This Particular Boy–part 1

So, as you know, there’s this particular boy I’ve been spending time with lately. And because you’re all so incredibly nosey, you want to hear all about it. And because I’m so incredibly accommodating, I will tell you all about it.

I’ve technically known him for a couple years, but we only started having consistent conversations in the last 8 months or so. I met BigBoy, or BB, at my local watering hole; he was often there when I was there. I attempted to make conversation with him on a couple of occasions and was met with, what can only be described as, indifference. I chalked it up to him being the strong, silent type.

One day, I was successful in luring him into conversation; I was convinced we were going to be friends. Or at the very least, two people that would talk to each other while occupying a spot at the same bar. But the next time I saw him, I was met with the same indifference. I drew the only logical conclusion.

BB ended up getting a job as a bartender at this establishment. I was sure that I would eventually win him over since he was required to have contact with me. But it turned out he wasn’t required to have contact with me at all. He’d simply leave my drink-getting-duties up to the other bartender, which naturally further convinced me of his dislike for me.

Several months ago, BB ended up moving in with a friend of mine. I was having drinks with Mutual Friend at the pub one night and he invited me back to his place after closing; I agreed to go. He said “When BB gets off work, you’ll be there… I’m sure he’ll love that.”. I drew the only logical conclusion.

Things started slowly changing; around the time BB moved in with Mutual Friend, we started having nice conversations really consistently. One night about three months ago, I was at their place, BB and I were having an in-depth conversation about guitars (we both play); Mutual Friend fell asleep on the couch. The following conversation ensued:

BB: So, what’s the deal with you and Mutual Friend?

TWG: What do you mean?

BB: Well, sometimes I come home from work and you’re here, and Mutual Friend told me the other day that you came over and it was just the two of you.

TWG: Yup.

BB: Soooooo…?

TWG: Noooooo.

BB: No?

TWG: Nope. It’s not going to happen and I’ve told him that about a thousand times.

BB: Yeah, I know.

TWG: You know?

BB: Yeah, I’ve been around for a dozen of those thousand times.

TWG: Right.

BB: But you can understand why I’m asking…

TWG: I… guess… (I didn’t)

Since then, we started spending more and more time together and have had a nice conversation of the “What are we doing, where is this going” variety. And as of recently, we even put the nice little “Boyfriend/Girlfriend” label on this relationship.

Boyfriend. Girlfriend. Relationship. These are things that haven’t happened in over a decade for me.

You could say I’m a little out of my element. You could say that, at times, this whole thing completely freaks me out because being in a relationship has become such a foreign concept for me.

You could also say I am enjoying myself immensely.

I have a blog?

Holy crap – I think this is hands-down the longest dry spell I’ve ever had with my blog.

A lot has been going on around here. I’ll try to give a brief rundown on what’s been going on… I’m sure most of these will require their own post. We’ll see if that happens.

First off, I’ve been working away at my school project – it’s been a struggle for the past year and it’s only gotten worse in the last 3 months. The good news is, I’ve finally gotten the green light to go ahead with it, so I’ll be starting that next week. And it will overtake my life for the next however-many-months.

For too long, I’ve been working too much; I recently decided I need more balance in my life and, as a result, have made huge efforts to maintain a social life with friends and family. Good, in theory, but it makes me stay up too late and have no time for writing.

But I have a feeling that minimal overtime will soon come to an end – it’s a big year at work and the to-do list will eventually catch up to me and I’ll be living there again. Such is life, I guess.

There’s also the summer factor, which also contributes to the social life factor. With the long days of sunshine, it’s much easier to not even think about going home until well after dark. And with the long days come short nights, so I’ve found its much easier for me not to get home until sunrise. It’s happening more and more. Which makes the next day rough and unproductive.

Yet worth every minute of it.

Now that I’ve put that in writing, it doesn’t seem as though it’s enough to warrant such a stretch of non-writing. I guess there’s no real excuse.

 

Except there might also be a boy involved.

Independence Day

Several years ago my mother told me that the reason I’m single is because I’m too independent; she said that I don’t need a man, that there isn’t anything I need or want in my life that I can’t get myself. Naturally, I disputed it, but she had a retort for everything I threw out there.

Naturally, I dismissed it, but since then I’ve wondered if she’s right. Maybe independence isn’t a desirable trait; maybe I need to be more dependent. But then I started thinking about the alternative.

Take my stepmother, for instance; my dad does everything for her. Her responsibilities in life consist solely of cooking dinner and cleaning the house; dad works, pays the bills and even takes her shopping.

It’s to the point where if anything were to happen and my dad wasn’t around anymore, I’m pretty sure she would not be able to function in the world.

This. Happened. I could not make eye contact with the cashier while she handed back one of the twenties as change.

All things considered, I don’t think my problem is a bad thing. Besides, I’ve also realized that I can’t do everything myself; I do need help. Take that, Mom. 

In September 2012, I bought a new TV. When I got it home, I took my old one off the TV stand, plopped it down on the floor and set up my new one.

Fast forward to September 2013:

It was still sitting there for a few reasons. First, I’m lazy. Second, I’m weak. Third, I have a bad back. All these reasons made it so that I literally couldn’t pick it up, get it into my car and bring it to the recycling depot.

Fast forward to last month:

I did, however, make some progress; I asked a neighbour friend of mine if he’d be willing to help me get it out of my house. Fortunately, he said yes; unfortunately, it took him 3 weeks to make it happen. He was apologetic but I told him that it was a drop in the bucket compared to how long it took me to even ask for help.

Fast forward to yesterday: he came over and took it to the recycling depot with me.

21 months later, I finally have two square feet of floor space back.

Practical jokes really aren’t that practical

There are three of us at work that share an office; one of us may or may not get picked on much more than the others. I could reminisce for hours about the shenanigans that go on on a daily basis. It’s really quite fun.

I was talking with one of my officemates the other day about practical jokes. Throughout the duration of our conversation an instance started slowly coming to my mind. It was rolling out of the fog; the fog of suppressed memories, of course.

I was just promoted to supervisor; I was still in the awkward transition stage. So much so, one of my friends said to me “Heather, you really seem out of your element. Don’t worry – you can do this!”. Which was both reassuring and also troubling since everyone could see that I was obviously struggling.

Not long after, another “friend” came to talk to me.

I got back to work and forgot about it. I ended up going into the lab to talk to someone; I was trying to tie up a loose end before I left to go to school.

I finished my tasks, got cleaned and packed up and left for school. I got to school and was waiting for the class to start.

That’s when it all came flooding back. I was so weirded out I didn’t pick up on the obvious queues: the awkward pat on the back; the people snickering in the lab.

I Stole Someone’s Childhood

A couple weeks ago, a friend called me up and said “Let’s go out!”. Even though I had an event the very next morning (well, noon) that required drinking, I said okay, sure that I would nurse all my drinks and be home at a decent hour.

We met up at our usual place; she proceeded to nurse her drinks and I did not. We then moved onto our next destination and ran into a bunch of people we knew. At one point, it was getting late and she had a dentist appointment the next day, so she called it and went home.

At least that’s what should have happened; I stayed behind without a second thought. It was someone’s birthday party and one of my friends had won a door prize. He gave it to me.

I’m not sure he knew just how happy it made me. I do love door prizes after all. I was getting ready to leave when one of my friends was all “Come on, Heather, we’re going to my place”. I think I put up a little bit of a fight, but then, sure enough, found myself in his apartment chatting it up with his girlfriend and getting another drink dropped in my hand.

He announced that we were going someplace else. I said I had to go home, but he convinced me to go. It may or may not have been very easy seeing as I was pretty intoxicated by this point.

I found myself at this party, where I knew no one and everyone knew everyone. Ordinarily, I might find that situation awkward, but not that night.

I made my rounds meeting people, a few of whom I remember the names of, a few of whom I do not. At one point, the host said “It’s late, everyone has to leave”. All his friends we were like “No – not yet… blah, blah, blah”. I gathered my door prize, my coat and purse and tried to make my way out of the confusing apartment building and onto the street so I could get a cab. I managed to do that and found myself hitting my pillow at 4:30am, completely hammered. So much for my plan.

Morning came all too fast and I found myself completely hungover; since I paid $60 for a ticket to the wine festival, I dragged myself out of bed, hit the showers and staggered around waiting for death, while trying desperately to get ready, make myself presentable and put my game face on.

I succeeded, or at least, I thought I did.

I was on the bus waiting for my friends to board at their respective stops and I felt like complete shit. My first friend boarded and then a couple stops later, the next one. They were positively chipper and chatting away. I was concentrating on not throwing up.

After a few questions regarding what I got up to the night before, the cat was out of the bag.

Apparently my game face is transparent because she said “I knew something was off with you but I didn’t know what!”. We went for lunch where I pushed a salad around my plate and drank about a litre of liquids.

We made it to the event and the moment of truth came; I got the first taste of wine in me and thankfully knew I would be okay. We spent two hours at the event, then met up with friends for more drinks, then went out for more drinks. By 11, the girls were tapped out, so we went on home.

The next morning, I unloaded my door prize winnings and found something in the basket that I didn’t recall being in there when I got the thing.

It’s a picture. Of a little boy, just getting off a school bus. There’s a date handwritten in mom-writing on the back “1988”.

The boy looks vaguely familiar; I think I might have met him at that party. But 26 years later and the amount of alcohol I consumed that night, I don’t know who he is.

All I know is, I’m pretty sure I managed to steal a picture of someone’s first day of school.

Wet pants are the worst

As you may or may not remember, I’ve had a tendency in the past to accidentally spill drinks. And by accidentally spill drinks, I mean, accidentally dump entire pints of beer into the laps of unsuspecting friends. Check out the old post – it’s a gem!

Well… it happened again. Let me paint you a picture.

The night started off innocently enough – regular Friday night routine of going out for dinner (a.k.a soup) with some friends. A drink or two was had. Another friend had wanted to meet up for drinks; when one of my friends at dinner got wind of it she said she would also be interested in going out.

So we met up at the local pub and had a few more drinks. This pub is notorious for shutting down early (some would call it an old folk bar and they would be right), so we moseyed on down the road to the next pub to get a couple more before the last-last call. Which is part of the routine for “one of those” Friday nights.

In general, I’ve been known to attract weirdos and my friend happens to be quite the looker. Those talents combined, we always have an interesting night when we head out; this night was no exception. We weren’t sitting at the bar for very long before some dude came over from the other side to chat us up.

You could say I was feeling a little jealous of the attention, or lack thereof. You could say that maybe, just maybe, I wanted in on the conversation. You could also say I wasn’t paying enough attention to my surroundings.

It’s no surprise that things got out of hand and drinks were spilt.

I totally had this coming.

Getting old

I woke up the other day and suddenly realized that I’ll be 34 in a few months. Thirty-fricken-four. I don’t feel that grown up. I have a blog, for fuck sakes!

 

So I may have started having a “holy crap, I’m in my mid-30’s” crisis. I quickly decided that being where I am in life is an okay place to be. It was okay last week, what’s the difference now?

 

But then, strange things started happening. Things that can only mean that I am in fact getting old.

 

First, I got onto a pretty full bus the other day; since I was only going a few stops, I pulled up the nearest piece of pole and got comfy. Well, as comfy as you can be standing on a bus full of people. Then, it happened…

Girl: Would you like to sit down?

ThatWhiteGirl: Um, no thanks, I’m good.

Girl: Are you sure?!

TWG: Totally.

Only old people get offered seats on the bus. And sometimes not even.

 

Next, I took a friend to get a facial on her birthday; she mentioned to the esthetician that it was the first facial for both of us. She eyed my crow’s feet suspiciously and said “really?”. As we were leaving, I said that it was so nice and that I should have started getting them sooner. Her raised eyebrows indicated that she was thinking the same thing but for very different reasons.

 

Then, I was chatting with a couple work folk and we were discussing a particular intersection; I mentioned that a gas station was on the corner. I was shot down pretty quickly; the other two were convinced there was no gas station. I was adamant that it was there and a Circle K store was attached to it. They didn’t even know what Circle K was.

 

This invoked a comment from one of my co-workers. “Were you buying your slurpees from there back in 1972?” Um. Thanks. Do I look old enough to be buying slurpees in 1972? My other co-worker informed him that I wasn’t even born yet. Thanks for having my back, Term.

 

Lastly, I was going through the drive-thru the other day and had this gem of a conversation with the cashier.

Cashier: $8:35, please.

TWG: On debit, please.

(we’re Canadian, leave us alone)

Cashier: Does it have the tap function?

TWG: Nooooo.(in a “I’m totally sure” kind of way)

Cashier: Just thought I’d check, it makes it easier.

TWG: I know! I saw it once and it was so fast. It’s pretty cool!

Cashier: It is.

TWG: I don’t even know how you get one…

Cashier: Oh, it comes on newer debit cards.

TWG: Really?? Cuz I just got this thing a little while ago.

Cashier: Are you sure it doesn’t tap?

TWG: Ummmm… I. Don’t. Know. (I spot an vaguely familiar icon on the card) Hey look, the thingy!!

Cashier: Yeah, that’s probably where you tap it… Try it next time…

TWG: Okay – thanks!!!

I stopped understanding technology and I was never very good at it in the first place. This is the beginning to the end, folks, beginning to the end.

Cuba 1.0

As you already know, I went to Cuba a few weeks back. It was great! This is what I looked at for 7 days:

White sand beach, clear blue-green water, 30 degree (Celcuis) weather, unlimited alcohol and enough shade (yay, palapas!) that I didn’t burn to a crisp. I can’t really ask for much else.

Like Mexico, my MO was pretty much the same: Operation – Drink Too Much. I do think I kept it together a bit more than in Mexico. Perhaps because there wasn’t any tequila involved or maybe because I’m getting better at it.

I arrived at the hotel around 8:30pm local time. Having left my house at 3am local time (Cuba is 3 hours ahead), you could say I had a pretty long day. My mission once I hit the hotel was: find room, find food, find booze.

The resort was very small, at least compared to the resort I stayed at in Mexico. There was only one outside bar open at night, naturally, I went there to have some drinks.

Travelling alone, you’re bound to meet some interesting characters. This trip was no exception. A couple tables over, there was a large group of mostly older folks. One of these folks was a 60-ish British fellow who was rather intoxicated. Randomly, he would stand up and yell. Loud.

I found it amusing. The first night. By the third or fourth night, everyone had pretty much had it.

In that same group, there were a couple younger people. One of them was a 19 year old boy who was quickly adopted by a family that we met down there. He could almost always be found within arms reach of the two young kids. He’d play with them and take them swimming at the beach. All around, he was a good kid.

The other younger person, was a female of indiscernible age; she could have been 24 or 39. But, let me tell you, Trainwreck Sally was a sight to see. Every time I saw her, regardless of time of day, she was absolutely hammered. 3am? Sure, makes sense… So am I. 3pm? What? Already??

As someone who enjoys the sauce (and has trainwrecked through a week in Mexico once or twice), I’m hesitant to judge someone on this, but I will.

She did and said a lot of inappropriate things while under the influence, but the icing on the cake was one night when a bunch of us went to the disco to dance. She showed up after us because she kept getting distracted by things along the way. We’ve all been there. At least I have.

Her dancing was… interesting. It started out with her twirling around, arms spread open, face turned upwards. I was pretty sure she was going to fall down or throw up. She didn’t. Then her twirl-fest morphed into, what can only be described as, an interpretative/artistic dance.

I’m being very diplomatic; she basically rolled around on the floor. In a dress. And had no clue that what she was doing had any effect on what her dress was doing.

I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a point where she rolled right off the stage. Sure the stage was only 4 inches off the ground and sure she seemed to work it into her “routine”, but I can guarantee it was not planned.

A girl I met down there agreed with me and she decided to say something to Sally that night.

Apparently Paulie came out the asshole in that conversation. The next day, Sally was going on about how someone was very rude to her the night before; they told her that she thinks with her vagina.

You could say she got the context wrong; all Paulie meant was that everyone in the club knew what Sally’s underwear looked like.

You could also say she got the person wrong; she thought I was the one who was brutally honest with her.

Sometimes… fun hurts.

As you know, Gorm and I (and sometimes others) get together for music day every now and then. What you might not know is that music day has become an integral part of my life; something I look forward to. It has come to be so that I depend on it. Unfortunately, this day can only be organized and executed on so much of a regular basis. Often enough, but at the same time the length between sessions leaves me longing for more and my fingers callous-less.

As a result, I’ve been known to be… somewhat reckless in my music day commitments.

About a year ago, I was battling a bit of a cold and music day was fast approaching. I was convinced the worst that could happen was that I wouldn’t get the rest I needed that night and I might be over-tired the next day.

I hadn’t had strep throat in about 18 years, so I dismissed my assumption almost as fast as I made it. The next day, I could no longer deny that I needed medical attention.

I went to the walk-in clinic on my way home from work. The doctor asked what was wrong; I said that I was pretty sure I had strep throat. All doctors seems to react the same way when you self-diagnose yourself. They tell you why it probably isn’t what you think it is. This doctor was no exception.

And then she looked in my mouth. She said she’d normally take a swab before prescribing antibiotics, but…

I left the office a little smug, having known what the problem was, but also a little scared because I really didn’t want scarlet fever. Again.

You’d think I would have learned from this experience. But like I said, I behave a little recklessly when music day approaches and I’m not feeling well.

I’d been fighting a cold and Friday night I noticed my voice was cracking. In an attempt to practice before music day, I tried playing, but found that I couldn’t sing very well (mostly that I couldn’t project my voice. At. All.). But I was convinced that the show must go on.

The following day, I woke up feeling pretty good. I went to music day and when I started singing, I found again that I couldn’t project my voice. But I soldiered on.

By the end of the session, I was croaking like a frog and sounded reminiscent of the pimply kid on The Simpsons.

Thanks Gorm.

I completely lost my voice for two days. I went to work on Monday and quickly realized just how much I talk at work on a day to day basis. I was told just how fucked up my voice sounded. I received pats on the back in sympathy when I squeaked out a response to their question. I may or may not have had laryngitis.

Despite the pain, ridicule and pity I received:

Foosball and Beyond

This is a story that is well over two years in the making. You may recall my posts about Foosball. If not, that’s okay. The gist of it is that my place of work has a foosball table and there have been a number of foosball related activities over the years (tournaments, olympics, fundraising etc). As a result, a couple years ago, I started learning how to play foosball with never having stepped foot in front of a table before.

Gorm is ridiculously good at foosball; he took me under his wing, showed me the ropes and kicked my ass in the process.

As my skill increased, so did my expectations of the game. As I began to be able to coordinate my men and learned to defend my net, I started expecting better results from myself than I had reason to expect.

This led to, what has been described as, devastating lows of foosball. Which basically means that when I lost, I made a scene.

Whenever I threw my typical temper tantrum, the same person would happen to be in the lunch room, I’ll call him The Ninja because he always seemed to appear out of nowhere. This is a person with whom I never really spoke. Nods of acknowledgment and a "Good Morning" here and there, but that's about it.

It was unfortunate, to say the least, that this is the person who had to witness me at my all-time foosball low. Every. Single. Day.

The only good thing out of that situation was the fact that The Ninja made reference to me in his farewell email when he left the company. A special feat considering we had exchanged less than a dozen words in the 8 years of “working together”.

Fast forward a few months. I made supervisor at work and, as a result, ended up sharing an office with the manager.

Fast forward a year. The company that The Ninja went to, basically went belly up and he was laid off. It just so happens that he’s skilled in mysterious ways. I guess you would expect nothing less from a ninja. It also just so happens that we still needed his expertise and managed to bring him back on. He is now working closely in my department and I have conversations with him daily.

Fast forward another 6 months. We finally filled the second supervisor position and in order for the new supervisor and I to be in close proximity, the manager kicked me out of the office and placed us in an office with The Ninja.

Not only is The Ninja sneaky, but he’s also extremely observant and has an excellent memory. He also is willing to share the information that he compiles. He’s made a point at telling me about my foibles.

For one, when I talk to him and/or my staff, he gets the distinct impression that he’s talking to a school teacher. An elementary school teacher. Not so much the words coming out of my mouth as it is my demeanor. I’m not sure what’s worse.

He also pointed out that I tend to mimic people. Not in a bad I’m-going-to-make-fun-of-you kind of way, but if someone says “Hi Heather!” all sunshine-y, I’ll say something back in the same way. If someone grunts my name, I do the same. I thought that I was mostly aware of this (it’s can be a bit of a fun little game for me), but today when the person I was talking with left the office, The Ninja turned to me and asked if I’d caught myself doing it.

I’m likely to become very self conscious of my actions, despite the fact that he claims they aren’t bad things. Mere observations. Sure…

Happy (actual) 200th Blog Post!!

Holy Milestone, Batman!!

This marks my 200th blog post. I know.

Believe you me, I never expected to get here. Honestly, I probably would have expected to get to 200 words and call it quits. I’m sure you find it hard to believe, since I’m normally so long winded, but it’s true.

My thought would be that I would have a really great post for such an event. But that’s just not the case. This will be a mish-mash of random crap. You’re welcome.

I recently purchased an electronic drum kit from my friend Dave, a.k.a. the worst friend ever. Shortly after, I had my friend, Brian, over and he spied it with his little eye sitting unassembled in the corner. He was horrified that such a thing could happen and demanded (read: hinted repeatedly) that it should be set up.

I allowed him the pleasure. Partially because he really wanted to, but also because I had no idea how to do it myself. Truth be told, I was planning on calling him or Dave to help with the process when I got the inkling to do so.

Now I just got to learn how to use all four limbs independently. Not going to be easy. But it will make music day much more interesting!! You know, when someone that can play drums comes over.

Throughout Brian’s visit, and his follow up visit to make sure I could use my set up properly, he brought a little friend of his. His name is Hank. And he’s a dog. During this visit, Brian also taught me something:

Yeah, that’s right. I gif now. When I was trying to determine if my EZ-post-it software could upload gifs to my blog, I discovered that it was going to be my 200th post. I promptly unpublished it and decided to make it the most epic, memorable post of all time.

And then I sorely disappointed my readers. I’m sorry.

In an attempt to make it up to you, and also practice my new found gif skills, I made something for you that shows exactly what I was thinking when I posted my “Hey Hank” trial.

And that monstrosity is my 200th post.

It’s bound to get better from here.

Thanks so much for your support, or at least for keeping your judgment to your inside voice.