I’ll try being nicer if you try being smarter!

Archive for June, 2008

Please remember the name of this whole damned blog.

Say it with me now, “No, really…….it’s just my face.”

I was forced, yet again, to use those words in my defense yesterday. I got into a bit of a ‘tiff’ with a superior at work. Somehow it came up that his superior (that would be my superior squared), joked with him about getting a mirror to put beside my desk.

Puzzled by this, I asked why. I mean, they can’t know that I’m that vain, can they? I try to keep that to myself and my friends and the internet at large. His answer was that the superior superior thinks that I need to watch myself while on the phone or dealing with clients, so that I can remember to smile.

I.

Lost.

My.

Mind.

E-NOUGH already!!!! It’s not as though I go around frowning, or spitting at people, or look like an inbred troll. For fuck’s sake, what IS it with people? For the life of me, I do not understand why people think they have any right or any place to tell me how to contort my facial features. I assure you, there are people far more unpleasant to look at than myself. So why am I the one getting all the comments on it?

I asked the superior if he was serious. He was, it had in fact been said by superior squared. I hit my desk. Hard. Twice in a row (looking back, there might have been a slightly more professional and corporately acceptable way to handle my feelings of rage, but at the time, I wasn’t able to see them). I started ranting like a crazy person about how this always happens, and every day of my life, people are all over me about this and even homeless people tell me to cheer up. Homeless people! They don’t have a fucking home! And they think I’M the miserable one?!?!

Mr. Superior looked slightly scared by my completely disproportional and over the top ‘response’ and then tried telling me that superior superior had only send it ‘in jest’. I accused him of lying to me, as I have never once seen the superior superior ‘jest’ about anything. No, no, that individual is not a jester. Then I started asking why it mattered so damned much, and why people expected me to grin seductively at my damned computer monitor all day anyways.

Mr. Superior took a pause. He then started laughing at me. At which point my exact response was, “Whatever. I’m working now. Go away”. He continued laughing. I glared. He then informed me that he has a very hormonal wife at home (she just had a baby) and that he walks the tightrope there and doesn’t need to be walking it at work.

That went over well.

I went on a ‘OH no! Don’t do that! Don’t you turn me into your nagging wife! Didn’t I tell you I had work to do? I was just sitting here minding my own business. I don’t know why everyone always says this to me!!’

From the far corner of the office, at this point we hear Emerald go, ‘(Superior’s Name), you have NO idea what sort of complex she has about this.’

Me: “Of COURSE I have a complex! People have been saying this to me my whole life! You’re right I have a complex!”

Mr. Superior laughed again. I turned back to my computer and ignored him til he left. As he was going, he asked if I was alright. I informed him that no, I was not alright, that I was pissed, and that there will be no mirror installed at my desk while I inhabit it.

Which may not be for much longer, if I keep freaking the hell out at work.

I think that’ll be my next tattoo. Right on my forehead. It will say, “If you tell me to smile, to cheer up, or comment that it can’t be that bad, or tell me not to look so happy about life, I will kick you. THEN who’s gonna be smiling?”

If you’ll excuse me, I have to go practice my Miss America fake smile in the mirror now. Or I may just go practice my kicking skills. Probably the latter.

You know who else didn’t smile and you never hear people telling HER to cheer up? In fact, they applaud and are intrigued by her face that reveals little of her inner thoughts…….

https://i0.wp.com/www.ruggedelegantliving.com/a/images/Mona.Lisa.smile.by.da.Vinci.jpg

Yeah. Everyone leaves her alone.

Just call me Mona.

Leave the lights on for me

One thing I will not miss about this apartment? The constant blackouts.

Every couple of weeks, I’ll be sitting around, doing tons of unimportant things (usually killing time on the interweb) and then I’m plunged into darkness. Now, granted, this is annoying at the best of times. It can be really awful though if you’re absolutely terrified of the dark.

Let’s get one thing straight folks. I. Hate. The. Dark.

I have always hated the dark. I have so many memories of being scared in the dark. I cannot handle dark spaces being behind my back. I need to be able to see everything around me, and if I get stuck with my back to open space, I panic. I melt down. It’s a sense of unease unlike anything else.

Living here leaves me open to that all the time. It has magical timing; it only goes out when the boyfriend isn’t here. If he was here, it’d be okay, cuz he could beat up the ghosts, goblins and trolls that obviously hide in my closets. So the power goes out and I’m stuck here on my own. My tactic is to sit very still, with my back against the couch (which is against a wall) and to open my eyes as wide as they’ll go in the vain hope that I’ll be able to suck enough light from the room around me to let me see. It doesn’t work.

You would think I would have flashlights in an rooms. I don’t own a single one. what’s the point? I can’t see them to get to them, and whenever you do get to them, the batteries will obviously be dead. Then I’ll be scared and annoyed.

In sharp contrast to this, the blackout that knocked out the entire eastern seaboard of the States, plus a nice chunk of Canada back in 2003? 2004?5? Whenever, you know the one I’m talking about. THAT was a blast! The power crapped out in the afternoon, so it was a gradual thing where we lost light, not sudden darkness. Everyone was just out, having a few drinks, having a good time and enjoying human conversation and socialness. We had to eat all the ice cream to stop it from melting (obvs). No emails to check, no calls to take, no alarm clocks to set, no annoying background noise of people clicking away at their damned CrackBerries, and you could see the stars. Every single person I know who went through that LOVED it. I think it should be enacted once a year. Shut ‘er down, boys! We all need a fucking break! Only in the summer, of course.

Shockingly, no, I don’t sleep with a night light. I have to sleep in total darkness. No light. But my bed is shoved against a wall, and be damned if I’m gonna sleep facing the wall. Oh no, I will sleep with my back to the wall, you can bet your last dollar on that.

Here’s to hoping that my new place doesn’t have the same recurring blackouts. It’s a much older building and my imagination will go running to who knows where if I have to sit there in the dark, listening to the creaks and shifts. This blog might turn into the ramblings of an even crazier Talea at that point.

The lazy hazy crazy days of summer…….are they still around?

It’s June 22nd. Almost July. Summer is in full swing, there’s no denying it.

However, with all the flowers, the short shorts, the sweat, the trees in bloom and the smog warnings, I’m just not feeling it. I’ve had this problem for the last few years. It seems that summer to me is embedded in childhood memories and activities that for obvious reasons, I can never go back to and repeat.

What I wouldn’t give to be in elementary school again, spending 8 hours of each day in my cousin’s backyard pool. I wouldn’t leave. They could only lure me out with dinner and pop, and even after that, I was back in. My hair was green and felt like straw and I cared not. Nothing was ever more fun than those times, where I dove after neon coloured sticks that I’d thrown to the bottom of the deep end.
This should be an easy memory to re-live, something I could do again to bring back my ideal definition of a good summer day. But it isn’t. I’m not about to get into a bathing suit in public, I’m not about to share my pool with screaming kids and their sunscreen-applying mothers, I’d be devastated if my hair turned green and straw-ish again and it just seems like such a hassle to get changed out of a wet bathing suit nowadays. Yuck.

I loved camping as a kid. Though a lot of it was usually rained out, we’d always go with my aunt and uncle and their kids, and occassionally the other aunt, uncle and cousins were there too. We always got the same spot at Buffalo Pound Lake, right across from the outhouses (Prime location, no?) and across from this big hill. We’d always climb the hill and it felt like freaking Mount Everest, but now looking back on it, it was really quite tame. One time we found gravestones up there and I thought that they had been murdered, since they were so secluded and the murderer must not have wanted anyone to find them. It didn’t really cross my mind that murderers wouldn’t nicely bury and commemorate someone’s life with a granite headstone. Pfft. Whatever.
I loved going out on the boat, fishing with my uncle and dad and cousins. Mind you, I wasn’t fishing. No, no, that wasn’t for me. I was out there reading, uninterrupted. Everyone else was under a strict enforcement of silence, so as not to scare the fish away, which was the perfect place for me to read of the latest Babysitter’s Club adventures.
I loved zooming around my bike, and though this ocassionally turned into a disaster (hey Courtney, you reading this?) it was always so much fun. Riding to the one lonely general store was the highlight of any camping day, since there would usually be ice cream involved. If it rained, that was cool too. We’d drink boatloads of pop and play hours of card games, no problem.
But now, the idea of camping repulses me. EW. No running water, no internet, no couch, mosquitoes, sunburns, setting up and taking down the tents, no take out meals? Um, no thank you. I am far too engrained in my city bitch lifestyle to go and tramp around in the woods, getting myself all dirty.

I would read like a woman possessed during the summers. I lived a block and a half from the library and was there ALL THE TIME, after one of my first babysitters decided it was simply unnatural for my brother and I not to have a library card. She promptly marched us over there and signed us up. And my love affair for the written word began. Nowadays, reading seems unproductive, even to a lazy bastard like me. There’s a kitchen to be cleaned, groceries to be bought, laundry that never ends, a dog to take out……..reading?? Far down on the list.

Even though I clearly stand no chance of ever living what I define as a ‘perfect summer’ again, I always get the same giddy anticipation when I feel summer hovering in the air, just around the corner. It still presents its promises the same way, though it just doesn’t deliver anymore. I’m more concerned with mapping my activities according to whether or not they have air conditioning, than I am with tracking down the perfect ice cream cone.

I miss summer. It’ll never be back. There’s a park near me with a wading pool and I’m always drawn to it, since we spent many days in the local one back home. Though the water was freezing cold and I’d inevitably fall pretty damned hard onto the concrete, it was oodles of fun. Sometimes I want to stop and watch the kids play when I walk past. Then I remember I’d probably get arrested.

Where did my lazy hazy crazy days go? Have you guys figured out how to get them back?

Get your own apartment, bitch!

I found the apartment I’m moving to in August, put the money down for it and cannot wait to move in. It’s perfect. I walked in and was in LOVE with the place.

It’s in a 3 storey, 1930’s/40’s old brick, walk-up building. It has high ceilings, arched doorways, a big stand alone tub, and SPACE to breathe. It’s not like the modern apartment buildings where they give you that standard parquet flooring and a tiny rectangle to call home. It has space to live, built before land became so ridiculously expensive.

I walked out and told the woman that I W A N T E D it and that she should stop showing it immediately, as it was now mine as far as I was concerned. She laughed nervously and asked me if I wanted an application. Uh, hells yes please. I wanted to know who else had seen it, along with their names and addresses so I could go find them and threaten them against bringing money in on it. Well, not really, but I begged her to hold it for me until the next day when I could get to a bank for a money order. She refused to and I was being quite pushy and I think I scared her a bit. She was all of 4’10” and I’m about 6 feet when I wear my heels, which I was.

Whatever. I raced around the next day, getting applications and references and a big fat money order, then raced back there after work the next day.

She didn’t even look at my references. As soon as she saw the money order, I was filling out the lease.

It’s MINE.

I have moved SO much in the last 8 years that I have never felt at home since I left my parents place at the age of 17. Only when I go back there do I truly feel like I’m at home. I’ve always felt as if I live in ‘the apartment’ instead of ‘my apartment’. I really have high hopes that this place will be a home to me. It’s cozy, it has character, it has a kitchen that’s off to one corner so that I can hide the mess!! It’s not in the heart of Toronto’s Entertainment District, so I might not wake up each night to the mating calls of drunk teenagers! Imagine!

I’m excited folks, there will be pictures!!

************************************************

In other news, I have just purchased the most fabulous purse ever to be created. It shall be henceforth known as Super Fabulous Purse. I was walking past a store that I know I have a weakness for, completely determined not to go in. They were having a sale AND they had a girl outside snagging people off the sidewalk, to go in and see the sale. She was all, ‘Hey! We’re having a sale! Everything’s marked down, come on in!’

I swore at her and walked in.

I noticed a holy glow surrounding the Super Fabulous Purse as soon as I set foot in the store, and I immediately ran across the floor to embrace my beloved. It’s so pretty and red, fake leather with woven bits of red and white on one side. Plus, it’s HUGE. I can fit my knitting, books, daily lunch of canned soup, purse, camera, keys and assorted junk inside and zip it up without begging the zipper not to pop open.

I fondled it for far too long, tempted by the 20% off. I muttered sweet nothings to it, smelled it’s delicious delicious fake leather smell. I freaked out the salesgirls a little bit. I decided against it, cuz I had after all, just put down first and last month’s rent on the perfect apartment. I meandered around the rest of the store, stealing furtive glances at Super Fabulous Purse.

I fought with myself like a dieter being offered a free piece of cheesecake. My will was not strong enough. I broke down and bought it, telling myself that I at least should buy it now, while it’s 20% off.

I walked out and perky girl who lured me in to the store goes, ‘Oh! What’d you get?’ I showed her and she (as any good retail person will) told me that I’d picked out the best bag in the store (duh).

I shook my fist at her, telling her I couldn’t really afford the purse. Then I signed up to be on their email list, cuz I’m weak like that.

Then I went out and showed off the Super Fabulous Purse to Lovely Friend and drank FAR too much wine. I didn’t even order wine! She was appalled (rightfully so, i dont’ know what I was thinking trying to stay sober….what is this? The times of prohibition??), and promptly ordered up our first half litre of the house red.

So far, I haven’t had any compliments on Super Fabulous Purse. BUT, it’s Pride Weekend here in Toronto and I fully expect to be gushed over by the oodles of gay men in my city this weekend. I will enjoy each and every compliment.

🙂

So in conclusion, I am broke now. But I look fucking GOOD with my new bag and you’re all gonna be jealous of my fantastical new apartment. You just wait and see!

My Sunday afternoon….with video!!!

We went to High Park this afternoon. We go there fairly often, Zoey likes to swim.

It was a nice, sunny day when we left and when we got there. Then it got cloudy. Then it started to rain pretty good. I told the boyfriend (whose name is about to be revealed in the video…woooo!) that I thought we should go home.

He insisted it would stop raining and we should stay, cuz Zoey was having so much fun.

The following is what actually happened:

The boyfriend and I, and 30,000 litres of rain pouring onto us. Please note Zoey in the background, happily swimming, oblivious to the rain and our misery. It was raining so hard I couldn’t see, I had to squint.

Then:

Good times. Goooood times.

Random Thoughts

* I have a strange habit of typing air when I am bored. When I’m somewhere that I’m bored and someone’s talking or I’m listening to something, I will try and keep up with them while typing their words verbatim. I will type air, or type against my leg and continue to do so forever. I remember the first time I did this was as a way to distract myself during my Great-Grandfather’s funeral in grade 9. It stuck.

*I’m starting to think I’m a cleavage addict. Nearly every shirt I own is of a ‘mature’ neckline. Not a plunging V or anything, but enough. It’s probably because I adore my boobs. Seriously, I do (a 3D friend brought up recently how shocked she was that I hadn’t talked about my boobs on here, since I’m always bringing them and their perfection up in real life convos). I realized this today when I put on a dress and was sure that it was too low cut for work (corporate gig…you know). My solution? Put a cardigan over top! Problem? The cardigan had the same neckline. Fail.

*Emerald is gone. She is in North Carolina, meeting Josh (also of the blog world). This throws me for a loop larger than I thought I could be thrown for. She has been gone for just over 24 hours. I have like, 12 more days to get through.

*Summer is here and this means the season of dresses is upon us. This is the first year in many that I’m willing to wear one around. It’s just been too hot for me to exist in jeans. The reason I have shunned skirts and dresses for so long? Because I am white. VERY white. I’m pale to the point that I give off a bluish glow. People love to comment on this. It usually goes like this: “Wow!! You’re SO white!!! You should seriously do something about that! Oh my god!!”
To which I will reply: “Do you ever walk up to black people and go, ‘Holy shit dude! You’re SO black! Can’t you lighten up a bit?’ Of course you don’t! It’s rude and ridiculous…..why can you say that to me?”
They then give me a strange look and a nervous laugh. They’re not sure what to do with that statement. But it’s totally true.

*I went to the boyfriend’s PhD. convocation today. It was all pomp and circumstance and fancy schmancy to-do-ery. You know who doesn’t belong in these sorts of events? Babies and toddlers. Did you really think it was a good idea to bring your child to this while they were under the age of 5? They can’t sit through that! Hell, I can hardly stand the boredom. Have the courtesy to leave the kid at home or just to not come.

*I spoke last night with my friend who I’ve mentioned only once on here (in my lazy bastard post), who I consider my guardian angel. She is such an amazing presence in my life, and after spilling my guts to her for an hour, I finally fell asleep easily and slept through the whole night for the first time in probably 3 months. I have not been able to sleep since some time in April, and having her to talk to fixed that. Finally.

*Whoever discovered that dogs love squeaky toys should be forced to live with Zoey for a week. Zoey, my puppy, LOVES squeaky things. The creator of the squeaker in dog toys will most certainly retract his patent and demand all squeakers be burned after living with her. The squeaking noises haunt me. *Shudder*

*A bird shat on me once when I was about 11 or 12. We were camping and splot. It rained poo on my forearm. It was in front of my crush at the time. It was awful.

* We have had some wicked thunderstorms lately. I used to be terrified of thunder, but now I love it. I have a great view of the CN Tower and I can just watch it get hit over and over by lightening. Love it.

*I’ve never broken a bone. I have had whiplash. In grade 3 or 4. I had to wear the whiplash collar during Christmas, which was the worst thing ever. Most people get whiplash after being in a car accident. I didn’t. Are you ready to learn how I got it? It’s an awesome reason…….I got it whilst snarkily imitating valley girls. Even at age 8 or 9, I hated fake bitches. I was showing off my great imitation to my friends and I got to the piece de triomphe….the hair toss.
I got REALLY into it and whipped my hair back behind my shoulder, complete with the neck snap. And that was that. Whiplash. The stupidity of children combined with their enthusiasm leads to horrible accidents people! I was obviously too embarrassed to reveal that to my parents and teacher, so I told them that somebody hit me in the neck while running through the hall and reaching ahead of me to get their friend. They dragged me from classroom to classroom, in my new fancy whiplash collar, to tell my tale of woe and to warn the other kids about the dangers of running in school.
To this day, my mom still believes that I got whiplash by being hit in the neck by a random boy, running amok through hallways.

Those are all of my random thoughts for now. I couldn’t think of enough of one topic for a whole post, so you got a whole bunch of mini-posts today. You lucky bastards you.

Melllllllting

Friends, colleagues and esteemed bloggers:

This may be my last post ever. It’s been a great run and I luv you all. However, due to circumstances beyond my control, I fear I will become a liquified version of myself sometime today. I hear it is quite difficult to blog whilst reduced to a puddle.

I. Am. Melting.

Holy hell, it is HOT here. Frying eggs on sidewalks kind of hot.

I like heat. I’m all over summer. Winter and I do not get along. Heat, I can handle. Humidity is a whole ‘nother ballgame. I’m a prairie girl. My people are prairie people, they’ve been in Saskatchewan before Saskatchewan was even a province. There’s no humidity in Saskatchewan. Just dry heat, which you can combat by stripping another layer off.

But now I live a mere kilometre or two from Lake Ontario, which is a gigantic body of water. Humidity is king in these parts. Sweating is futile, for the air is just as wet as you are. You can’t breathe, it’s like being in a sauna. You are sticky, constantly. There’s no escape, humidity doesn’t let up.

https://i0.wp.com/farm2.static.flickr.com/1210/526448338_01a21979dc.jpg

And of course, my air conditioning is broken in my building. want to punch my landlords in the face for allowing this to happen. Fanfuckingtastic. Kill me now. I’m so hot I feel drunk. Which is fun and all if you actually ARE drunk, but when you’re not drunk and the world won’t stop shifting back and forth, it’s really just disorienting and angering.

It’s the first really hot weekend in Toronto. The streets are packed, since Toronto comes alive in the summer with festivals and productions, patios and showcases. The people flock to the downtown core, which is my home sweet home.

Not only have I been melting slowly this weekend, but I’ve been visually assaulted by these assmonkeys invading my neighbourhood. Let’s review some rules for hot days, shall we?

1) Thighs are bad. Nobody likes to see them, unless you’re participating in a sexual liason. I have seen so many panty shorts this weekend, I’m surprised my eyes haven’t starting bleeding. Ladies wearing panty shorts or short dresses: I know you think you’re sexy. Your mom tells you you’re pretty. These are all lies. If you have cellulite, I should be allowed to pinch it, or flick it, or maybe throw lit cigarette butts at it. Cover that shit up!

2) Deodorant is our friend. Stock up. You never know when the stick will break, when you’ll drop it in the toilet or your dog might eat it. Have backups, for the love of all things holy, have backups. You will sweat in this weather and there’s nothing you can do about it. Sweat smells horribly, slap that aluminum-filled product on your pits or once again, I will toss lit cigarette butts at you.

3) Babies have a rough time of controlling their body temperature. Keep them inside. I know, you’re trying to expose your 8 month old to culture and other shit it’ll never remember as it sleeps contentedly in its SUV stroller, but trust me, one non-educational day spent in the comfort of your air conditioned home won’t destroy his chances of getting into Yale. Frying his little brain will. Get your child home! Don’t have A/C? Go to a library, they have it.

4) Bikini tops are for beaches. That way, I can avoid seeing your flab since it will be isolated to a particular area that I don’t have to go to if I don’t want to. I have the common sense and respect for others to cover my flab up, I’m only asking for the same in return.

5) Short tempers are aplenty in the heat. Use some common sense. Stuff that might get you a nasty glare on normal days will get you a cigarette butt flick when it’s 40 fucking degrees out. I’m hot and I’m pissy. Move!

Whatever, I can’t think of any more rules. I’m too hot. I’m going to go and get some pomegranate flavoured wine cooler stuff from my fridge, and sit on my balcony, trying to get drunk enough to not notice the fact that I’m covered in a thin layer of perspiration. I will also be praying for breezes.

Ugh. And yes, if you say to yourself, ‘Talea, weren’t you just bitching about winter though? Shouldn’t you shut your trap and be glad for summer?’ You would think so, wouldn’t you? Being Canadian though, it’s my duty to gripe about the weather no matter what. Wait until autumn rolls into town!

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