When strangers leave you speechless…

Friday night, I went out for a few drinks with a friend from work. It had been a stressful week and it’s only going to get worse over the next while, so in order to let off some steam, we went out on the town. Meanwhile, another friend of mine was messaging me, bugging me to come out and meet her for drinks.

Once I wrapped up with the work folk, I taxi’d over to my local establishment to meet my friend. She was pretty loaded by the time I got there. A couple people were sitting one table over; my friend had met them at the first pub she visited; they came and sat down at our table and we all started talking.

At one point, I went to the bathroom; the lady came with me. Once I was finished peeing, I attempted to vacate the bathroom. I didn’t think we were “there” yet (as far as needing to wait for the other to finish), so I started walking towards the door, calling “I’ll see you out there!” over my shoulder as I went.

She called me back in; I didn’t know what she needed me for, or what she needed to say. I also didn’t realize that what she was going to say would break my heart into a million little pieces.

She told me that she’s “with the wrong man”. Knowing absolutely nothing about her situation, I replied with something generic, along the lines of “You should be with someone that makes you happy”. But she told me that she was afraid of being alone. Since I’m chronically single I told her that I know being alone sucks, but I think it’s better than being unhappy.  She said that she was confused and didn’t know what she wanted.

TWG: You know what? I just met you and you’re telling me (while crying in the bathroom of a bar, I might add) that you’re with the wrong man. That tells me you know you’re not happy.

C: But I’m afraid of being alone!

TWG: But does your fear of being alone outweigh the fact that you’re unhappy?

C: Yes!

She said it so adamantly. And since I don’t know her, I figured I couldn’t really give advice, or tell her what I think without knowing the situation. I politely asked what was wrong with the guy that makes him the wrong guy.

She got a thoughtful look on her face. She really seemed to be weighing her answer; like what was the main problem with her man. Maybe he works too much. Maybe he’s emotionally unavailable. There are all sorts of reasons why someone could be the wrong person.

I wasn’t prepared for her answer. Her eyes welled up with tears again and she looked at me with the saddest look I think I’ve ever seen on a person’s face.

C: Probably the beatings. (she said it so matter-of-factly)

TWG: He hits you??!

C: Yeah, but I can be a real B-I-T-C-H. (yes, she spelled it out) If I was him, I’d hit me too.

TWG: That isn’t good… That’s not right…

C: But I don’t have anywhere to go. I don’t have any friends. I’m from Edmonton and I’m alone with him here.

I didn’t know what else to say. I just hugged her. Someone else came in the bathroom so we left and went back to the table. She kept looking at me and mouthing “Thank-you”. She was so grateful for having someone to listen to her. So grateful for having someone that cared. She kept saying that she was so glad to have met me; that she needs good people in her life.

I told her I would be her friend. I got her number and told her I would call her. I don’t know what she needs. I don’t know if I can give it to her. All I know is that she needs a friend and someone to talk to. I have ears and a shoulder to cry on; they’re hers if she wants them.

Music Day got silly

Gorm and I had music day the other day. Things got a bit silly. He blames it on the fact that I called him out for changing the way he plays the songs. In an attempt to show me he can do whatever he feels like, the following happened:

Twilight–Elliott Smith

I had a very hard time holding it together. A blooper-reel will follow in time. A lot of laughter is involved.

I wouldn’t survive in the wild

I live in a basement suite. It’s bitterly cold in winter. It’s blissfully cold in summer, but that’s a-ways away, so I’m going to focus on what I’m going through now instead.

I’ve lived here for several years and since I don’t have control over the heat, I purchased a shitty heater a few years ago. Since I purchased a shitty heater, it didn’t heat very well and I was really afraid of it burning my house down. Even when in the presence of a responsible adult. Or, at the very least, me.

Back in December, I bought an un-shitty heater. I reveled in the warmth. I looked forward to returning to my house because I knew it would warm up soon after turning my new heater on. Or it would already be warm, if I inadvertently left it on that morning. I became so used to the magic of heat, that I forgot what it was like to be cold.

The other night, after having a few (dozen) wobbly pops, I was sleeping (it off) but was over-heating so much that I opened my window a crack so I didn’t sweat through my bed.

A few days later, I came home from work, turned the knob on my heater and it didn’t turn on. I’ve been devastated ever since. I didn’t realize I’d become so spoiled, but it turns out that I’ve become the biggest pussy on the face of the planet because it’s not even that cold now (a balmy 8`C; 46F).

The first night I went to bed, in my cold house, and tried to sleep, in my cold bed, my feet were so frozen it took almost an hour of breathing into my blanket to warm up enough to fall asleep. I was convinced I left my window open from my drunken slumber several night’s prior. Alas, no. I was just that cold.

Since then, every morning, I lie in bed as long as possible just so I don’t have to expose my body to the cold air. I immediately jump in the shower and as soon as I get out, I jump back into bed. I dress in record time and sometimes, pre-heat my clothes in my bed with me so that they’re warm when I put them on. Sometimes I dress under my blankets so that my skin never feels anything but warm air and warm clothes.

And as I type this, I have blankets on my lap (and up to my chest) and have decided that a Snuggie isn’t such a bad thing. Because my arms are fricken freezing!

I don’t have the creative juice (a.k.a. blood flow to the brain) to come up with picture ideas, let alone draw them.

But, I do have 90 days to return the heater AND I still have the receipt, so I’ll be taking that bad boy back for an exchange.

Pop quiz, hot shot!

There are a couple pubs near my house. I’ve been known to walk into them once or twice. I may or may not know some of the bartenders/waitresses. They may or may not know me by name and/or drink of choice.

I like to think it’s because I’m memorable not because of my rate of attendance. It might be both.

Friday night, I left the salsa club and decided to stop in for a drink at one of the pubs. I was cutting it close, I knew they wouldn’t serve me past 1am and it was 12:55. I convinced myself that it was okay. The last time I was this close, I knew the bartender and he served me, albeit reluctantly, because “Oh. It’s you…”. If it was anyone else, he probably would have told them to screw off. But he didn’t; he served me. The other patrons found it amusing.

So anyway, I walked in the place Friday night and didn’t see a familiar face behind the bar. Shit. I thought for sure that I wasn’t going to get served. Once I got her attention, I politely asked if I’d missed last call; she checked the clock and said “You got two minutes!”.  Success!

Two days later, I walked into place and once again didn’t see a familiar face behind the bar.

He was a new guy… apparently this was his second shift. I guess that happens. Shortly after my arrival, my favourite bartender, Mikey, came in.

This bartender is the best. First of all, he’s cute as a button.  Seriously, I could just put him in my pocket and carry him around all day. But also, he’s just a really nice guy. A real genuine sweetheart.

One night, I started asking him questions to get to know him a bit. I don’t know why. I don’t normally do this; I’m usually perfectly satisfied with not knowing much about my bartenders, even though they know me. For some reason, that wasn’t good enough with this one. I asked him how long he’d worked there and if he had any other bartending jobs before this place. He told me that he worked at this other bar a-ways-out in CloverHole.

It’s the same bar that The Beanstalk worked at. Small world. I asked him if he knew Jack and explained how I knew him. Since I know Jack from Thailand’s bar, I haven’t seen him for awhile (and probably won’t for even longer), so I asked Mikey to say hi for me.

The next time I came in, I asked him if he’d seen Jack. He hadn’t. I wanted to make sure that he had the story straight (it’s not like Jack and I are such good friends that he would know exactly who Mikey was talking about if he gave my name). In order to make sure he had the story straight, I asked him three questions.

1. What’s my name?
2. Where do I know Jack from?
3. What kind of dancing do I do?

If he had those pieces of information, Jack should know who I am.

Mikey got some of the questions wrong. Not acceptable. The next time I went in, I asked him another three questions.

1. Who do we both know?
2. What kind of dancing do I do?
3. What’s my drink of choice?

Again, he got some wrong, so the next time I went in, I had to ask another three questions.

I didn’t realize what I had started. Problem is, after while, he started ace-ing the quiz; I had to get creative. Now, months after the fact, he has since stopped working with Jack, but I still keep on. 

The first time I got creative, I asked him what his favourite colour is. He was shocked.

But he played along. Even when I asked him if he was old enough to drink in the States, he just laughed and said “I see what you did there! And yes I am!!” (He’s a baby face… no wonder I’ve got a soft spot for him). I appreciated it, even though I had a nagging thought…

But I keep on keeping on. But still… I often wonder what he thinks about quiz time.

This last time I was there (yes, it was a Sunday night), I informed him it was quiz time, he said he needed “three minutes”, he was training the new guy. It took much longer than three minutes. While I sat there trying to come up with my three questions, I couldn’t help but think he was delaying it because he hates it. I became self-conscious.

He came up to me and apologized for it taking so long. Yeah, yeah, sure, sure. I asked him two questions. My third question was (taking a page from the book of JY):

TWG: On a scale of 1.5 to 7.3, how much do you hate quiz time?

M: On a scale of 1.5 to 7.3?!??!? *incredulous*

TWG: Yes. *not incredulous* 1.5 being that you love quiz time and look forward to it; 7.3 being that you hate quiz time and shudder when you see me walk in the door.

M: Oh… *laughs* Well… 1.5 of course!

I figured he was humoring me, but when I was leaving, I told him “good to see you again, see ya next time”.

I won’t. Aw shucks…

Music Day feat. Gorm

I’ve mentioned a few times that Gorm & I often get together and have music day. Well, just in case you didn’t believe me, now we have proof.

We had music day this past weekend and recorded a few songs for evidence that it actually happens and we don’t suck… as bad as we used to anyway. A lot can happen after years of practice.

Gorm posted the videos on YouTube for the world to see. Show him some love and check out his channel here.

I think this one turned out the best (ironically enough, out of the songs posted it’s the newest song in our repertoire). Enjoy!

Gorm & ThatWhiteGirl’s Music Day!

There are a couple other songs posted on his channel from this session, but there are even more featuring his solo act.