Hmmm. Maybe He's Got A Point After All.

This weekend was very upsetting and difficult for me. I was terrified to do something that I have been looking forward to because there was a chance I would run into someone I didn't want to see. I was told by someone very dear to me that I was being an asshole and that I should not allow someone else to dictate my actions to me. I was very angry that he said this to me as it made me feel as though he thought I was weak. Well, guess what? I was.

As I sulked on my couch knowing that I was missing out on something that I have been dying to go to, he shrugged his shoulders and said that he would wait while I got ready. I snapped that I wasn't going, and he asked me why. I started to tell him the whole dramatic episode and he brushed me off. Not that he didn't think that my feelings were valid, he just couldn't see the point of allowing others to tell me where I can and cannot go. Then he reminded me of his ex-girlfriend who refused to go anywhere with him for fear of running into people she didn't want to see. That got me thinking.

How many times have I stopped at the threshold of a place knowing that there might be someone inside I didn't want to see? How many times did I still go in? Not many. That made me sad at first, then a bit angry with myself for allowing this to happen for so long. That being said, I jumped in the shower and went and had a blast. Of course then I ruined the day by going to see 'Death Race' but whatever.

I guess I learned something. I stopped going to the gym because a girl I no longer speak to works out there. When I actually sat down and thought about it, it seems absolutely ridiculous to not go places on the slim chance that someone I don't care to associate with might be there. I think the most astonishing thing though is the fact that a man gave me good advice. And I took it. Weird.

My Nemesis Returns

I have always tried to get along with people. I know that might be hard to believe, but it's true. I don't like conflict, I don't like fighting, and I have a heard time with confrontations. Every time a situation arises where I have to confront someone, my breathing shortens, my throat tightens and my eyes fill with tears at the thought of the possibility of a fight. Of course, my ex would probably disagree with that, as I'm sure it seemed to him that all I wanted to do was fight. Be that as it may, the idea of fighting paralyzes me. So when I found out today that my old nemesis from 3 years ago is back in town, I froze. 

I love comics. I always have, and probably always will. My dream job at the comic book store was just that: a dream come true. I was surrounded by the things I love in an environment that encouraged me to be creative. I wrote my first comic book there and was supported by everyone I worked with, including the owner of the store. I worked well with everyone there, I thought, and we had really great times as a team. Then, I found out that one of my closest friends there actually couldn't stand me and was just pretending.

The details aren't important because over time they become skewed and a little exaggerated. Let's just say that I found out this person was saying terrible things about me. At one point, the owner confronted me over something this other person had said  and when I demanded that the three of sit down, the other person denied everything. The owner looked at him and reminded this person that he had been told this by that person, and he just shrugged and said that the owner has misunderstood. 

It was at that point that I realized things were not going to get better and it was time to move on. I quit because of things that were being said about me and because every time I tried to do something positive for the store, it was blocked by my nemesis. There was nobody to take my side and help me get my point across as my only ally in the store had already quit because of the same kind of situation. It took me almost 2 years to be able to go back into the store without having panic attacks, and that was only after I found out that my nemesis had moved to another province. I had finally reached a point where I could go in and spend money without looking over my shoulder and I find out he's back.

What do I do? I am supposed to go to a convention tomorrow and he'll be there. I know exactly what's going to happen, too. Let me illustrate: he'll see me and throw open his arms to hug me and do the usual bill and coo over how long it's been and what have I been up to, and he's heard that I got married and how's that going, and so on. And I will be forced to play nice because people know the situation and will be watching to see what I do.

This will be good times. Guaranteed.

Bad Decision # 34,164,967,937

Last night I had a brilliant idea. I thought to myself as I finished eating dinner that instead of painting the rest of the kitchen (which I really didn't want to do because I had run out of wine), I would actually sit down and finish writing one of the short stories I've had knocking around in my head. I sat down with my laptop and began to work. I was doing really well until I get my other bright idea: to make a pot of coffee.

I have been cutting back on caffeine lately because I have noticed that despite my saying otherwise, it actually does interfere with my sleep patterns. Since I already have difficulty sleeping, it seemed like a bit of a no-brainer to cut back until I am off it completely. I don't really drink pop so that isn't a problem; just coffee. So as I'm working away, I notice that C is on line and we start chatting.

Next thing I know I'm on my third cup of coffee from the second pot that just magically appeared and my left eye is twitching. I'm not saying it's her fault, I'm just saying she was there. When I finally ended the conversation four hours later and tried to go to sleep, my eyes kept jerking around and I fidgeted so badly that I finally had to get up and walk around. There is no cure for a caffeine overdose except time and water. I drank about three 500 mL bottles of water so that when I finally did get to sleep, I had to get up and go to the bathroom.

Lesson learned. No more chatting through gmail. Next time, I will use facebook.

The Battle Within

I have always known that there is something a little off about my character. Anyone that knows me knows that also, and most of the time I can balance between sort of normal and downright ridiculous. Except for last night.

I have decided to paint the kitchen blue. Not a bright robin's egg blue, but a more of a steel-gray blue. If I were a romance novelist I would call it ' a deep, dangerous blue that reminded her her of the raging sea, tinged with a shade of gray that matched the steeliness of his character'. Or something. Anyhow, the kitchen is weirdly shaped with cupboards that begin a foot above the counters and end halfway up the wall, leaving a strange strip at the top between cupboard and ceiling. A strip that is, as I found out, very difficult to paint while balancing on a ladder and clinging to the side of the cabinets. So I did what any woman in my situation would do: poured myself a glass of wine and wait it out.

After moving all my StarWars toys out of the way so that I could get to the weird strip, I realized I hadn't had dinner yet. 9pm. Hmm. What to do. Oh, look, there's a bottle of wine! Need less to say, as the night progressed I grew more relaxed about my painting technique. But not completely...

I managed to wheel the fridge out of the way to paint and that's when it hit me. I am retarded. I could not leave behind the fridge unpainted even though no one would see it. Ever. I consoled myself with the knowledge that at least I would know it is done. Like washing out the garbage can. No one ever notices, they just carry on. Just like the area behind the fidge.

Don't even ask me about behind the stove. Just marvel at my ridiculousness.

Poetry is for Suckers

I accompanied my best friend to a poetry reading this past weekend. This is not something that I would normally do as I cannot stand the pretension that goes along with poetry. I feel like it's the most selfish of all the literary arts and I stand behind my opinion. Whoever writes poetry just wants to be able to tell others that they just don't understand the multi-layering of their words. Or they are just plain rude.

I was sitting at a table with Carolina listening to the first reader who, although it was still poetry, was interesting with his choice of words. I was enjoying myself until this woman came into the venue, glanced around, and then at Carolina's wave, sat at our table. This woman had no respect for the readings which was quite evident from her inability to show up on time. After the reader had finished, she turns to Carolina and introduces herself. They quickly find out that they know each other through the dreaded facebook and begin to chat. She then turns to me and asks if I'm a writer and when I nod my assent, she replies that she finds it hard to believe.True, I was wearing a cthulhu t-shirt and jeans but even still that was just plain bitchy. So I told her I liked her hair. Sarcastically. She excused herself from the table and went to join another. Good riddance.

We sat there and chatted and I went up to the bar to get more drinks and to flirt with the bartender. Not because I wanted to pursue him, but mainly to see if I could actually flirt successfully. Apparently I am still retarded when it comes to dealing with the opposite sex. I'm not sure how or why, but at some point while I was ordering our drinks I seemed to have grown an exra head or perhaps become physically deformed because the look I got while paying for the drinks was very different from the look when I first approached the bar. He had commented on my t-shirt and my opening line was something along the lines of, 'If you like Elder Dark Gods you should come to one of our meetings. They are grossly misunderstood.'

He just stared at me, slid the drinks towards me and took my money wordlessly. He didn't even make eye contact when he passed me my change. In fact, he didn't even hand it to me. Just put it on the bar and pushed in my direction. I left him a tip and slunk back to my seat. Saved by bad poetry as the next reader started and prevented Carolina from asking me how my experiment was going.

Okay, so I guess I do know why I failed. But it made a great story, didn't it? And just for the record, Carolina got his number and when she texted him she found out he's an asshole which has put her in a 'there's no good men left' funk which she refuses to come out of. Guess I'll have to set her up on some dates that will end badly and she can bitch about. After all, that's what best friends are for, right?

Frustration: More than Just a Party Game

I am so frustrated with people. I realize that we all have to share the planet but jeezus. All I ask is that you make an effort to listen to me. That's all. Make the damn effort. Don't just pick out what you want to hear and ignore the rest because you are missing more than half of what I'm trying to say. That's when Frustration rears it's pointy head and tries to coerce Anger into joining it for high tea. Luckily, I managed to dissuade Anger from hanging around too long but she still got in a few good words.

I have a very stressful job and the last thing I want/need is the same situation in my personal life. I have various friends who only call me up when they need something and a few that don't call at all unless they are drunk and need to vent. I have my core group of people that treat me the way I ought to be, and the rest can go to hell. I do not need to fix everything in everybody's life just because I happen to be good at it. What I need is to fix my own life first and then possibly give others a hand.

I am tired of having to walk on eggshells because the people around me are sensitive. I am tired of having to explain that I am joking. I am tired of feeling guilty when I want to yell, and I am tired of being the grownup. What happened to these being my Carlsberg years? What happened to me finishing my book? It seems that as soon as I try and do something that might just possibly be good for me, people try to hold me back. Whether it's in the form of a crisis or someone just being good old fashioned upset with me for whatever reason, it just seems to me that I cannot get anything done. And that needs to change.

I realize that this world is filled to the brim with imperfection and irregularity. I also know that not everyone is like me and can't always understand me and what I need. I have tried my best to tell those around me what it is I need and no one seems to hear me. I guess the next step is to just do what I need to and shut everyone out while I do it and deal with the fallout later.

Ribs, Raises and Sore Abs

Part One

Last weekend Toronto's own gay pride weekend. There was a parade, some beer tents, dancing and stuff that I didn't go to because I was too busy stuffing my face at Ribfest. What, you might be asking yourself, would such a delicate flower as myself be doing at such a redneck event? I just told you: stuffing my face with ribs.

It was unbelievable. As the boy and I parked, I saw where the action was: the corral full of people lining up to sample the wares of the various vendors. The signs advertising the different rib sellers went up as high as four stories with quirky phrases and boastful promises that their ribs would be the best I would ever taste in my life, and everyone displayed their trophies and lauded themselves for every single little award they ever won with their ribs. There were the sexy rib girls in cowboys hats and tiny t-shirts, sweating over the grilling racks as they sang and cut meat in front of drooling men. There were the guys who rang a cowbell every time a customer ordered a full rack of ribs...and that bell never stopped ringing the whole time I was there. I just stood there and smelled the aroma of roasting meat and when I couldn't stand it anymore I selected a line and went to it. The boy and I stood in line for what seemed like forever and all we did was talk about what we were going to eat first. There was something called a vegetarian's nightmare consisting of half a chicken, half rack of ribs and a pulled pork sandwich. Fantastic. We were going to get that but then realized there were at least a dozen other rib places that we felt compelled to eat at so we should just start small.

Once we got our first round of meat, we found a place to sit. The first bite brought tears to my eyes as the meat fell off the bone and melted in my mouth. As I sat there, drunk with rib goodness, my boy went and grabbed me a beer. So there I was, rib in hand, boy at my side and I thought this just can't get any better. Then he came back with more ribs. And beer. And then more ribs. With more beer. And then a funnel cake topped with apples, cinnamon and vanilla ice cream which happens to be my kryptonite. After all this, I found a place to lie down on the grass and watched our friends play with their baby girl. Screw Pride, I thought. This weekend is all about ribs and funnelcake.

Part Two and Three (because I am lazy)

Having recouperated from that, when I went back into work yesterday after the long weekend, which for me lasted five days because my boss is awesome, I had my 3 month review and was granted a hefty raise. Which I completely and totally deserve. So now I have a new title, new responsibilities and a much better salary to go along with it. When I got home, the boy had set up our WiiFit so I could try it out. Let's just say best workout ever. Seriously. I love this thing. I love it so much I worked out for over an hour without realizing it. And that is why today my abs are sore. I am going to do it again though becasue apparently the boy has unlocked some new thing called rhythym boxing that sounds intriguing. And then maybe some ribs.