Monday, March 26, 2007

Am I really supposed to swoon?

Note to God, or whomever is in charge ...

The man of my dreams does not chew tobacco.

Picture it.

Saturday night, all dressed up for a night at the Roughnecks game with the gang. It's halftime and we head up to the Whisky.

We hang out, we laugh, we play a little Tippy Cup ... time to head back to our seats.

But first, a pee break.

On the way out of the facilities, we get stopped for a chatup. No biggie.

It's time to continue on but I get stopped for further discussion.

He says, "I need to ask you a question."

I say, "Er ... OK."

He says, "How can you look so pretty and yet so unapproachable at the same time?"

I'm damn near positive the look on my face would have been enough to whither his potential erection for years to come. I fire off a 'because I am' and continue on my way.

But I got to thinking ...

What was it about his question that was supposed to make me swoon.

Oh, Mr. Rhett Butler, I do declare your ardent attentions are givin' me the vapours!

Please.

Compliment me and insult me in 14 words and one sentence?

Am I unapproachable?

Or are you just intimidated, setting yourself up for failure because you know you didn't stand a chance?

Then why bother? Or was it just for the entertainment for your buddies? Are you so full of self-loathing that you had to embarrass yourself in front of them?

And for God's sake, did you really imagine I was going to giggle, twirl my hair and bat my eyes for you, while you stood there with leaves of tobacco weaving their gag-inducing way through the jumbled mass of your lower mandible?

Or maybe I was supposed to playfully wipe away the oily black spittle at the side of your mouth?

I swear, if there's a mystery around how women think, it can only be slightly less confusing than the way men think.

I was reminded this morning of an e-mail I sent out a couple of weeks ago. Rumour has it, the originator of the missive is male and I want to find someone who thinks like that.

The e-mail is entitled 'Why Men Love Women' and it reads:

1. They will always smell good even if it's just shampoo.

2. The way their heads always find the right spot on our shoulder.

3. How cute they look when they sleep.

4. The ease in which they fit into our arms .

5. The way they kiss you and all of a sudden everything is right in
the world.

6. How cute they are when they eat.

7. The way they take hours to get dressed but in the end it makes it all worth while.

8. Because they are always warm even when its minus 30 outside.

9. The way they look good no matter what they wear.

10. The way they fish for compliments even though you both know
that you think she's the most beautiful girl on this earth.

11. How cute they are when they argue.

12. The way her hand always finds yours.

13. The way they smile.

14. The way you feel when you see their name on your cell after you
just had a big fight.

15. The way she says "lets not fight anymore"

16. The way that they kiss after you have had a fight.

17. The way they kiss you when you say "I love you".

18. Actually...Just the way they kiss you...

19. The way they fall into your arms when they cry.

20. Then the way they apologize for crying over something that silly.

21. The way they hit you and expect it to hurt.

22. Then the way they apologize when it does hurt (even though we don't admit it).

23. The way they say "I miss you".

24. The way you miss them.

25. The way their tears make you want to change the world so that it doesn't hurt her anymore...


Yet regardless if you love them, hate them, wish they would die or know that you would die without them it matters not. Because once in your life, whatever they were to the world they become everything to you. When you look them in the eyes, traveling to the depths of their souls and you say a million things without trace of a sound, you know that your own life is inevitable consumed within the rhythmic beatings of her very heart. We love them for a million reasons, no paper would do it justice. It is a thing not of the mind but of the heart.

A feeling.

Only felt.


So where is he? Because I've never been more ready to welcome him into my life.

Thursday, March 22, 2007

Peeling away the layers

Isn't it amazing what a fresh coat of paint will do ... for the soul?

Last weekend, we started transforming my wee little dungeon with the permission of my landlord.

If I was going to stay there another year, dammit, there was no way those walls were going to be that dingy ... and no amount of bleach was going to help.

Frosted lemon in the bathroom, butter cream in the kitchen, mystical sea in the bedroom.

And just the living-room is left for this weekend.

We've already pulled away the horribly tacky wallpaper border that ringed the ceiling.

Karina grabbed hold of one end and started pulling. She stopped after a good hard yank and we both wanted to vomit.

The wall space hidden by the border was as white as white could be. We started to understand that the colour of the wall was a decent white battered by years of smoking renters and a lack of will to clean.

But here's the point ... when you pull away your tacky wallpaper border, what's left behind?

Another friend, who shall remain nameless, just turned 35. She was rather upset about it at the time.

Having that year of my life almost completely under my belt -- Aug. 18 is 36, write it down, commit to memory -- I counselled her.

It really isn't as bad a number as it seems.

It has been a time of transformation, a time of realization.

Who is this Flash that everyone thinks they know so well? Trouble is, Flash didn't know.

But when you've had everything you know torn away -- your heart, your dignity, your job, your soul -- it's a good time to start rebuilding.

From scratch.

Flash doesn't like to drink beer.

Flash doesn't like to drink.

OK, maybe a glass of red wine with dinner and the occasional beer at a hockey game.

But last summer was ridiculous ... closing the ballpark down every Wednesday night and twice on Sunday? Good grief ...

Flash doesn't like to party.

Flash would rather spend the time at the gym.

Or walking the dog.

Or in quiet conversation with a few good friends.

Or cuddled up on the futon watching movies.

And she really has to stop talking in the third person!

35 has been an eye-opener, an awakening.

My friend is in the beginning steps of her awakening. And if I can hold her hand or give her a shoulder to cry on, I will.

The pushoff in the little dingy is through rough waters but once you get to the open sea, it's smooth sailing and everything starts to fall into place.

And there really is more to life than the ballpark and the junior high dynamics that go with it.

So, I was long overdue for that fresh coat of paint.

And the one I chose has the words 'Cover Girl' and 'age-defying' on the label ...

Thursday, March 8, 2007

I have GAS

Allow me to introduce you to a very important and new part of my personality.

No, this has nothing to do with me being anything like Sybil and the nine different people swimming around in her grey matter.

This is called my 'Give a Shit' scale.

Should what you have to say register high on the GAS scale, then I will be extremely interested in what you have to say.

I will turn toward you, listen intently and participate in the conversation when my turn comes due.

Should the poop particles not stir, a cloud will likely fall over my face, my sense of hearing will shut down and I may very well fall asleep right in front of you.

Maybe you've hit a five ... you're going to have to start using some fancy words, metaphors and tall tales but you may at least have my attention. You may get a lift of the chin. But nothing too engaging.

Please don't take offence. You're just not very interesting.

No, that may be mean. How about ...

Please don't take offence. What you have to say isn't very interesting at all.

Subjects that will remain low on the GAS scale will generally include all forms of gossip, stories about your children and whining about how much your job sucks.

Subjects that will hit high on the GAS scale are few and far between ... but likely will involve men or athletics ... or both.

And yes, for the purpose of maintaining a solid relationship with some people, I will fake it.

So, how will one know whether they should just move along and not bother consuming the energy to talk to me?

The eyebrows. It will always be in the eyebrows.

Low on the scale ... nothing.

High? They're gonna shoot so far up you'll never know I had a forehead. Then you know you got me.

Egad ... you know what this means? I'm becoming more and more like my father every day.

Trouble is, I can't do the one eyebrow thing.

That was when we knew we were in shit.