Jack and the Beanstalk

There’s this pub attached to the hotel where I go dancing; I’ve been to this pub a few times. The first time I stepped foot in the bar, I met this guy named Jack. I sat down a couple seats away from him and it took him all of 3 minutes to start talking to me. I think he opened with “Have you ever seen Alcatraz?” because there was a commercial for that show on the TV above us. I had to say no because, for one, I had never watched it, but also didn’t even know it existed. In fact, I had to look at the TV to understand what he was asking me.

Luckily, the guy a couple seats down from me actually had things to say on the subject and the three of us had a nice conversation about TV shows. I say the three of us, but I think they mostly talked and I was just hoping that something Simpson related would come up so that I could actually contribute to the conversation. I’m not sure if it ever did; I might have just sat there and looked pretty.

Conversation ended up turning to what brought me to the bar that night; I explained that the hotel next door had salsa dancing. He said he didn’t know that the hotel offered such things, but that it explained why he often saw little Latinas wearing sequin-y clothes on Saturday nights. I told him I wasn’t sure the pub even existed and I certainly didn’t know that it had five pool tables. I think it’s safe to say that we both learned something that night.

Stopping in at the pub before dancing quickly became my regular routine; every time I went there, Jack wasn’t there. Until about a month ago. I pulled up a seat at the bar, he looked over at me and said “Oh, hey… … salsa dancing, right?”. That’s right. I ordered my drink and he reminded the bartender that I enjoy lime in it, even though I forgot to ask. Always looking out for me.

Last night, I went back, I sat down at the bar and a couple seats away from me was Jack. I hardly recognized him, he normally sits on the right hand side of the bar, and that night he was on the left. I guess he didn’t recognize me from that angle either because he asked if I was going samba dancing. Close enough.

He was playing Keno and asked if I play. I said not really and I had only just recently learned how it worked. Jack set me up with a game card and told me to fill it out. The only other time I’ve played the game, someone else was driving and all I had to do was pick numbers. I tried to fill out the card and make it look like I knew what I was doing since I’d just declared my knowledge of the game. I may or may not have had to ask a question or two.

After filling out the card, I looked at it and said “I’m done now!! … … So… how do I turn this into a ticket?”. Apparently I don’t know that much about the game. He summoned the bartender and made it happen because next thing I know, I have a Keno ticket in front of me with my numbers on it. Magic.

My first draw comes up and within seconds my two numbers are drawn. I’m very excited about my win, which is so unlike me, I know. I bounced in my seat, clapping my hands, saying “I won, I won!”. After that, every time, one of my numbers got drawn Jack would clap his hands and say “One more…”.

I’m not sure if he was making fun of me or not.

My other nine draws were a bust, but I was still high off my win, so it all ended well. I cashed in my ticket and the bartender asked if I wanted to replay; I decided to quit while I was ahead. I got my $10 cash, and slid it over to Jack, since he was the one that paid for the ticket. I guess it wasn’t that magical after all. He wouldn’t take it. He said I won it, told me that they were my winnings. I did the whole “No, no, I insist”, he did the same thing; I feigned a valiant effort, but inside I was really like this:

To try and make it up to him, I ordered us a shot. It’s the least I could do. After awhile, he was getting ready to leave, as was I; my bill got dropped on the bar. My bill which miraculously only contained half of the drinks I ordered. Any other place, I would have brought this to the bartender’s attention, however, at this bar, it’s par for the course. For some reason.

Jack snatched up my bill, grabbed my $10 win, threw another $10 onto the pile and handed it off to the bartender. I reached across the bar and grabbed the pile before the bartender could get there. I gave him his $10 back; he put it back on the pile. The bartender, smart girl, walked away to give us some time to settle our dispute. I gave him his $10 back, he put in back on the pile. I started to give him his $10 back, he pushed it aside, literally ran away and said “Have fun at salsa!”.

I walked out of the bar, high on my win, drunk off my drinks, with as much money as I walked in with. That just doesn’t happen everywhere. Gotta love that place!

Girl talk with my gal pals

I’ve really sucked at this writing thing lately. And I don’t really have an excuse… Sure, I’ve been busy “doing things”, but that’s not even the real reason. Fact is, even with all developments in my life, I still have time to write, I just don’t seem to actually do it.

This isn’t the first time it has happened and it certainly won’t be the last. But I will make an effort to start writing again. Or at least, I’ll think about writing again. Because having a post idea is about 1/3 of the battle anyway.

So, what have I been doing with my time? To be honest, mostly Thailand. Sure, work, school, getting out in the sun, watching movies, blah, blah, blah. But if I had to pinpoint the thing that keeps me up at night, it would have to be Thailand.

Literally.

And just because you’re all dying to know the goings-ons, allow me to elaborate. I guess we’ve been officially seeing each other for two months now. I said officially, but in all honesty, there isn’t anything official about it because I can only call him “the guy I’m seeing” and not something else with an official label, like “boyfriend” or “back off, he’s mine”.

Six months ago, when I was still friends with K, this probably would have driven me bat-shit-crazy; the relationship wouldn’t have lasted this long because I would have turned into a high-maintenance-crazy-what-does-this-all-mean girl. Who am I kidding… I never would have even met him if I was still friends with K. I guess it’s safe to say that things have changed for me since my best friend stopped being my best friend.

And even though I know we’ve been seeing each other long enough that it’s okay to have the discussion about what we’re doing and where things are going, I just don’t care. I was talking to my mom about it the other day. She asked if we were “an item” yet; I told her nothing was official. She said that if he’s sleeping over, then we must be an item; I said we were definitely something. She said that if I’m happy and enjoying myself then that’s all that really matters; I said that I am both of those things and it really doesn’t bother me… a girl’s gotta eat and I was starved for years.

(I’m really thankful that I can have that kind of conversation with my mother and it’s not awkward.)

Anyway, there was a period of time where I was convinced that we were just fuck buddies and that it wasn’t going anywhere. Surprisingly, I was okay with that revelation. Turns out it only lasted about 2 days, because things started changing after that.

For one, he started telling me things. Personal things. Things that aren’t part and parcel with pillow talk. Things you don’t tell the girl you’re just fucking. Second, he bought me a birthday gift. A really thoughtful birthday gift. A birthday gift that indicated that he was listening to what I say. Third, we started spending time together, and not just between the sheets. Sometimes he comes over and we watch a movie. Sometimes he sleeps over and we don’t have sex. Sometimes I see him and we just talk. And fourth, he has told me repeatedly that’s he’s not seeing anyone else and he’s not sleeping around.

These are very good things and I have to say, I’m pretty fricken pleased with how things are going, even though I have no idea where things are going. Eventually, I’ll have to have the discussion with him, but until the day comes where I need to know (you know, when you develop real feelings and junk), I’m happy doing what I’m doing.

Okay, now onto the funny part (a.k.a. the real reason I’m telling you all of this.. I’m not bragging, I swear!). And I apologize in advance if this falls into the TMI category.

I’m allergic to latex. I have to buy very specific condoms, specifically, non-latex condoms. They can be quite difficult to find and if you ever look around, you’ll notice that there are only two kinds of non-latex condoms. So, one day after purchasing a new supply, I was turning the box over in my hands, looking for the “open here” part when something caught my eye.

I nearly peed myself laughing.

And they're off!

Welcome to my new and improved blog. Okay it's not that new because I was able to fully import my old blog into this one (and it was easy too!). But it definitely is improved. I mean, just look at it. It rocks!

Anyway, with this new look comes new marketing. I made a Facebook page (I know...), but it's not much of anything yet and it only has one like so far (gee, I wonder who that is...), but if you wanna like it too, here it is: http://www.facebook.com/pages/That-White-Girls/235085719871139  (I hope that works)

Well, that's pretty much all I got for now, which is so unlike me, so I'll tell you my superhappyfunday story.

Every so often (sometimes more often than others) K & I will have superhappyfunday. It usually follows a night of debauchery, so we'll get up and head out for breakfast at our favourite place, then we'll head out to Cultus Lake where we do some form of exercise. Type of exercise is mostly weather/time of year dependent.  Since it's summer and the weather is nice we had the most superhappyfunday ever on Sunday.

We got to the lake and went for a walk (it's about 4-5km roundtrip), then we rented a paddleboat for an hour and went out onto the lake and paddled around. It was really awesome; super relaxing and it felt great to soak up the sun. But since we're both pretty pale, we can't take too much of the blazing heat, so by the time we got off the water we were ready to be cooled down. So into the lake we went. It felt wonderful. It's so nice to dunk your head under water when it's been cooking all day and to get the 7 layers of sunscreen off.

After dragging ourselves out of the water, we got back into the car and started driving towards Castle Fun Park. It's a park that is a lot of fun and is shaped like a castle. Seriously. Turns out we were pretty famished since we hadn't eaten since breakfast, so we stopped at a pub for lunch. They had 2 for 1 appy's; there were four to choose from. So we got all four, plus a veggie plate to offset the badness of the other appy's. We may have bit off more than we could chew because they brought out so much food it was ridiculous. Sometimes I wish the server would say "Are you sure, cuz that's a lot..." But no. So we stuffed ourselves as much as possible and felt better for it.

After eating we made our way to the fun park. The original plan was to do batting cages followed by a round of mini golf, but we were too tuckered out to play an hour of mini golf so we went to the batting cages. Unfortunately, our regular batting cage was out-of-order so we tried one that throws a lot harder. It was actually painful when I hit the ball. The impact reverberated down the bat, down my arms, to the centre of my soul.  I only hit about 4 of the balls and grazed another 6 or so, but by the end, I was kinda hoping I wouldn't make contact because I was already sore from it.

Then we got back in the car and I drove to the bar that we were at the night before, so K could pick up her car that we had abandoned there. I drove home, willing myself to stay alert and not give in to my exhaustion. Once I got home, I pretty much hit the sack and then didn't get up for 12 hours. It was marvelous.

Now it's Tuesday and instead of going into work at a decent time, I decided to write this post in an attempt to keep my great weekend going. I fooled myself for a little while, but it's becoming painfully obvious as the clock ticks, that the weekend is over and I should get dressed and go to work. Dammit. Oh well. Four day work week. I can do it!!

Your filter is like a chain-link fence and your thoughts are ants.

I recently did something that I hadn't done in years and years. I went ice skating! It was the most exhilarating experience ever.

K stumbled upon ice skating information on the internet one day and remembered that I said I wanted to go awhile before. We normally meet up for a walk on Thursdays at 7pm and a loonie skate was happening at exactly that time, in a place that is exactly halfway between our houses. It was meant to be.

She got excited and wrote a message on my Facebook wall; another friend of ours saw this message and not-so-subtly mentioned that he would love to go too. He made a big production about it being 20 years since he skated and he was concerned about whether or not he could still do it. I was concerned too. That's pretty much exactly how I was feeling and for that very reason.

We eagerly waited for the rink to open up and then for all the crazy kids (who we knew would be better than us) to go first. Brandon was the first one of us on the ice. He shot off like a rocket: spinning and twirling and speeding away. It was K's turn next, and then mine. I was much less successful than Brandon; apparently he skated a lot more than me as a child.

I was pretty much confined to the boards within 3 feet of the opening. I was going nowhere. Fast.

The young first-aid skater girl recognized my plight immediately. "First time skating?", she asked. "No, it's just been a really long time!", I replied. She suggested I go to the skate shop and pick up a helmet "just in case". I was less than enthused to be sporting a helmet, plus that would require me to 'skate' the 3 feet back to the entrance. She recognized my plight immediately. "Or else I can bring you bars?", she suggested.

She brought me a set of bars. I have to admit I was a little worried about taking my hand off the boards long enough to reach out and grab the bars. But I didn't want to look like a giant pussy, so I tried to do it, while looking as confident as a 30 year old can after having asked for a set of kiddy-bars.

Once I got on the bars, skating was no issue. I started skating away, all fast-like and super-pro.

I was making pretty good progress. And then a small child skated out in front of me. All I could do was squeak and swerve around her. Good thing I drive, otherwise, one or more of us would have gotten hurt (probably me).

After a lap or two (or three) I was confident enough to ditch the bars and skate on my own. It was exhilarating. (And I thought it was fun with the bars...) I was skating around with my shit-eating-grin on my face, laughing and having a grand-old time.

Every 37 seconds I would almost fall and then I would laugh, which would cause me to almost fall again. I'd have to spend some time with the boards to re-group before continuing again.

Eventually, 37 seconds became one minute; and one minute became half a lap. Eventually, I became cocky and over-confident in my skating abilities. Also, I was probably high from not getting enough oxygen to my brain because I was laughing so much. This cockiness lead to my demise. I bailed. Fully. Right on my ass. Out of nowhere.

It hurt. But I managed to get back up without too much difficulty and skated to the boards where I laughed some more.

My tailbone hurt for days.

I went back the following week and didn't need the bars and didn't fall down. It was still just as exhilarating. We decided that we'd skate every Thursday and we were going to buy skates and everything.

Then I was at work one Thursday and said "HEY! Guess what I'm doing tonight!?!?". After people guessed incorrectly, I started skating around and said "Ice skating!!!". A friend looked at me and said "Aren't they closed for the season?!". I said "What season?!". Turns out, they closed the Sunday before and there was no skating that night. It was the worst Thursday ever.

Big thanks to EliseArt for providing illustrations.

I must have homework to do...

Here's a little glimpse into the ridiculous ramdon-ness that I call life...

Jan 30th
EliseArt sends me & Gorm an email with a picture of an ewok. (That's not all... it gets much more ramdon). She purchased a drawing tablet and the following conversation between me & Gorm ensued:

Feb 5th
Gorm: Yes, people emailing my hotmail are more privileged as I respond more than once a week normally.

Me: Well, aren't they a lucky bunch then!

Gorm: And now, so are you!

Feb 6th
Me: Woo - hooo!! I'm special, just like everyone else!

Gorm: "Which is just another way to say - nobody is" -The Incredibles

Feb 7th
Me: "D'Oh!" - The Simpsons

Feb 8th
Gorm: "Ha Ha!" -Nelson Muntz, The Simpsons

Me: "I think he's really hurt" - Milhouse Van Houten, The Simpsons

Gorm: "Why...why was I programmed to feel pain?" - Linguo, The Simpsons

Feb 9th
Me: "This hurts more than it looks" - Homer Simpson - The Simpsons

It's been going on like this ever since. We've, literally, been emailing Simpson quotes back and forth for months now. Holy fuck. And since Mar 22nd we've been on a single episode - Lisa The Vegetarian. We've dropped the quotations and stopped ending everything with "Person Who Said It, The Simpsons" so now it has taken on a structure of that of a screenplay (much like the above).

It doesn't happen everyday, but whenever I get one of these emails it's pretty much the highlight of that day for me. It makes me ridiculously happy. I love every bit of it. I love seeing what quote he uses and I love the scenes that play in my head as I relive the episode for myself and I love having to come up with my own quote.

It's so ridiculous, I just had to share. And you know how gmail starts a new conversation after 100 replies? No? Really? You don't? Well it does. And now we're on our second conversation.

Guilt. Is there anything you can't do? We'll be right back.

The following excerpt is a comment on my last post:

Guess what tomorrow is? The one month anniversary of your last post.

AAAAAaaand, if you don’t post next week, there will be no posts in March!!!

Let me show you a data point of scientific data:
April 2007 (1)
February 2007 (1)
December 2006 (3)
September 2006 (1)
May 2006 (1)
April 2006 (2)
March 2006 (1)
January 2006 (2)
December 2005 (1)
October 2005 (3)
September 2005 (1)
August 2005 (4)
July 2005 (1)
June 2005 (1)
May 2005 (2)
April 2005 (3)
March 2005 (1)
February 2005 (3)
January 2005 (6)
December 2004 (2)
November 2004 (3)
October 2004 (3)
September 2004 (8)
August 2004 (2)
July 2004 (4)
June 2004 (6)
May 2004 (7)
April 2004 (12)
March 2004 (13)
February 2004 (8)
January 2004 (7)
December 2003 (7)
November 2003 (10)
October 2003 (19)
September 2003 (12)

This blog started off healthy enough – and then there were no posts in November 2005! The following months were a write-off (if there were any posts at all) and only a few entries later, it was all over!

Even if it has no illustrations, even if its not your best work, some people need to read new blog entries and not see them head down the haunted path to non-existence.

I failed on the one-month anniversary front, however, I win with a post in March. Go me. I do, however, have one issue with this comment. Let's face it, I likely have many, many issues with this comment, but I'll limit it to just one. This commenter is trying to convince me to post using statistics and although it appears to have worked, my issue with it is this: You can prove anything with statistics; 14% of people know that.

So, why haven't I been posting? Well, I got a new guitar and although she's really pretty, she's quite demanding of my time. If I don't play enough attention to her, she sits in the corner and looks sad. And, I can't have that.

Also, school. I fear that next semester (also known as the semester from hell where I'd rather curl up under a rock than deal with all the responsibilities and deadlines) will only make things worse. I'm taking three classes. To some, that may seem like a cake walk, to me, it's a life ruiner. Literally.

I've also been spending a lot of time on the outside. It's a wonderful place with fresh air and animals and stuff. I take my brother and his dog for a walk every week. (which reminds me I should have called to remind him that's it's doggie day today). I'm slowly but steadily moving my way up into 'favorite aunt' status with his dog. That makes me ridiculously happy.

What else makes me ridiculously happy? Ice-skating. It makes me feel like a cross between a child and a divorcée. Odd combination? Not if you think about it. I feel like a child because I get super giddy when I'm skating. I glide around with (what my brother calls) my shit-eating-grin on my face. I laugh pretty much constantly. High on life - OH! That's what those after-school-specials were talking about. I wish I discovered this before I discovered drugs and alcohol. I feel like a divorcée because even though I'm living life and having fun, I'm really truly afraid of falling and getting hurt, again.

I think that's about it. My apologies for sucking it up in the writing arena and big thanks to Gorm for giving me the kick in the pants that I needed to post something. I suppose he's right, illustrations are not absolutely necessary and this wasn't my best work. Thanks for that. Happy reading. Yay - new post! :)

That t-shirt is so fricken bright, there's gotta be a battery pack attached.

I have a tendency to fall in love with guys with whom I have absolutely no hope of them loving me back. It's dangerous territory, but in my defense, these guys tend to be people that I've never met; I have no idea what they're actually like. I'm not sure that helps my argument... In fact, I'm fairly certain it hinders it. Hmmm... no wonder I'm single. It's heartbreaking, yet, I continue to do it. I'm probably bringing this on myself.

In my defense, again, this "love" isn't actual love... Mostly, I "heart" them and just lack the vocabulary skills necessary to express my feelings without sounding like a stalker. So, by default, I call it love, because that, (apparently) is the least stalker-ish word I know... I should probably start reading the dictionary again. Or maybe a thesaurus this time.

Guys I love and have absolutely no hope in reciprocation:

1) Guys that are dead

2) Guys that live on the other side of the world

3) Guys that are married, in a relationship, or just plain "happy" (damn them!)

4) Guys that find me repulsive

My #1 #1 (i.e. the guy I love the most that happens to be dead) is Elliott Smith. Oh, if only he was still alive... I'd stalk the hell out of him! Okay, probably not, but I do think he's a musical genius and absolutely beautiful. I really wish I'd had a chance to meet him (or at least see him from afar) while he was still on this earth. *sigh*.

My most recent #1 #2 (i.e. the guy I love the most that happens to live on the other side of the world) is Xavier Rudd... he lives in Australia. Dammit. I also think he's a genius and beautiful, although not as much as my fav... sorry Xavier.

I had an opportunity to see Xavier recently - although it didn't result in a marriage proposal, he did look in my direction at least twice! And if paying good money to see him from afar and to have him look in my general direction is what I can get, then I guess I'll take it.

My first #1 #3 (i.e. the guy I love the most that is married/happy) was Jack Johnson... I was devastated when I realized that he was married... what is that shiny thing on his left ring finger?? *gasp* *sob*

I just realized all my "loves" have been musicians... Hmmm... I must have a non-musical one...

My most recent #1 #3 is this guy that works with a friend of mine. He doesn't quite fit the criteria, because I have, in fact, met him, but it's not like I know him, so I'll still use him as an example. He's quite the specimen; if you looked up "a ten" in the dictionary, his picture would be there. I held a torch for him for awhile and was convinced that the next event we were both at would be the time he realized how amazing I am. I attended the event, so did he. He didn't profess his love for me. And then his wife and children showed up... and they looked happy. Dammit!

I don't know who is my #1 #4 is... (i.e. the guy that I love the most that finds me repulsive)... Honestly, I can't think of anyone who I was (or am) in love with that actually finds me repulsive (or, more accurately, has told me as such). It's just my go-to reason for why they don't love me back (... I must be hideous...).

Okay, I must love things other than musicians.... Well, recently, I've become an internerd (blog: case and point); I used to laugh at people like me. So it probably won't come as too much of a surprise that my most recent loves are on the internet. Like the others, I don't know them and have no idea what they are actually like.... but I do heart them regardless. I had three favorites, but two of them left me for greener pasteurs, so that leaves me with one... but he's my favorite anyway, so it works out.

He writes articles for Cracked.com (The Bucholz Discharge... awesome!). He's witty and smart and seriously funny. He's also a huge jackass, which some may consider a bad thing, myself, I find it endearing. Also, I'm a jackass, so I think we'd get along. And... according to a post of his, he's Canadian. Bonus!!! All Canadians know each other, right? Maybe all hope isn't lost.

With my luck he lives in Halifax, is married and finds me repulsive. Fucker.

Big thanks to EliseArt for providing the illustrations!

It's like reading the book, watching the movie

I recently won a prize. Not exactly a Nobel Peace or Pulitzer Prize, or anything. But a prize nonetheless. It's not exactly a well-known fact, but I really enjoy winning prizes. I find it thrilling. Despite my apparent bad luck in other arenas of my life, I can win door prizes like nobody's business.

One year at my company Christmas party (sorry! 'Year-End Party'.) I got to the venue a bit late, and seeing as I had only worked there for three months, the one table that had people at it that I knew, was full.

Of course.

I ended up getting a space at this table that just happened to have some empty seats. But they were people from a whole other department... that I had never had any contact with... awkward! Turns out, they were pretty lame and left right after dinner anyway. Before the prize draws even began! What are you? Crazy?!

Being, basically, the last person at table, I promptly started collecting all the discarded door prize vouchers and eagerly awaited the prize draw. The thing is that I work with a bunch of scientists. So just go ahead and try and get them excited about something other than chemistry and/or rush samples. I dare you! Needless to say, the prize draw was pretty tame.

However, not too long into the draw, my number was called. (And it was my actual number, not one of the ones I picked out of the garbage). I hopped up and started running over to the stage to collect my prize. The emcee, having watched the last ten 'winners', was very appreciative of my excitement and proclaims to the crowd "Now that's what we want to see!". I receive my prize and walk back to my table, flaunting it the whole way. It was a bottle of wine!!!!

I don't even drink wine.

A few draws later, another number of mine comes up! Having just been up there, I convince my best friend to go up and claim the prize... c'mon... you can keep it! She proceeds to walk up to the stage and back to the table, ever so calmly. To be honest, I can't even recall what the prize was... alls I know is: "that was my ticket - I WON!".

A few draws later, another number of mine comes up! Incidentally, it was my best friends' actual number, but since she had just been up there, and there was no one left at my table, I decided to go up to claim my prize. I was trying to play it cool; I didn't want anyone to remember me. However, despite my attempt at censorship, my excitement was pretty obvious and the emcee recognized it right off the bat... "Hey! Didn't you already win?" I guess he pieced it together.

Dammit.

"Yeah, but....... this is a ticket someone at my table gave me!". Hoping beyond hope that I had a chance at winning something (other than the wine I won't drink), I not-so patiently awaited his response. To my delight, spectators from the crowd start shouting out "Let her have it", "So what if she already won", "Oh, come on! Someone gave her the ticket"... Finally luck is on my side.

The emcee sighs; resigned, he hands me the hat. I draw out my number; lucky number 23, oh yeah! I see the lovely assistant approaching me with a gift basket. It looks beautiful. I can't wait to see what it is. I receive my prize and walk back to my table, flaunting it the whole way. It's a gift basket from Starbucks!!!!

I don't even drink coffee.