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.

Palindromes have ruined my life.

I was at my work party a couple nights back and was having a conversation with a friend; I may have been a couple drinks deep when I told her a little known secret. She found it to be very weird and her immediate response was “you need to write a blog post about this”. So, to make my friend happy (yes, I am a people pleaser), here it is.

My friend later forwarded me a facebook post that her friend posted the following day.

“Does it bother anyone else that the word "symmetry" isn't a palindrome? What a waste of an opportunity."

I had a good chuckle. Anyway, back to the story… My brother is three years older than I am; when I was about six years old, he came home from school and told me he learned about palindromes.

Mom

Dad

Noon

Pop

The list goes on… but my all-time favourite (yes, one that I learned that day and still continues to be my favourite to this day) is racecar. I’m not sure why. Probably because my mind was completely blown. I may or may not have had to write it down to verify the fact. C’mon, I was six, give me a break!

Since that day, I’ve loved palindromes. There was even a time where I knew I loved them, but couldn’t remember what they were called.

It’s one thing for a six year old to love something like palindromes. It’s another thing to have palindromes completely take over a six year olds’ life. It another thing altogether to have that same control still be present in a 33 year old body.

Once I learned what palindromes were, I started doing something; something that can really only be classified as OCD. You see, my mom worked mornings and I was in charge of setting an alarm, answering the phone when she called and getting us ready for school (yes, I’m the younger sibling). But for some reason, this new found responsibility manifested in an obscure way.

I still do it to this day and I don’t know why. I started trying to convince myself that I needed to stop this behaviour, so when I passed the palindrome on my alarm clock, I’d stop. Yes, I used to go all the way around just to get the ‘perfect’ setting. But it always ended badly. I wouldn’t sleep well, and once I fell asleep due to pure exhaustion, I would oversleep and I’d be late. It had nothing to do with the fact that I: stayed up too late, drank too much, ate right before bed, was stressed out or the hundred other reasons why I didn’t sleep well.

No, clearly it’s because I didn’t set my alarm clock to a palindrome. I know it’s irrational, so I’ve tried to steer away from it; tried to regain control of my life. After all, two out of three of my current alarms are not set in palindromes. But I realized at my work party, that it still affects my life.

I bought a 50/50 ticket; when the draw was happening, I scanned my tickets to see if I had a palindrome.

I’m willing to look past whether or not it’s a “true palindrome”. I will accept if the last 3 or 4 digits (the ones that count) are a palindrome. Turns out, I had one and was pretty convinced I’d win the 50/50 because of it.

I didn’t win. Because I never win 50/50 tickets. But…

The winning ticket was a palindrome!!!!

Fuck! So, my irrational rationalization is now justified. I’m pretty much doomed.

Games are fun!!

I went to a games event the other day. It’s exactly what it sounds like, a bunch of people get together and play a bunch of games. I’ve been to a few of these now, the type of games vary; this time it was mostly trivia because there were so many people playing.

Since there were so many people, that may or may not know each other, the hosts started us off with “Mingle Bingo”. Basically you have a bingo card and you have to make a pattern. The squares have questions, like “Who drives a 2-door vehicle” and “Name a single child”. In order to try and be one of the winners, you have to go around and ask people questions. It was surprisingly fun.

One of the questions was “Who rents property”. It started out that I was volunteering this information; I’d be talking with someone, looking at what they needed on their card and see that square empty. I’d say “I rent” and they’d fill it in. Soon enough, people are seeking me out to ask me if I rent. I didn’t think much of it until this guy, that I’ve met a few times, came up to me:

C: Hey, Heather, do you rent?

TWG: Yeah, I do.

C: I thought so…

TWG: What?!

C: You seem like someone that would rent…

TWG: What the fuck is that supposed to mean??!

C: I dunno… *looks around and then lowers his voice* It’s just that, you know, white people get kicked out of home when they're adults.

I was pleased he was going by stereotypes, for a minute there, I thought I wore my “inappropriate” t-shirt.

I guess I should mention that the friend hosting this party is Asian. There were 50 people there by the end of the event, I was one of three white people. The other two whiteys were a couple, with kids in tow. No wonder everyone was going up to the single white chick to fill this square.

My hosts had a number of snacks available for guests, one of these snacks was a cup of instant noodles. I walked into the kitchen to grab a drink when the other white girl stopped me and asked if I knew how to operate, what I can only describe as, the hot water maker.

No, it’s not a kettle. It’s a contraption I’ve never seen before. I uselessly mashed buttons and when I realized that I (still) had no idea, I said the first thing that came to mind.

I turned around and found an Asian girl standing nearby. I asked her if she knew how to operate the hot water maker. She did it without blinking an eye and made it look like second nature. I turned to the other white girl and said “See? You just asked the wrong person”.

She politely smiled and went about making her cup of noodle, all the while avoiding eye contact. Fuck. I made an ass of myself. Again. When I turned around, this guy I never met before was looking at me with a funny look on his face.

I was afraid I was going to be reprimanded.

I was really glad he was amused.

Like I said, most of the games were trivia and, for some reason, I tend to do fairly well at these. We had a “battle of the sexes” round, where all the girls go in a room and are asked questions that most guys would know the answers to and vice versa.

The girls had no idea. The last two questions were being asked, we hadn’t gotten one right and the pressure was mounting. We had to get at least one!

Q1: What does RAM stand for? I didn’t hesitate: “Random Access Memory!”. One point for the girls. We learned that the guys also had one point. Tie game. We had to get the next one.

Q2: Which movie involves a diamond heist where the men involved use nicknames based on colours? Again, I didn’t hesitate “Reservoir Dogs!!”. Because, ironically enough, having not seen that movie for years, I started watching it the night before. I didn’t make it through the entire movie, but I watched enough to learn the characters “nicknames” (Mr. White!) and that diamonds were involved.

So… we won! Suddenly I had a reputation; I carried my team.

The winning team got to pick an envelope; inside the envelope was “money”; the money could be used for purchasing something in an auction at the end. I raked in $222.

During the auction, people were out-bidding each other over $100-$150. I didn’t seem to care; I wasn’t even participating. Then the 5th prize came out – all the prizes were in gift bags so you didn’t know what you were going to get. I had a feeling about Bag E, so I bid $50; someone upped it to $60; I said $75; they said $80. Enough of this… $222!!

I got the prize. When I opened the gift bag I nearly peed myself from containing my laughter.

Most appropriate prize ever.

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!

A Beer For the Shower

One of my favorite blogs is having a contest. This post is my entry into said contest. I must be funny and/or creative. We all know these are not my strong suits, but here's my attempt so that I win a prize.

Ironically enough, the prize is having my picture drawn in MSPaint.

I'm oddly excited about potentially winning the prize... So it's pretty much like every other prize I've been in the vicinity of. I should really stop being so damn excitable.

Anyway, back to the post... I don't quite recall how I first came to read A Beer For the Shower (ABFtS) , but within reading a post or two I decided to go back to the beginning of time and read their entire blog. I got through it and I'm still reading to this day, if that's a testament of their awesomeness.

It probably isn't. But it should be!

The blog is written by two dudes and started out as purely prose, but it eventually became a comic-laden blog. The difference between these guys and someone like, oh... let's say... me, is that these guys are actually writers. Like professional writers. They make books and stuff.

This is where this post comes in. They recently released an e-book available on Amazon. The book is called The Missing Link and it's cover was drawn in, you guessed it, MSPaint. It's about the day the internet died. They released it this way because the publishing world is a crock and they got tired of being dicked around.

It makes me glad that I don't have those sorts of goals.

So why am I doing this? Well, for one, the prize (duh!); for two, they too have asshole neighbours. Mostly though, it's because they they like drinking beer in the shower, so they're okay in my books. In fact, they actually have instructions on the best way to enjoy a beer in the shower. Tips that you don't want to learn through trial and error; after all, trial and error often results in wasted beer.

Very few people know, that drinking while bathing is a guilty pleasure of mine. For a long time, I deprived myself of this luxury. I thought it made me a bad person, or an alcoholic. It's not that I can't bathe without a drink, but sometimes, I simply choose not to.

I don't really drink beer anymore; I switched over to vodka and never really looked back. But every so often, I get a hankering for drinking while bathing, and a vodka cocktail does not do it justice. Trust me, I've tried. When this happens, I go out and buy a case of beer just so I can drink one while I bathe.

Which results in me having nice, long, relaxing baths 6 days in row. I've always enjoyed it while in the bath, as opposed to the shower, however, this was before I read their tips; I was always afraid of watering down the precious nectar. Not anymore.

So there you have it. Read their blog, buy their book and convince them that this is the funniest, most creative entry they've received.

And... ... ... GO!

Big thanks to EliseArt for providing the [good] illustration!

There was a farmer who had a dog...

My excitement about leaving town is growing steadily. And since I'm sure you don't want to read a post every day for the next 5 days about Mexico I'm going to have to come up with another topic. On Friday, I went to Bingo.

No, I did not age 30 years overnight. A friend invited me and I said yes, seeing as when I was a kid I loved the game. That may have been before I matured and realized that I have absolutely no luck whatsoever.

Goes without saying that I did not win a thing. So, all in all, it cost me $30 and provided me with a couple hours of entertainment. Not too bad. Not only were the games entertaining, but for an experienced people-watcher such as myself, I was in heaven.

And, oh, the people that go to Bingo... that's a demographic that is just a hair's width away from circus side show (present company not included, of course).

Let's see. First, there are the old ladies and gentlemen that all seem to know each other and use it as a social outlet. Then there are the old ladies and gentlemen that scurry about in between games in order to get more cards/pull tabs/kenos. The look of sheer determination on their faces is somewhat cancelled out by the grease stains on their t-shirts.

Then there are the young people. Some, usually in groups, are normal respectable people that are there for a gag (and hopefully to win some money). Some, usually alone, may or may not have a touch of meth-mouth and do this as means of weaning themselves off meth, by starting another addictive behaviour.

At one point, a group of young girls came in that were obviously supposed to go downtown to a club, but found themselves outside of Planet Bingo and thought why not? They were wearing 4 inch heels, short skirts and too much makeup. They didn't look dirty enough to be making money dressed like that, if you know what I mean.

I mean, hookers.

Then there are the crazies. They come in all shapes, sizes and colours. There was one woman that was trying to buy tickets or something and the manager walked up and started asking her to leave. He was quiet. She was not. She started putting her hand up in the air and saying "Get the fuck out of my face" and once he continued talking with her, she started getting really irate. And not just at him, she started calling a random patron a "buttfucker", he got mad and said "Don't call me a fag, whore" and she said "But you are. Be proud, faggot, be proud of it. So what if you like getting fucked up the ass?!". I stared in disbelief.

When I finally managed to tear my eyes away from the train wreck, I happened to make eye contact with an older lady across the way. She widened her eyes with an "Ooooh boy" look on her face. Then she said "This doesn't happen very often, just so you know!" I said, "Oh, okay... *nervous laughter*" and she said "Yeah, only, maybe once a month".

Once a month is pretty often. Unless you're there everyday, then it's not often, but if I decided to go weekly, I'd have a 25% chance of seeing that. Thems pretty good odds.

Better odds than winning at Bingo!

The funniest thing about that train wreck was the fact that the bingo game was apparently on pause, because as soon as the crazy lady walked out the door, the bingo caller started the next game.

Messed.

So the girl that was sitting across from me & my friend was pretty young with a touch of meth-mouth. She ended up winning a game. I was pretty excited for her. Maybe more excited than she was. A friend of hers ended up joining her shortly after her win. I overheard (read: eavesdropped) the conversation she had about her win:

"So, I won just before you got here. I won $240. So that means... I'm only down $10 for today. It's so nice to play without having to worry about how much money I've spent".

I was floored. She spent $250 on Bingo?? Her friend said what we were all thinking:

"So... you've been here awhile then?"

No fucking kidding.

What's my age again?

If I buy a whole cake, I will eat a whole cake. Maybe not in one sitting and maybe not in one day. But guaranteed I will eat too much cake for too many days in a row, just to be sure that one morsel doesn't 'go bad'.

It's a problem for me; one that I've come to terms with, one I've had to accept and one I've learned to conquer.

I deal with this problem with sheer avoidance. I don't buy cake. I don't buy ice cream. I don't buy cookies. At least, not very often... I mean, a girl's gotta eat, right? If I don't keep it in the house, I won't eat it. Works every time... Except...

Every so often, I get a hankering for something sweet, really sweet; fruit, PB&J, cinnamon toast, or any of my usual go-to's don't do the job. This is a thirst for sweetness can't be quenched by anything except far too much really bad food.

Since I don't like buying that kind of food, I don't keep it in the house. And I don't want to break one of my rules, so I'm left to satisfy my needs by eating food that I already have. It's a vicious cycle that has resulted in me making ramdon concoctions.

I have two favorites; they're basically the same treat, just different variations. If I have plain yogurt in the house, I like to add a bit of sugar and vanilla and put fruit on top. If I have frozen berries in my freezer, I like to heat them up slightly to make the topping. If I don't have any berries, I'll take an apple, cut it up, saute it and make a caramel sauce. In a pinch, I've been known to eat this without of yogurt.

Then there's caramel popcorn, which is what I do when I don't have any apples.

Last night, out of sheer desperation, I whipped up a rice krispie square - melted marshmallows, vanilla and Fibre1 cereal. Because Fibre1 cereal was the closest thing to a treat in my cupboards. That and marshmallows, apparently.

Tonight, I got home, made dinner and ate it. Despite making a good meal, I felt the all too familiar sense that it wasn't quite enough. I knew I was going to want more sweet things. I did a quick mental inventory and realized that I had used all the Fibre1 cereal. Dammit.

I had to think of something fast. I had to get something sweet. I racked my brain on figuring out the easiest way of getting candy on a night like this.

I trick or treated at George's house. He got a kick out of it.

I got 3 cookies and 3 bite size chocolate bars.

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.