I know, I promised I'd finish that story, but the truth is, after all the alcohol consumption, all I remember is I won $100 bucks, I donned a nun's habit, crawled around on a piano genuflecting, and ripped the habit off to reveal some rather un-nunnish wear. After that, it's all a blur.
I'm refreshing, regenerating, renegging, re-whatevering until I have some new stories to share. Until then, I'll keep reading and enjoying your blogs, guys, and I'll see you soon!
Thursday, January 26, 2006
Saturday, December 31, 2005
And she goes and gets nostaligic on New Year's Eve
Who woulda thunk?
So, years ago, I used to work in this hotel in the middle of nowhere Yukon, miles away from anything, flat dab in the middle of the Alaska Highway. The No-Man's Land of Cruiseship Bus Tours. The town's population was 88 year round, our hotel housed about 80 seasonal staff members, and when the tour buses pulled into town at 6 a.m. each morning, our population tripled.
Our staff and the locals got close. We were stuck together. The nearest next town was four and a half hours over the shittiest, dustiest road you could dream of over the border in the states. You had to go that far to get a newspaper, since our town's only gas station didn't carry them, and neither did any of the 4 bars or 4 hotels that existed for a town with a population of 168 people. We loved each other, but we were all sick to death of each other.
The hotel company recognized that our small town's staff had a morale problem, based on the high number of employee attempted suicides and homicides, and sent an expert consultant from the home base in the U.S.A. out to "deal with us." In the three days she visited, she called each staff member into her temporary office individually, told us to call her by her first name--Anne-- gave us her phone number and cell number in Georgia, in case we "ever just needed to talk to a friend," asked us if we'd seen other staff members smoke drugs--she could "get them help", she "wasn't there to judge." She wondered if any of us were lesbians and if it bothered us that there were so many lesbians on staff. She wanted to know how we "felt" about that--whatever we felt, she wanted us to know it was "o.k." She told us that even though we might not think so, we were a HUGE priority at head office and an important part of the corporate team. She greeted us each by name in the staff cafeteria, loudly complimented the staff cook who had been attempting to hide grated carrots in every dish for 3 months, sat with us all and moved from table to table so everyone could feel a "connection" with her.
Anne declared it should be Christmas. We worked hard for four months a year. We were "like a family," and since we couldn't have Christmas together in December, we should have it together in July, she said. The management seemed super excited about this--they were all "right behind it." Boy, they looked like they were ready to jump up and down when they told us about it, the way they all stood in a line facing us and grinning madly; even Kerry, the mustachioed secret-stoner desk manager, who'd been up playing poker and drinking all night with the rest of us underlings with whom the management was discouraged from spending leisure time.
Many of us were Scrooge-like about the idea. Bah humbug and all that jazz. This idea was stupid. Who wanted to celebrate Christmas in July, when it was 33 degrees outside and we were being eaten alive by mosquitoes and old people from Florida and North Dakota?!
Then they told us there would be a talent competition. Each hotel's department would team up and compete. And there would be a $100 dollar prize for group performance, and another $100 for individual performers. Also, the hotel's general manager decided it would be open bar--on the house!--Christmas and all...
Suddenly the hotel was alive with the holiday spirit! We put up trees and decorated them. We cheerfully told bewildered tourists that in the Yukon we celebrate Christmas in July! They were confused and just wanted their prunes and whole wheat toast and a map before they left, but they seemed happy for us, and thrilled with the strange fine friendly Canadian youth they'd met.
All I knew is that my group, the waiters, were bound to win. We were the most talented and scrappiest lot of misfits in the whole town, and goshdarnit, we were going to win that money and get right fucked up while doing it! I was determined. And so I gathered the gang together.
"What do ya say gang--for old time's sake--have we gotta show, or have we gotta show?!"
"Hell yeah!" cheered the plucky waiters, and we all set to work making props, sewing costumes from the sheets we stole from the laundry department, and practicing our act.
I was ruthless as a director, but I knew these kids had it in 'em. We might have to eat this show, sleep this show and breathe this show for the next three days and nights, but by God, if I had to bleed it out of them, I was going to take this rag-tag team of ribs salesmen and make them STARS!
To be continued...
So, years ago, I used to work in this hotel in the middle of nowhere Yukon, miles away from anything, flat dab in the middle of the Alaska Highway. The No-Man's Land of Cruiseship Bus Tours. The town's population was 88 year round, our hotel housed about 80 seasonal staff members, and when the tour buses pulled into town at 6 a.m. each morning, our population tripled.
Our staff and the locals got close. We were stuck together. The nearest next town was four and a half hours over the shittiest, dustiest road you could dream of over the border in the states. You had to go that far to get a newspaper, since our town's only gas station didn't carry them, and neither did any of the 4 bars or 4 hotels that existed for a town with a population of 168 people. We loved each other, but we were all sick to death of each other.
The hotel company recognized that our small town's staff had a morale problem, based on the high number of employee attempted suicides and homicides, and sent an expert consultant from the home base in the U.S.A. out to "deal with us." In the three days she visited, she called each staff member into her temporary office individually, told us to call her by her first name--Anne-- gave us her phone number and cell number in Georgia, in case we "ever just needed to talk to a friend," asked us if we'd seen other staff members smoke drugs--she could "get them help", she "wasn't there to judge." She wondered if any of us were lesbians and if it bothered us that there were so many lesbians on staff. She wanted to know how we "felt" about that--whatever we felt, she wanted us to know it was "o.k." She told us that even though we might not think so, we were a HUGE priority at head office and an important part of the corporate team. She greeted us each by name in the staff cafeteria, loudly complimented the staff cook who had been attempting to hide grated carrots in every dish for 3 months, sat with us all and moved from table to table so everyone could feel a "connection" with her.
Anne declared it should be Christmas. We worked hard for four months a year. We were "like a family," and since we couldn't have Christmas together in December, we should have it together in July, she said. The management seemed super excited about this--they were all "right behind it." Boy, they looked like they were ready to jump up and down when they told us about it, the way they all stood in a line facing us and grinning madly; even Kerry, the mustachioed secret-stoner desk manager, who'd been up playing poker and drinking all night with the rest of us underlings with whom the management was discouraged from spending leisure time.
Many of us were Scrooge-like about the idea. Bah humbug and all that jazz. This idea was stupid. Who wanted to celebrate Christmas in July, when it was 33 degrees outside and we were being eaten alive by mosquitoes and old people from Florida and North Dakota?!
Then they told us there would be a talent competition. Each hotel's department would team up and compete. And there would be a $100 dollar prize for group performance, and another $100 for individual performers. Also, the hotel's general manager decided it would be open bar--on the house!--Christmas and all...
Suddenly the hotel was alive with the holiday spirit! We put up trees and decorated them. We cheerfully told bewildered tourists that in the Yukon we celebrate Christmas in July! They were confused and just wanted their prunes and whole wheat toast and a map before they left, but they seemed happy for us, and thrilled with the strange fine friendly Canadian youth they'd met.
All I knew is that my group, the waiters, were bound to win. We were the most talented and scrappiest lot of misfits in the whole town, and goshdarnit, we were going to win that money and get right fucked up while doing it! I was determined. And so I gathered the gang together.
"What do ya say gang--for old time's sake--have we gotta show, or have we gotta show?!"
"Hell yeah!" cheered the plucky waiters, and we all set to work making props, sewing costumes from the sheets we stole from the laundry department, and practicing our act.
I was ruthless as a director, but I knew these kids had it in 'em. We might have to eat this show, sleep this show and breathe this show for the next three days and nights, but by God, if I had to bleed it out of them, I was going to take this rag-tag team of ribs salesmen and make them STARS!
To be continued...
Saturday, December 24, 2005
The kid and Christmas
He just came running in from his friend's house, breathless and jumping up and down, and then he said, ""I'm so essited because it's dark which means it's night soon and that means Santa's coming, and I think I'm not on the naughty list, I'm on the good list because I've been nice to kids at school and because I got a whole bunch of stars and also I told his helper that I wanted a Gameboy and she told him and I know he was going back to the North Pole and I think she told him in time and oh mom what kind of cookies are we going to give him and how the heck is he going to get into our house when we don't have a chimney?!"
I Pity da Fool Who Tries to Bring Me Down This Season!
You know, I've never been one of those obnoxiously cheerful people who live for the holidays, but this year I'm in a good mood. I think it was bolstered by the fact that last week, I found the perfect Christmas tree. It is gorgeous, and as soon as I figure out how to work the digital camera, I will put a picture up. My house is reasonably clean, the presents I've chosen for everyone are hilarious and perfect, and soon it will be over and I can relax. Today I avoided all holiday shopping apart from one place--took the lad to the comic book store near our house and while he chose something for himself, I wound up finding the BEST stocking stuffer for my brother....it's a Mister T keychain, and when you press a button, Mr. T's voice says things like, "Don't mess wid me, suckah," "Quit your baby jibber-jabberin," "First name Mister, middle name period, and last name T," and of course, the all time holiday favourite, "I pity da fool!"
Merry Christmas, Happy Hannukah and a great Festivus or whatever y'all celebrate, fools!
Thursday, December 15, 2005
YES!!!!!
I am finally finished this semester. Many down, one left to go. Just breezed through my last exam, and I have one more day of work left before a ten day break--I am psyched! This means I might actually write a decent blog or two soon--and I know I've been a lousy blog visitor too, but all that will change--can't wait to see what you've all been up to! Already I'm beginning to feel human again--this robot life of work, work, work is not for me my friends.
Friday, December 02, 2005
Freak Magnet
Go Freak Magnet you're burning up the quarter mile--Freak Magnet, go Freak Magnet!
You are supreme, the freaks'll cream for Freak Magnet....
In case you haven't already guessed this, I am a freak magnet of the highest order. If there is a freak anywhere within a ten mile radius, he will automatically gravitate towards me. Maybe it's something about my face...I don't think I have a kind face, but who knows? Strangers tell me their problems in line-ups. The wasted guy who is just about to get kicked out of the club? He's in love with me. Old ladies who want to talk about cats? Seem to think I want them to talk to me. The sleeping guys on my way to work? Know me by name--some of them have taken to trying to hug me as I walk by. Mimes stalk me...getting the idea?
Nowhere, however, is my freak-magnetism more powerful than it is on the bus. Ah, buses! Rolling cans of freaks! And trust me, my latest freak encounter only made me more determined to buy a Hummer and start polluting this planet as fast as I can. I would be doing humanity a favour.
Yeah, so as I mentioned last week, I went to Vancouver. I was planning to fly, but the whole city became blanketed in fog for days, and therefore I was forced to take the ferry. It wasn't so terrible on the way, but they way back? The worst.
First off, I just missed the last flight out of town, so I had to run to the bus station. I decided instead of taking a cab, I'd take the Skytrain to the station...during rush hour. Holy cow...if I'd been blindfolded, I would have been convinced I was in a Japanese subway, it was so packed. I almost missed my stop, it was so hard getting out the door, but after shoving a few old people out of the way, I was free again.
So, I run into the station and pay for a bus ticket to the ferry terminal, and I'm annoyed, because had I caught my flight, I would have been home in twenty minutes. Instead, I have to wait in a crappy bus station for an hour, then an hour's ride to the ferry, then an hour and a half to Victoria and then another hour to downtown and then to my house. Crazy. Yes, I know people LOVE taking the ferry between Vancouver and Victoria, but I am not one of those people. I live on this island, and I've seen enough killer whales for a lifetime. I just want to get out, and when I come back, I just want to be back.
Anyways, after much waiting (and after being given the hairy eyeball by several bus station freaks lurking about just looking for a freak magnet like me) the boarding announcement is finally made for my bus. I get on and make myself comfortable. Then realize I left my headphones (and my hairdryer, and my book and about twenty other little things) in my hotel (I was a bit foggy when I left, if you know what I mean) so I had nothing to do except stare into space. Which is fine. I'm good at space staring, and it was dark and the seats were comfortable, so I settled in, closed my eyes and then....
"HARUMPH!" This loud bark came from behind me. A huge force started thrusting my seat forward until my nose was almost touching the seat in front of me. Kick, kick, kick. Shove, shove, shove. This woman behind me appeared to be moving furniture back there. I cast an annoyed glance at her, but she seemed oblivious. Finally she stopped shoving and my seat went back to normal. Stillness. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes again.
Then the panting began. My God, I have never heard anyone pant like that by themself and I used to be competitive long distance runner and have a very healthy sexual appetite, so trust me, I know from panting. This was bizarre. I've never heard an elephant pant, but I imagine it would sound just like the noise coming from this woman. I tried to be patient. But this went on for ten minutes. Other passengers started looking at each other with this, "Can you believe this?" expression. Then her cell-phone rang.
"Hello?" she screamed. "Harold, is that you? Harold, I'm on a bus...Harold, I think we have a bad connection--can you hear me? CAN YOU HEAR ME, HAROLD?!"
Oh my God. I'm pretty sure half the lower-mainland could hear her, so Harold must be really hard of hearing.
"Harold, the funeral was AWFUL."
Oh no, I felt bad. This poor woman. Sure she was obnoxious and had no consciousness of space or sound, but wow...the poor thing had just been to a funeral. I felt horrible for thinking such awful thoughts about her.
"Harold, I have NEVER been to a more boring funeral in my life. Speech after speech after speech. It was terrible. I don't know who organized this thing, but they should be fired. I think every student he ever had spoke. It was just horrendous. I almost fell asleep....WHAT? Oh, she's fine. I mean, actually, she was in good spirits. I mean, sure she's sad, her husband just died, but actually she seemed really cheerful. Still, I don't know what she was thinking letting all those students talk on and on like that! Worst funeral ever!"
I stopped feeling bad for thinking terrible things about this woman.
"Harold, tell me, how's Jane's breasts? How's the MASTITIS?!" she screamed. More looks were exchanged by fellow passengers. I tried my best evil eye on her, but she was fully entrenched in thoughts of Jane's breasts. "Harold, tell me...has the baby latched on yet? To the nipple. The NIPPLE! OH MY GOD. How are they feeding that thing?! No, no, no. No, they have to get her onto a bottle. Well, if you really think that they should keep breast feeding that's fine. Tell her to make the baby root. WHAT?! I said root! Make it want the nipple! The Nipple! Are they swollen? Well, they can try warming the nipple. Ok...ok, tell her to call me."
She hung up. All passengers collectively sighed with relief. Then the phone rang. "Jane? Jane is that you?! Yes, on the bus. AWFUL funeral...so dull! Oh, he would have loved it, he was such a blowhard...how are your nipples?!"
This conversation continued in that vein for the rest of the ride to the ferry terminal. She shouted through all of the driver's announcements. I was so relieved to get out of that bus, I didn't care.
The ferry ride was uneventful...I bumped into my old friend M and she and I had a good hour and a half gossip session, then it was time to go back to the bus. I prayed that the woman would be getting picked up at the terminal, and was thrilled to see she wasn't on the bus when I reboarded and made my way back to my seat. It was late and pitch-black out now, so I closed my eyes and prepared to sleep all the way to downtown.
Then THUNK. Thump, thump, harumph, sigh, sigh, kick kick kick, wriggle wriggle wriggle, shove shove shove. She was back. Still yammering on her cell phone, despite the announcement that no cells should be used until the ferry docked. She sat behind me. I closed my eyes again, willing her to move to another seat, but to no avail. Then it was quiet. Blessedly quiet. I began to drift off.
Suddenly I heard this horrible noise...it sounded like multiple cats being swung around by their tails. It was worse than nails on a chalk board. It was coming from her.
"AAAAAAAAAAVVVVVEEEEEEE MAREEEEEEEE-AHHHHH," she shrieked at the top of her lungs. She had headphones on and presumably was listening to a mixed cd of opera "hits." Everyone was staring at her, but she didn't seem phased at all. I dug my finger nails into the arms of my chair and bit my lip. I began to look for the hidden camera. I had to be on some kind of jokester reality show--no one on earth could really be this clueless and obnoxious in an enclosed space, right? I forced myself to ignore her, but the shrieking went on and on and on. Sometimes she would stop, and I would think, "Oh thank God, she's stopped," but then she'd take one of those giant elephant breaths and start up again. It was horrific. I have never heard a sound like that come from anything human.
Finally I couldn't take it anymore. Maybe all my years of passiveness in the face of freaks had come to this. I turned around and stared directly at her until she took off the headphones.
"Yes?" she asked.
"Stop it," I said.
"I'm sorry?" she shrieked.
"Everyone on this bus can hear you singing. Please, stop it NOW."
She stopped. Everyone on the bus shot me a look of gratitude. I am pretty sure I have finally broken my freak curse. I stood up for the good of all, and the Freak shut up. It was magic.
You are supreme, the freaks'll cream for Freak Magnet....
In case you haven't already guessed this, I am a freak magnet of the highest order. If there is a freak anywhere within a ten mile radius, he will automatically gravitate towards me. Maybe it's something about my face...I don't think I have a kind face, but who knows? Strangers tell me their problems in line-ups. The wasted guy who is just about to get kicked out of the club? He's in love with me. Old ladies who want to talk about cats? Seem to think I want them to talk to me. The sleeping guys on my way to work? Know me by name--some of them have taken to trying to hug me as I walk by. Mimes stalk me...getting the idea?
Nowhere, however, is my freak-magnetism more powerful than it is on the bus. Ah, buses! Rolling cans of freaks! And trust me, my latest freak encounter only made me more determined to buy a Hummer and start polluting this planet as fast as I can. I would be doing humanity a favour.
Yeah, so as I mentioned last week, I went to Vancouver. I was planning to fly, but the whole city became blanketed in fog for days, and therefore I was forced to take the ferry. It wasn't so terrible on the way, but they way back? The worst.
First off, I just missed the last flight out of town, so I had to run to the bus station. I decided instead of taking a cab, I'd take the Skytrain to the station...during rush hour. Holy cow...if I'd been blindfolded, I would have been convinced I was in a Japanese subway, it was so packed. I almost missed my stop, it was so hard getting out the door, but after shoving a few old people out of the way, I was free again.
So, I run into the station and pay for a bus ticket to the ferry terminal, and I'm annoyed, because had I caught my flight, I would have been home in twenty minutes. Instead, I have to wait in a crappy bus station for an hour, then an hour's ride to the ferry, then an hour and a half to Victoria and then another hour to downtown and then to my house. Crazy. Yes, I know people LOVE taking the ferry between Vancouver and Victoria, but I am not one of those people. I live on this island, and I've seen enough killer whales for a lifetime. I just want to get out, and when I come back, I just want to be back.
Anyways, after much waiting (and after being given the hairy eyeball by several bus station freaks lurking about just looking for a freak magnet like me) the boarding announcement is finally made for my bus. I get on and make myself comfortable. Then realize I left my headphones (and my hairdryer, and my book and about twenty other little things) in my hotel (I was a bit foggy when I left, if you know what I mean) so I had nothing to do except stare into space. Which is fine. I'm good at space staring, and it was dark and the seats were comfortable, so I settled in, closed my eyes and then....
"HARUMPH!" This loud bark came from behind me. A huge force started thrusting my seat forward until my nose was almost touching the seat in front of me. Kick, kick, kick. Shove, shove, shove. This woman behind me appeared to be moving furniture back there. I cast an annoyed glance at her, but she seemed oblivious. Finally she stopped shoving and my seat went back to normal. Stillness. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes again.
Then the panting began. My God, I have never heard anyone pant like that by themself and I used to be competitive long distance runner and have a very healthy sexual appetite, so trust me, I know from panting. This was bizarre. I've never heard an elephant pant, but I imagine it would sound just like the noise coming from this woman. I tried to be patient. But this went on for ten minutes. Other passengers started looking at each other with this, "Can you believe this?" expression. Then her cell-phone rang.
"Hello?" she screamed. "Harold, is that you? Harold, I'm on a bus...Harold, I think we have a bad connection--can you hear me? CAN YOU HEAR ME, HAROLD?!"
Oh my God. I'm pretty sure half the lower-mainland could hear her, so Harold must be really hard of hearing.
"Harold, the funeral was AWFUL."
Oh no, I felt bad. This poor woman. Sure she was obnoxious and had no consciousness of space or sound, but wow...the poor thing had just been to a funeral. I felt horrible for thinking such awful thoughts about her.
"Harold, I have NEVER been to a more boring funeral in my life. Speech after speech after speech. It was terrible. I don't know who organized this thing, but they should be fired. I think every student he ever had spoke. It was just horrendous. I almost fell asleep....WHAT? Oh, she's fine. I mean, actually, she was in good spirits. I mean, sure she's sad, her husband just died, but actually she seemed really cheerful. Still, I don't know what she was thinking letting all those students talk on and on like that! Worst funeral ever!"
I stopped feeling bad for thinking terrible things about this woman.
"Harold, tell me, how's Jane's breasts? How's the MASTITIS?!" she screamed. More looks were exchanged by fellow passengers. I tried my best evil eye on her, but she was fully entrenched in thoughts of Jane's breasts. "Harold, tell me...has the baby latched on yet? To the nipple. The NIPPLE! OH MY GOD. How are they feeding that thing?! No, no, no. No, they have to get her onto a bottle. Well, if you really think that they should keep breast feeding that's fine. Tell her to make the baby root. WHAT?! I said root! Make it want the nipple! The Nipple! Are they swollen? Well, they can try warming the nipple. Ok...ok, tell her to call me."
She hung up. All passengers collectively sighed with relief. Then the phone rang. "Jane? Jane is that you?! Yes, on the bus. AWFUL funeral...so dull! Oh, he would have loved it, he was such a blowhard...how are your nipples?!"
This conversation continued in that vein for the rest of the ride to the ferry terminal. She shouted through all of the driver's announcements. I was so relieved to get out of that bus, I didn't care.
The ferry ride was uneventful...I bumped into my old friend M and she and I had a good hour and a half gossip session, then it was time to go back to the bus. I prayed that the woman would be getting picked up at the terminal, and was thrilled to see she wasn't on the bus when I reboarded and made my way back to my seat. It was late and pitch-black out now, so I closed my eyes and prepared to sleep all the way to downtown.
Then THUNK. Thump, thump, harumph, sigh, sigh, kick kick kick, wriggle wriggle wriggle, shove shove shove. She was back. Still yammering on her cell phone, despite the announcement that no cells should be used until the ferry docked. She sat behind me. I closed my eyes again, willing her to move to another seat, but to no avail. Then it was quiet. Blessedly quiet. I began to drift off.
Suddenly I heard this horrible noise...it sounded like multiple cats being swung around by their tails. It was worse than nails on a chalk board. It was coming from her.
"AAAAAAAAAAVVVVVEEEEEEE MAREEEEEEEE-AHHHHH," she shrieked at the top of her lungs. She had headphones on and presumably was listening to a mixed cd of opera "hits." Everyone was staring at her, but she didn't seem phased at all. I dug my finger nails into the arms of my chair and bit my lip. I began to look for the hidden camera. I had to be on some kind of jokester reality show--no one on earth could really be this clueless and obnoxious in an enclosed space, right? I forced myself to ignore her, but the shrieking went on and on and on. Sometimes she would stop, and I would think, "Oh thank God, she's stopped," but then she'd take one of those giant elephant breaths and start up again. It was horrific. I have never heard a sound like that come from anything human.
Finally I couldn't take it anymore. Maybe all my years of passiveness in the face of freaks had come to this. I turned around and stared directly at her until she took off the headphones.
"Yes?" she asked.
"Stop it," I said.
"I'm sorry?" she shrieked.
"Everyone on this bus can hear you singing. Please, stop it NOW."
She stopped. Everyone on the bus shot me a look of gratitude. I am pretty sure I have finally broken my freak curse. I stood up for the good of all, and the Freak shut up. It was magic.
Thursday, November 24, 2005
Vancouver Bound
Hey kids,
I know I've been a lousy absentee blogger lately. This full-time job, full-time school and single mom combo is killing me. The semester is almost done and miraculously, I'm still standing and managing to pass these courses. But every girl needs a break, so I'm taking one tomorrow night. My friend and I are hanging out in Van--I booked a nice suite in a 5 star hotel (I get discounts) and I got mailed a 2 for one coupon at my favourite spa in Yaletown, so we've got facials lined up on Saturday...good thing too, because we will be partying on Friday night and we'll need to detoxify!
After that, I have two more papers and a couple of exams to get through and then one more easy semester of film studies all the time, and that's it! Graduation! I never thought I'd see the day. Boy am I glad to be getting out of school. There's a girl in one of my classes who's 18. I realized the other day that she was only one the first time I went to University. A horrible, horrible realization, especially since I'm way too immature to be old enough to be this girl's mom!
I know I've been a lousy absentee blogger lately. This full-time job, full-time school and single mom combo is killing me. The semester is almost done and miraculously, I'm still standing and managing to pass these courses. But every girl needs a break, so I'm taking one tomorrow night. My friend and I are hanging out in Van--I booked a nice suite in a 5 star hotel (I get discounts) and I got mailed a 2 for one coupon at my favourite spa in Yaletown, so we've got facials lined up on Saturday...good thing too, because we will be partying on Friday night and we'll need to detoxify!
After that, I have two more papers and a couple of exams to get through and then one more easy semester of film studies all the time, and that's it! Graduation! I never thought I'd see the day. Boy am I glad to be getting out of school. There's a girl in one of my classes who's 18. I realized the other day that she was only one the first time I went to University. A horrible, horrible realization, especially since I'm way too immature to be old enough to be this girl's mom!
Saturday, November 12, 2005
My kid the Skaterpunk
Alright, I don't do the shameless cutesy parent thing very often, but humour me--how funny is this pic?
Saturday, November 05, 2005
The Break-Up
We met when I was eighteen and it was love at first sight. Since then, we've shared everything--our ups and downs, our fears, our deepest secrets, our greatest hopes. We could always count on each other, and through the years, we grew closer. Our trust could not be broken.
But lately, I feel like something has changed. There's something missing. We don't communicate anymore. I don't feel understood. And though it kills me to say this...
I think I might have to break up with my hairdresser.
I met her when my high school boyfriend dragged me to a Supercuts so he could get his hair cut for a school photo. I had been to several high-end salons that month, trying to get my hair cut super short, but all of the hairdressers I went to refused to cut it--they wanted me compromise and get a long bob, or come back in a week after I had thought about it. I'm not one to ponder a haircut. I wanted it short and I wanted it done now. So while the boyfriend was getting his hair trimmed, I walked over to the other hairdresser in the place, sat in her chair and said, "Can you cut it all off?!"
Her grin lit up the whole room. Well, actually, it was probably the flourescent lighting that lit up the room, but we had a connection. I could feel it. We had chemistry. She understood what I wanted, and she was willing to give it to me. That kind of hairdresser doesn't come along every day. It was magic. She snipped away furiously and we talked non-stop. I told her all about my boyfriend and she gushed about what a cute couple we made. Halfway through the haircut she turned my chair away from the mirror so I'd be surprised when she was done. I knew it would be ok. I trusted her. She took her time, avoiding the dreaded razor and clippers that so many lazy hairdressers are quick to reach for when cutting short hair. We laughed hysterically about boys and tv shows. Finally she was finished, and she spun me around to face myself, minus the 8 inches of hair I'd walked in with.
It was perfect. It was short like Mia Farrow's and it made my eyes look huge. My boyfriend just about fell over. And the best part? It cost me only ten bucks. Supercuts, remember?
I continued seeing her. When I dumped the high school boyfriend she said, "He was never right for you," but she liked the sound of my new boyfriend. She really GOT my hair, and she was always excited when I wanted a change. When I arrived at her salon, she would aways say, "I was so happy when I saw you on the appointment list and I have some pictures of haircuts I think would be amazing on you!" The weird part? We had always chosen the exact same pictures. It was kismet. We were perfect together.
She became quite popular and her client list grew, and over time she moved up and on to newer and better salons. Sure, it would cost me more, but a good haircut from someone like her was worth it, because I always knew I'd walk out thrilled.
But then I moved to the Yukon, and I would only get to see her every six months or so. You would think the distance would have taken a toll on our relationship, but somehow it just made our love stronger. She would plan haircuts for me that were so well-thought out that I wouldn't have to visit another stylist the whole time I was away. Whenever I grew my hair from short to long, she styled it so perfectly that I never had that in-between look.
One day I came home from the Yukon and called the salon where she worked, and the unimaginable happened. The receptionist told me she'd left. I begged the girl on the phone to tell me where she'd gone, but she would only tell me that my beloved hairdresser had fallen in love with some guy and moved to Calgary. How could she do this to me?! How could she leave me?! No note, no phone call...nothing. My heart was broken.
For three years I suffered through inferior haircuts. Ok, sure, some tried...I had some good times with a few hairdressers, but none of them got me like she did, and I always felt a little dirty after each cut, like somehow she would know. None of them had that magic we had together. I grew depressed, knowing that no one would ever really understand my hair like she did. It was devastating.
Then one grey and gloomy afternoon, I was walking past a near-deserted mini-mall in town, and as I passed a salon there, out of the corner of my eye, I thought, "My God--it's her!" Could it really be true? How could she have been in town without me knowing? It seemed too good to be true. I steeled myself for disappointment, and then I opened the door to the salon. The little bells on the door twinkled and she turned towards me and we both screamed in joy!
"They told me you'd left and fallen in love and gone to Calgary!" I cried.
"No, I've been here the whole time! My boss canned all the staff and hired a whole team of Aveda graduates and then stole our client lists! I had no way to call anyone! I will never let this happen again! I tried to find you but you aren't listed in the phone book!"
I was on top of the world. Fate had brought us back together. We nearly cried catching up--she was shocked and thrilled to learn I'd had a child and had returned to university. I was blown away to find out she'd finally left her live-in boyfriend who kept dragging his feet whenever the M word came up. Life was good. Everything was finally as it should be.
Except my hair.
I don't know what happened in those three years we were apart...maybe it's too painful for her to speak of-- maybe her old boss's actions killed something inside her--but she had become obsessed with layers, and convinced my hair looked great with them. The worst thing ever began happening...I would look fantastic in the salon and then an hour later, when I tried to style it myself, my hair would look limp and ordinary. Sure, I still love seeing her. We still talk, we still have that connection, but she really likes my hair short and she really likes these layers. In the entire time I've known her, I've never had to put limits on our relationship. I never had to say "not too short and cut it out with the layers." But now? Now I'm not so sure.
I've been avoiding her. A few months ago when I was getting my hair coloured at Aveda, I even cheated on her a little and let the stylist cut a quarter of an inch off my hair to get rid of the split ends. I'm riding a slippery slope, I know.
My hair is past my shoulders now. It needs a cut. I'm thinking something shoulder skimming and kind of blunt with slightly long bangs that I can comb to the side if I hate them. But how can I communicate this to her? Can our relationship survive this?
I'm not sure I'm ready to find out.
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