Tuesday, February 28, 2012

I can't... or can I???

Ever since the moment I stepped off the plane at the Vancouver International Airport, I've been planning my next trip back to Mexico. It's no secret - I loved it there and want to do it all (and more) again.

I've mentioned to more than one person, that if all goes well I want to go back in March or April if I have time off school. Realizing how late my class goes this term (ends Mar 29th), I came to the conclusion long ago that it was probably all a pipe dream.

Yesterday, a friend from work approached me and asked if I had booked my trip yet. Even though I had no idea what she was talking about, I knew exactly what she was talking about. I told her about my school dilemma. She was sad for me and tried to help me come up with ways of being able to swing it, including but not limited to just missing class altogether.

I assured her I could wait until November to make my way south again. She was skeptical. That night, I sent in an email for registering for my classes. When I was retrieving said information, one vital piece of information jumped off the page and stabbed me in the eyes with pure joy. My class starts one week later than I thought. Leaving one week in between classes for me to hop on a plane and get the fuck out of here.

I looked into booking the trip and the first place one the list was the place I went to in November; the place I want to go back to. And it has come down in price by about $500 since the last time I looked back in January. It's practically the same price as I paid last time, which is the exact amount I was hoping to pay again. It was practically perfect in every way.

I knew it was too good to be true, so I logged onto my work email and found the vacation calender, sure that someone that I have to cover for would be booked off. It just so happens that no one has that week booked off. Not waiting a beat, I emailed my manager and asked for the time off. I waited in suspense for a response, meanwhile, I prayed to the lard that the package is still available when I got the okay.

However, while I was waiting I realized that March 31 is the fiscal year end. Being a supervisor may require me to do more than remember to start numbering pages differently. I woke up this morning feeling defeated and sure that I got my hopes up for nothing.

But then I got the sweetest email I've ever received. One word: approved.

Trip is booked!!!

I'm going to Mexico!.jpg

More stories, like this one, are bound to come out of this trip. Stay tuned.

See ya folks!

Sunday, February 26, 2012

Awkward conversations with my dad and beyond...

I've been single for awhile now, immediately after getting out of my long-term relationship, I moved in with my dad because I couldn't find a place that would accept my 100+lb companion (a.k.a. rottweiller). Within months of living with my dad, he started making comments about being a grandfather. He really wanted to be a grandfather (and still does).

I tried to tell him that I was in no position to bear children:

  1. I was single and therefore would be a single mother (not desirable)

  2. I was living with him and therefore would be a single mother living with her father (even less desirable)

  3. I had a lot of emotional baggage and therefore would always be a single mother living with her father (pretty much the worst thing that could happen)

For some reason, these reasons were mere excuses to my dad; he said no man would ever be good enough for me anyway and I could stay as long as I wanted. Backfired. I continued to tell him that it wasn't going to happen anytime soon and that he should talk to my brother (who is older than me and in a long term relationship). He wasn't convinced. He continues to bug me.

Since then, Dad has become the high-pressure salesman of the family; he has even recruited Bev into the business. At least monthly I get questioned about whether or not there is someone in my life; about whether or not I'm any closer to bearing children. When I respond with my automatic "No, Dad, there is no guy", the response I get is "Well, you don't have to be married you know.... you can just get knocked up...". Thanks for that.

This has been going on for several years. I keep saying "No, I'm not seeing anyone", "No, I don't have a boyfriend", "No, there is no guy"... But then, I started thinking that maybe I was giving off the wrong vibe; maybe my dad thinks I'm a nun, maybe he thinks I'm a lesbian. Neither of which is the look I'm going for.

Bev & I went out for lunch a several months back and she questioned whether or not I was seeing anyone. I quickly responded with my standard "No" but then decided to elaborate a bit. I attract crazy fucking guys, so I told her about my (most recent) stalker, in hopes that she would drop it. She sympathized with me and agreed that I needed to do better than that. Whew.

A few months later, I was at my dad's house getting tanked with him when he decided to broach the subject with me. He asked if there were any guys in my life. I was nanoseconds away from saying "No, Dad, no guys..." when I decided to give him a bit more of a response. I said "Okay, it's not like there aren't any guys... there are guys... but the guy that I'm a whore with isn't the guy I bring home for Christmas dinner.. you know? They don't cross over for me, so until I find a guy that I'm thinking of bringing home for dinner, you're not going to hear about them." If I wasn't shit-faced, it would have been an awkward-ass conversation. Thank god for alcohol.

But then he turned around and said "Oh I'm glad... so, you're not a prude! Your sex life is good, then?". Awkward. Alcohol be damned, at that moment, I kinda wished he still thought I was a nun. Since I've opened this can of worms, I've decided to lie in the bed I made and try to keep them up to date with the goings-on in my life. I told Bev about the potential guys that have cropped up out of this Salsa dancing fiasco (Thailand*, DanceClass* and DanceClub* being the main ones). At first I thought this would help, but now I'm pretty sure it's just given them newfound hope.

Recently, I was over for dinner; my dad went downstairs and within seconds of him being gone Bev piped up with "I've been sitting here in suspense... Have you heard anything from Thailand yet?". Oh my god... I kinda wished she still thought I was a nun.

For the past few weeks I had no idea why everyone I knew kept asking me about Thailand. Why is everyone so hung up on Thailand? What about the other guys I've been talking about? And then I was talking with my good friend, Dave; he made some mention about me being smitten with Thailand. I tried denying it, but even to my ears it sounded transparent. Prior to this conversation we had only talked about the Salsa-itos once; it was a fairly brief conversation, yet he seemed to know things I didn't know.

So, I asked him how he knew such things. He said that my voice changed when I talked about Thailand compared to the other guys I had mentioned in the same sitting. He said that when you really know a person, you can hear the difference in their voice when they're just talking about someone they know and when they're talking about someone they like. He mentioned words like "happy" and "junior high". It was embarrassing.

But also a bit eye-opening. I said "Oh... that explains a lot..."; he asked what exactly it explained. I said that I've mentioned Thailand and the others to multiple people over the past few weeks, but anytime anyone asks me about any of it, it's always the same question "So... when does Thailand come back?".

Son of a bitch... Everybody can tell I'm smitten with Thailand.

(*names have been changed to protect their identity)

Wednesday, February 22, 2012

You would blog too if it happened to you

I wrote a post awhile back with tips on how to get more traffic to your blog. Most of which I wasn't doing, because I'm blog-shy. And the rest were things I made up. Maybe not entirely, but it definitely wasn't very helpful. One of the points I made was that some people make business cards with their URL on them and hand them out. I was skeptical as to who would do such a thing and then promptly received a comment from another blogger that admitted to doing it.

:O <---Insert foot here

Although I haven't looked back at that post to see if I've started doing any of those things, I can tell you for sure that I have done one thing. Okay, I didn't make up business cards, but I did hand out my blog address to someone I met in a mall*. He ended up reading it and the next time I saw him at the mall* he told me what he thought about my posts. He said he read my blog three times, but I think he probably read one post three times, because let's face it, not many people have that kind of dedication.

Also, someone from facebook recently posted something about their blog and instead of not saying anything and wondering what she wrote about, I invited her to be blog-buddies. I'm pretty sure I used those exact words. Clearly, I've made strides in overcoming my blog-shyness. And although I have a lot of room for improvement, I thought you would be proud of me that I took this one, very small, step to being a serious blogger.

Okay, fine, more of a serious blogger.

A long time ago, I was reading a blog and the author admitted in a new post that she wrote a post awhile back and then buried it in older posts in hopes that no one would read it. Ultimately, she linked the new post to the buried post, but I couldn't help but wonder who would do that. I mean, if you're going to write something, write it. And if you don't want anyone to read it, then don't post it. Seems simple enough, right.

And then I turned around and did the exact same thing. I wrote a post and then less than 12 hours later I decided I needed to bury it so that it wasn't the first thing you read when you logged on. And then less than 12 hours after that I realized that it was a dumb-shit thing to do and promptly unpublished it. Now it's sitting there in my drafts mocking me for not having the courage to post it. And now, if I decide to post it, I'll have to rewrite it so that the "yesterday's and today's" are replaced with "two weeks ago", or else, post it in chronological order, thereby burying it once again.

I guess I didn't take that many steps out of my blog-shyness as I thought.

*I said "mall" but I meant "bar"

Update - I realized that burying the post is dumb. Here it is.  Thanks for your supportive comments.

Sunday, February 19, 2012

I need your help

As you may have noticed, there's always an "About" section on blogs and if you've ever visited my "About" section you will notice that it's extremely lackluster at best. I've never quite figured out what to write there... Whenever I write something it either sounds like a resume or an online dating profile. Not desirable.

So here's my request... I want you guys to write it for me. You know me (and my blog) just as well as I do (actually, probably more). So how about you help a girl out and leave a comment for what you think this blog is all about or what sorts of information you think I should include. Short snarky sentences are not frowned upon... they're encouraged.

See ya, folks!

Better late than never

I'm usually a fairly social person; I try to make a point to get introduced to friend's of friends and have some sort of dialogue with them even if it's just the standard "So... how do you know so-and-so?".

A friend of mine is in a band; I know all of the members and have a fairly good relationship with them. Except for one girl. I don't really know what happened with her. I think she came into the band when there was a lot of turnover; I guess I didn't really think she would stick around. She usually has multiple friends at the shows and seems really busy with them and prepping for the show. Whatever the reasons, we've never spoken. She's been in the band for well over a year so there isn't really a good excuse for it. I guess it just got to the point where introducing myself would be awkward, so I never did it.

Friday night, my friend had his birthday party; all his band mates were there including the new drummer, whom I got introduced to twice in a matter of minutes. And of course, the girl whom I've never met. At one point, I grabbed the bull by the horns, sat down beside her and started chatting with her. A brief lull in conversation happened (naturally) and she turned to me and said exactly what I was thinking "You know... I don't think we've ever met before". So we introduced ourselves and carried on with conversation, which was mostly music related.

By the end of the night, she asked for my phone number and said she would help me out with understanding music theory (there are some basic concepts I can't seem to wrap my head around). Parting ways, I got a hug from her and the new drummer. It feels good to get that monkey off my back and that elephant out of the room. It's also good to know that I'm not going to have that issue with the new drummer, although we haven't really spoken, at least we know each other's names and are comfortable enough to hug each other... or maybe that was the booze talking.

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Dancing Queen

Like all children, I lived life with reckless abandon when I was growing up. Sure, I hurtled myself down entire flights of stairs and jumped off patios. But also, I would dance and sing with no regard for anyone around me and what they might be thinking of me. And I gave them a lot of ammunition.

Then I reached a stage of my life where awkwardness and fear of judgment clouded my ability to have fun without worrying about whether or not I was making a fool of myself. I led a sad life where I censored myself so that people didn't think I was a weirdo. Then came alcohol, which pushed my fear of judgment into a haze where I knew it was there more than I could see that it was there. Unfortunately, it did nothing for my awkwardness.

Getting back to the point of this post, when I was a kid, Granny used to take me to some sort of centre. I don't know what or where it was, but there were a lot of old folks around and it took place in some sort of gymnasium. Not very helpful, I know. Mostly, I remember that they would play music and I loved it. All the old folks would dance slowly in the middle of the gym; swaying back and forth ever so gently, careful not to break a hip.

I, on the other hand, was four years old and super excited to be there. I would "dance" around the perimeter of the gym. It was a kind of weird version of the can-can, but with much more forward momentum. And fewer people.

slow pokes.jpg

Try as I might, I could never get anyone to dance with me. Not even the more chipper of the bunch. That only fueled my attempts; I wanted to make it look more fun to lure the old folks in. But that just seemed made it look that much more dangerous because no one ever joined me. More often than not, Granny would request that I "just sit down". Now that I think about it, I'm not sure why she brought me there; she probably wasn't very popular because of me. Mind you, I probably slept really well those nights and the quiet time was probably worth the hour of ridicule.

Let's recap, shall we?

Some time ago, I told you all about this dude that I thought was going to be my stalker. I cut off ties, told him it's not going to work out and stopped responding to any/all attempts at contact he made.

Right after our one and only date (in SEPTEMBER), the contact was often and consistent, however it soon tapered off to a mere once every two weeks, which soon tapered off to a montly text. I haven't responded to anything since mid-September. I got Merry Christmas and Happy New Year messages. I didn't respond to any of them.

I was recently congratulating myself at shaking my stalker for good. It's been about 6 weeks since NYE and I haven't heard from him. I figured he finally got it. I figured he finally gave up. I figured he finally got me out of his head.

And then I get a text from him at 6am this morning: Happy Valentine's Day!

Fuck. Me. I guess I should quit patting myself on the back now.

Monday, February 6, 2012

I'm not as dumb as I look, but thanks for coming out

I see what's going on here. I get it. It's really obvious, now that I think about it.

You're playing me for a fool. But I'm on to you.

You "just so happen" to notice me sitting at the bar that Saturday night. You "just so happen" to come out multiple times throughout my short stay. You "just so happen" to be in the ballroom when I change venues. You "just so happen" to tell the bartender without uttering a single word that I do not have to pay for my own drink. You "just so happen" to sit down next to me and talk to me. You "just so happen" to determine that I'm there alone and waiting for no one. You "just so happen" to have time to get to know me over the blaring Latin beats while you're supposed to be working. You "just so happen" to have a business card in your pocket with your cell phone number scribbled on the back. You "just so happen" to give it to me. You "just so happen" to tell me that you want me to use it. You "just so happen" to make an appearance in the ballroom repeatedly, seemingly staying there just until I notice you and leaving shortly thereafter.

It "just so happens" that I decided to step foot into that bar that night; a bar I'd never been to, a bar I wasn't sure existed. It "just so happens" I noticed you when I was sipping my drink. It "just so happens" I felt butterflies in my stomach as I watched you approach my table. It "just so happens" I wished that you would pull up a chair and sit next to me while you were standing there talking to me. It "just so happens" that I felt happy when you did and disappointed when you pushed back from the table to leave. It "just so happens" that I was flattered when you gave me your phone number. It "just so happens" that I wanted to thank you for the third time. It "just so happens" that I looked around for you at the end of the night and couldn't find you. It "just so happens" that I decided to message you like you suggested.

You "just so happen" to respond. You "just so happen" to mention that you would like to see me again. You "just so happen" to be leaving for a month, exactly one week after that fateful night.

A month can be a long time. A lot can happen. In a month, I can either forget about you completely, or think about you constantly. It can go either way, really.

In a mere six days you made sure which way it was going to go. In a mere six days, you "just so happen" to infiltrate my life. In a mere six days, you "just so happen" to become a constant fixture; filling a role no one has occupied for longer than I care to mention.

I think there are way too many "just so happens" for it all to be a coincidence. Clearly this is part of your plan. You wanted to meet me. You wanted to make an impression on me. You wanted me to absorb as much of you as I could "before you left".

Congratulations, your plan worked. Your actions and your words clearly indicate your intentions. You want me to miss you. You want me to come running when you get back.

Congratulations, your plan worked. I've known you for nine days. I laid eyes on you three times in the week you were here. Despite that, it's been two days since you left and I miss you already. How did this happen? And then it hits me. It's all part of your plan.

But I'm onto you. I realize that it's all a ruse. Your "going away party" was a nice touch. Well played, sir, but I don't need the month… you can "come back from Thailand" now.

Sunday, February 5, 2012

A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down

Here is the second installment of Heather vs Hot Dogs. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, go here. It may or may not help your understanding of this post.

My elementary school used to include swimming lessons as part of our PE class during the last month of school (when the weather could be warm enough to use the neighbourhood outdoor pool). On the last day of our lessons we had a picnic; we were instructed to bring our own hot dogs and buns to the picnic so they could get grilled up on the portable barbecue.

The thing about swimming for me is that it is an activity that leaves me ravenous. I knew this even as a young child. The morning of my last swimming lesson, my mom was packing my lunch and she asked me if I wanted one hot dog or two. Automatically, I said two; Mom was skeptical and said "But they're really big, are you sure?". I assured her that I was sure and that I would eat both hot dogs; she packed both hot dogs.

After swimming, we all piled out of the pool and into the park; I brought my lunch to my teacher. She looked skeptically at the lunch my mom had packed and asked if I was sure I wanted two hot dogs, they were really big after all. I assured her that I was sure and that I would eat both hot dogs; she grilled both hot dogs.

After getting my lunch back, I pulled up a piece of ground and started eating. I started out with gusto; I was going strong and two hot dogs were no match for me. Why anyone doubted the eating ability of an 8 year old girl was beyond me. That is until I got most of the way through the first one. With the first one firmly in my gut, I felt very full; I thought I just had to walk it off, make room for the second one. I started walking around the park, but the more I walked, the more nauseous I felt.

I was stumbling around the park, looking sick and carrying a hot dog. After a bit more stumbling, I started feeling really, really sick; I went into the bathroom, sure I was going to vomit. I walked into the stall and stared down at the toilet, willing myself not to throw up. Once I gained composure I took in my surroundings; I stared death in the face when I realized I was still carrying that blasted second hot dog.

I felt nauseous at the thought of eating it, I felt stupid for being so adamant that I could finish both hot dogs. I couldn't very well admit defeat, apparently something I've never been good at. I decided to put the hot dog in it's place. And I did. I flushed that bad boy down the toilet.

Since I was just a kid and didn't understand basic concepts such as indoor plumbing, I didn't break it up into small pieces and flush them one or two at a time. No, no. I literally flushed the entire hot dog down the toilet. I realized mid-flush that it may have been a mistake, but I went with it and down it went. I breathed a sigh of relief and skipped out of the bathroom with new found enthusiasm one can only get from narrowly escaping death's grip.

My teacher saw me shortly after, saw that I had no lunch left. She asked me if I had finished both hot dogs, I smugly replied that I had.

As our little conversation was wrapping up, another student came running up to the teacher and asked if she knew how to get parks people to come down; she asked the student why she thought the park ranger was required. The student replied that one of the toilets in the girl's washroom was clogged and was flooding the entire bathroom.

I guess it didn't go down as well as I thought.