mom the 20 questions about him before its too late to ask her.

June. 1st, 2005

When a Butterfly emerges...

Heh.... ok so you know you have committment issues when you neglect your daily journal, in fact, forget it even exists - not even including all the important details that literally rock your world. My mom has since passed away since my last entry. She died March 10th,2005 at 1pm.

Sometimes I have to say it out loud to myself or write it down to believe it's actually true, that she is gone. It seems cruel to do that to myself, but I am still in denial. Her cancer took her far too quickly, even the day she died. She didn't want to die in hospital, she said that right from the day she was told it was terminal. She was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, a cancer I learned after she passed was the most painful and fastest-spreading of all of them. At the time I thought ' it can't be too serious, just remove the pancreas.' She didn't seem concerned, nor my friend who was the one who gave her the chemo treatments. The chemo itself was a light one that didn't make her sick or make her lose her hair; I thought it was that way because her illness wasn't so bad, but in fact they were trying to give her the best quality of life possible for the short amount of time she had left. I don't know why I was so out of the loop when it came to her condition - did I simply just refuse to hear it or did everyone really not know themselves? All I know was that a week before I was to leave I had to cancel a flight I had made to go to Ohio Mar.10 to see my bf because my mom had suddenly become seriously ill and riddled with pain. She was from then on bed-ridden and heavily medicated with shots of morphine and a cocktail of pills I couldn't even begin to name. I went with her finally to one of her chemo treatments as I had promised I would from the beginning only to hear the doctor tell her that after some tests were done, it was revealed that the chemo was no longer working that her cancer was now spreading rapidly, that her health would start to deteriorate within a few weeks where she would lose consciousness and eventually die.

What it must be like to have a death sentence handed to you and to be faced with death in a short time's notice. My family started to prepare to have her settled in at home, having the nurses make home calls, bringing in a wheelchair and necessary bathroom equipment to assist her, even a hospital bed to keep her comfortable. So quickly she lost her appetite, unable to even keep her water and medications down. I watched my mom go from a sane, talkative woman to incoherent and in and out of sleep in a matter of days. I apologized to my mom for the things I had said to her in the years past that had hurt her and she told me not to worry about the small things. I had told her before that I was planning on cancelling my trip to help take care of her and she told me to go and that she would be ok, but if she were to go while I was there under no circumstances was I to come home! Nothing short of a threat! Typical of Isabel.
But I went ahead and cancelled it anyway once I saw how quickly death was settling in, and I told her of my decison and she was disappointed in me. I know now that she must have had some sort of understanding of what was coming for her in the next few days because she mustered up the strength enough to give me heck for not going to see the guy who she must have known would become my life. The morphine was no longer doing the trick for her as the pain was becoming constant and the morphine made her delirious and really aggressive causing her a lot of stress and her family, angst. The doctor told us that he wanted to switch her over to methadone to help control the pain a bit better but in order to monitor her she needed to be in hospital, overnight at the most. She agreed to it. That night my sisters and I went there to be with her and as if some miracle had happened it was just her and us, noone to bother us, no family or nurses to interrupt. She heard us come in and regained consciousness for one moment to give us a big smile and say hello and then she went out again like a light. We spoke to her and told her we loved her and that we were going to take her home the next day. An hour later she opened one eye once more while we sat around her and took a long look at each of us, one at a time as if to remember our faces. It occurred to me briefly that this may be her way of saying goodbye, but even then I wasn't ready and dismissed it from my mind.

The next day I wanted to take my two good friends of many years to see my mom for the last time and to say their good-byes to her. We took our time getting to the hospital, stopping to chat with their family members and answering their questions about my mom's health. We finally arrived at the Palliative care ward at 1:15pm and we snuck into my mom's room past all the nurses whom we know now were huddled around the phone trying to contact my family. The curtain around my mom's bed was drawn and so I told my friends to just wait a moment while I checked on her. I went in and she looked so different - she looked so undisturbed and at peace that I had to stand there and watch her. Her mouth was open as it usually was when she struggled to breathe but then I noticed she was no longer breathing. 'Oh, mom' . I was holding her hand and she was still warm. A nurse came rushing in asking us who we were and didn't we see the butterfly that was pinned to the curtain, the one that was meant to warn people in the room that the patient had since passed on to a better place in a better body, like the butterfly leaving its cocoon. It was mayhem as I was pulled out of the room; I said 'Sorry' to my friends as I was shoved past them, for what I wasn't exactly certain of, though I had an idea. Next thing I know I have a phone shoved in front of me and was being instructed to call my family. I couldn't remember numbers, I was trying too hard not to lose it, not to be knocked over by what I knew was going to be confirmed. The nurses never told me my mom had passed... they didn't have to; my friend finally lost her cool and said out loud "No one has told her anything yet - she doesn't know." They all look ashamed and finally one pulled me over and told me what I had figured out for myself, that she had passed away not just 10 mins ago.

She was always a private lady that way, not wanting to be made a fuss over - so of course she took her first opportunity alone to slip away. She wanted to die at home, she made it very clear. She went in to have her meds switched and catches a chest bug which her body cannot fight off and it takes her life not even 24 hours later.

I heard recently that the morning she died she was still cracking jokes. She told my uncle " This is RIDICULOUS! I am finished with smoking!" But she knew her time was up and she had said she was ready to meet God even though she wasn't ready to die, to leave her husband and her children. Two weeks before she died she went with my Dad to Home Depot to pick out a colour to repaint the kitchen. The can of paint and the brushes sat there for a good two months until just last weekend. It's painted now and sometimes I still expect her to come around the corner and make a scene : " That's not the colour I picked here on this swatch!!"

Cast her gently into morning, for the night has been unkind.

Sept. 18th, 2005

Mom, is Heaven a stranger place than the world you left behind?

It's been just over 6 months now since she died.
I don't think I have ever seen 6 months sail past me as quickly as it has - I realize they say that time flies when you get older, and I agree, but like this? As always, I am thinking of my Mom; reminiscing about life as a child following my Mom everywhere she went, mimicing her every move, her laugh, her expressions and sayings.

A few years ago if someone had told me I was a spitting image of her I would have cried 'shenanigans!' But this is a comfort to me today, when my biggest fear is losing what I have left of her. It was hard to go through her clothing and belongings and give them away without protesting and storing everything in my closet - not only do I not have room for all of it, but it cannot be healthy if I am unable to let go of a material object. One thing for sure, I don't know that I am so happy to see my aunt, her sister visiting us wearing everything that once belonged to my Mom. She does not do it on purpose, and if not for lack of clothing, maybe because my mom had better fashion sense! ( ha! she'd smack me for saying that about my aunt and then say I was Bang on!); but it feels as though someone is trying to take her place, and my Mother was solid gold, valuable in every sense of the word and completely irreplaceable.

I have many questions circulating now about where she is... and will I ever see her again. I do not want to hear another soul tell me she is in a better place, and that we will be reunited again one day. That is no comfort to me. But I cannot keep worrying about these details or questions because it only brings upon more doubt and right now I need to feel sure and so I thank God for not making her endure the pain for long and instead I look at her photos and remember her expressions and imagine her laughter - and that is comfort to me.

Sept, 2005

In that place between Young and Old.

So I arrived here today at my 1/4 of a century age - and I get asked the typical question that never fails to leave someone's lips : " Do you FEEL any older?"
No, I do not, but I know that I am and therefore, am absolutely sick with misery.
I have been dreading this birthday for some time now... I don't mean from the day I turned 24, but rather since I returned home from Europe on a backpacking trip two years ago, when after working sometime I realized the debt I incurred in the foreign countries was easier to create than it is to eliminate. And a year later I was nowhere in my progress, if anything I had set myself back even more, because credit cards are good for that, a life-saver one day and a life destroyer the next. I know I am being dramatic, and I have learned a lot this year - in fact what I have been through should have turned my hair white - but it hasn't ( thankfully) but I am wiser now because of it. All around me, my friends and family my age are all getting engaged, married, having kids, buying their houses, their cars and getting a dog on top of it all, while I am now 25 years old and at that age where you should definitely have everything figured out by now - at least.

poop.

oh well, at least there will be cake.

Oct. 30th, 2005

My Mother's Handwriting

This morning I was going through some old bills I had found bundled up by a blue rubber band - mail still being delivered to my parents house though I had lived in a new place by then. I have since moved again but had yet to open these bills, not a good practice; though I had already paid them I should still LOOK at the bills in careful detail (though it was later instead of sooner - hey but it's better than NEVER! this was obviously not a trait passed down to me by my parents!).
I turned over the brown envelope that had my bank statement enclosed and noticed my mum had written herself a note on there to drop off some medical information at the doctor's office - it was a note written in pencil, slanted and almost running off the paper in haste, but it was my mum's penmanship no doubt, a thing of beauty I always thought and tried to imitate; I was never able to convincingly forge my mum's signature.

I worry sometimes that I will forget about her, the smallest details but I am painfully reminded still how fresh everything is about her when all the memories and feelings and smells come flooding back. I have a photo I took of her last Christmas, she was sitting on the couch by the window with the sun upon her, watching my youngest sister decorate the Christmas tree. This was always Mum's job to decorate, ours was to take it down. This year though she was too ill, unable to stand for too long and in too much pain to move around. She gave up this position easily and watched with a smile on her face, no criticism whatsoever, only pride. She knew after all this would be her last tree and she wanted to enjoy it.

Whenever I look at this photo, it takes me right back to that moment as I sat beside her and held her hand and kissed her cheek. Her skin was dry and paper-thin, her cheek still soft and fuzzy but cooler and her smell is one that hurts me to remember, of sweet perfume but illness close behind. I can feel her tiny frame as I hugged her, ironically as if careful not to squeeze the life out of her instead letting her hug me back with all the strength she could muster. The last time she hugged me that way was the last time she was able to 'mother' me the way she always had, consoling me as I cried and speaking softly in my ear " I know, I know..."; this was the day the doctor told her the chemo treatments would stop and it would only be a matter of weeks left for her to live. I think back now and I am in awe of a woman who after being told she was down to her last days on earth still had it in her to look after her grown adult daughter who was facing the inevitable loss of her mother. When someone should have been consoling her, mothering her, she thought of nothing else but to dry her eldest child's tears. I hope that I continue to find little scraps of her handwriting. The chances are becoming smaller and smaller as my dad and younger sisters move on with their lives and make changes in the home that they once shared with Mum, giving away her belongings and packing away her own old, forgotten bundled up bills and letters with notes jotted in scribbled pencil on the back.

Oct. 20th, 2004

Le autobus

I love mornings like this one today. The air is biting and the wind is blowing and the hum of leaf-blowers seem to haunt us. The air was so startling, smacked me right in the face when I opened the door as I left for work. I could see my breath as it cut through the cold, it seemed to hold its shape, frozen momentarily and then floated away. The birds were floating on the breeze, swooping with each strong gust that blew through the trees and buildings; the wind threatening to pick you up off your feet and bring you along on its journey. Over the skyline, with lights from the buidlings and cars still luminous, the clouds split apart to reveal the appropriately cold blue. I got off the train and waited at the bus-stop. My friend Erin soon joined me and then we were the object of stares as we described odd dreams of mashed potatoes the night before. I am thankful for her odd 'mashed' dreams... they make my own feel somewhat sane, if there is such a thing as sanity ( which I question everyday the more people I meet). We talked about running and getting older and the boys that never cease to stare at us every morning as we wait for our ride. We discussed motorbikes and unicorns, vaseline and paperwork that sat there waiting for us to complete it. John came on our bus with coffee~ once again, none for us. If you come with coffee...you must bring some for all - there is nothing worse than catching a bus jammed full of grumpy people who are upset they have to stand and there is no arm room to spread out their huge financial newspapers, and bringing with your extra body a cup full of aromatic java. You are literally asking for your death sentence. At least, that's how me and Erin see it. Erin starts to nod off....I listen to Natalie Merchant and observe my surroundings. I catch the 'not-so-discreet-over-the-shoulder-lookers' who gaze at the reading materials of the guy sitting beside them; I notice the guy finally catch on, and grumble and pretend to shift his body as he brings his paper closer towards him, shutting the shoulder-gazer off and leaving him no other choice but to read the bus advertisements, that no doubt he has probably read every morning this past week. Over my own music, I can hear that of someone else positioned somewhere towards the back, it's loud and I see the unapproving faces, as though their ears have been violated and subjected to the heavy bass of hip-hop. I turn my volume down a notch, just in case.
The bus empties out...fills up briefly once more and once again, it is empty. Perfect.
My stop is nearing and I dread the mornings where I have to push through people who are absorbed in their books, their songs so loud they can't hear my apology 'but could you just move an inch', the people who try so hard not to spill their coffee or the girls who are so wrapped up in conversations about random dreams, work and boys with fixed eyes. The doors open and once again I am bitten by cold, my nose snatched away by Jack Frost.....and there he is: The leaf-blower...looking cranky as ever, once again blowing the same leaves he attacked just yesterday.

life and its comings and goings.

Oct. 30th, 2004

Norm, you can't take your grudges to Heaven, but here's some Glenfiddich for the road

Norm finally gave in and left this lonely world of ours. I last saw my good friend about two weeks ago, like I do every saturday. He was in his room, trying to get some sleep. He told me that it was the first time in his life that he ever had to use an inhaler, that his breathing had become too hard for him on his own. That day was also the only day he didn't tell me that he was going to die. I could see that not only was he more weary then I had ever seen him before, but also his mind was in a million places all at once... it was almost impossible to keep a conversation going while staying on topic. He had said some things that had made me uncomfortable, that combined with his deteriorating body and pain, I found it hard to be near him. I didn't visit him the following Saturday, or the next. I was making excuses and I realized that this was not his fault....he had no control over what words came out of his mouth and I had to put that behind me and continue being the only family he had. I went into his room this morning, only to find a new gentleman had moved in. I apologized for intruding on this man and asked a nurse who was cleaning rooms. I asked where Norm was and she told me to hold tight for one sec while she grabbed another nurse. Together they told me that he had passed on about two weeks ago. "He told you, didn't he? That he was going to die?" the one nurse asked me as I broke down from a wave of sadness, guilt and shock all at once. He had told me...almost everytime I saw him. He was the boy who cried 'wolf' one too many times, I had called his bluff almost every week. But as it turned out, our last visit was the one time he never mentioned it. "You should have been notified...are you family?"No. I am just a friend who comes, signs in, visits and leaves quietly. Noone ever knew who I was - except for Norm.So there you have it you cranky old bugger, you're finally out of pain and out of the hell-hole you refused to call 'home' at the lodge. I won't stop looking for your written works done at UBC and in Penticton....and I only hope that you are finally now flying in the Cessna-150 airplane that you knew so well. Thanks for the good laughs Norm. I'll have my sisters play the pipes for you and we'll have some Glenfiddich in your name.