|We meet again.|
|Why yes, that IS a Harry Potter reference.|
The first two weeks of summer were spent walking a picket line, which, if you have never had the pleasure of experiencing first hand, is demoralizing, frustrating, and depressing in ways usually reserved for online dating or the assembly of Ikea furniture. Upon further reflection I have realized that these seemingly disparate activities all have one thing in common: getting screwed; either literally, emotionally, figuratively, and/or financially.
As the strike wore on with no resolution in sight, my despondency increased. The smug, dismissive, and self-righteous attitude of my employer was eerily reminiscent of other sanctimonious clowns I have dealt with...and as we all know, arguing logic with clowns is a tiresome and frustrating business that usually results in pulling ones hair and yelling "I feel like I'm taking CRAZY pills!", Mugatu style.
By the time summer proper arrived, I had descended into a general malaise and was, to be honest, somewhat disconsolate. I found some comfort in drinking tea and reading the eighth installment of the Outlander series,"Written in My Own Heart's Blood", which mercifully numbered more than 800 pages and kept me distracted for a number of hours at a time. Thank you, Diana Gabaldon.
While at my parents house I rediscovered my love of gin, backyard swinging, and eating other people's cheese. I also discovered the magic of leggings as backyard leisure wear thanks to my sister Amy, who brought no less than a dozen pairs with her from Texas. We combined our familial love of gin with Amy's leggings in order to create our Family Portraits for 2014:
|Adam's "Dead Cat" may be my favourite drunk yoga pose of all time.|
RegressionI erroneously presumed that as I aged I would become more intrinsically motivated to find a manfriend, that the pressures of my waning fertility would force me to quick dicking around (pun not intended, but awesome all the same) and start actively seek a solution to the "Dying Alone and Being Eaten by My Cat" problem. It's not that I don't think about this problem quite frequently - I do. But you know what else I think about frequently? How I should really go to the gym. Sometimes I save on brain processing power and think about both these conundrums at the same time, usually when I am naked, or when I am eating a dinner-sized serving of cheese. So far I have yet to act on either problem whole-heartedly, my gym attendance and attempts at dating could be described as intermittently sporadic. That's right, intermittently sporadic. Pathetic.
So, at a time when I should be ramping up the manhunt, I am sad to tell you that I am totally regressing. This summer I unconsciously resigned myself to developing school-girl crushes on completely unattainable/unavailable/unsuitable men. In short, I found joy in the safety of staring longingly from afar.
Dreamboat Real EstateWhen Ashley Husband-Finder asked me to join her in the viewing of some real estate, I heartily accepted the invitation. It is a little known fact that I really love some real estate; it is a well known fact, however, that I can't actually afford any...ergo, I was pretty excited to be invited along. I gave little thought to the realtor before he and Ashley arrived at my house to pick me up, probably because realtors have a reputation for being sleazy, phony, perpetuators of the "no" feeling, akin to car salesmen or Ryan Seacrest. I didn't even notice him at first, likely because I was busy trying to transverse my way into his large SUV wearing a pencil skirt, which, when you are not even 5'5, is an immense challenge. Needless to say, my grand entrance involved the ignominious squelch of leather and some heavy breathing on my part. Once I righted myself, I was finally able to fully drink in all that was (and is) the Dreamboat Realtor. I think I said my name, or maybe Ashley said it, I have NO idea because I was otherwise cognitively engaged...staring disbelievingly. Leave it to Ashley Husband-Finder to have the ONE realtor who is a total friggen dreamboat. How does she DO IT? It's not like she trolled the internet for a handsome realtor, either, he was just gifted to her via a recommendation from a friend. A guy friend. Anyway, the man is a delight. Good looking, strapping, dapper, and funny. So funny, you guys. He and I like to joke about getting bunk beds and sharing Ashley's second bedroom...and by that I mean he jokes and I would like nothing more than to do just that. I would even let him have the race car bed. SIGH.
Politically Incorrect Longing - The FNFOkay, bear with me. Over the summer I was working six days a week at a facility which belongs to (and is run by) one of our local groups of first nations people. I use the term "working" loosely, because what I was really doing was gazing longingly at the maintenance guy, better known to my friends as my "First Nations Fantasy" (FNF).
In this life we all go through the motions of greeting people, and I am just as guilty as the next person of the robotic and distracted "morning". What made The FNF so delightful was that when he said "good morning" or "hello" his whole face lit up and his eyes kinda, well, twinkled...I know, sounds ridiculous right? I have fully regressed to myself at 15 years old, which was the last time that just walking by someone would make my day (yes Kristen and Nicola, I am talking about Neal, and I am still sorry you had to suffer through that in Social Studies 9). Anyway, the beauty of The FNF being the maintenance guy was that he would just pop up randomly around the building. I would open a door and there he'd be (in all his twinkly eyed glory). Once he caught me unaware on my way to the elevator and, as I craned my neck to get an extra dose of that award-winning smile, I unceremoniously walked my shoulder straight into the wall. When the elevator door closed I gave myself the "get your shit together" talk. This in no way helped me become less of a ninny.
Finally, during my last week of work, I finally got the sweaty, vigorous alone time with FNF that I had been dreaming about all summer...when he showed me how to remove adhesive residue from the windows using WD-40. LE SIGH.
The FNF fully has his children's names tattooed on his forearms, and I am 80% sure he has a lady friend. I hope she delights in that smile EVERY DAY. I know I did.
Crush Theme Song: Redbone - Come Get Your Love , because in for a politically incorrect penny, right?
The Nigerian Prince
The Nigerian Prince is living proof that liking the idea of someone is not the same as actually liking someone. The NP came into my life through a good friend. We had met a couple times while out socially and then we were both invited to stay at my friend's cabin together. The few times we had met I had found him interesting and intelligent, and looked forward to getting to know him a bit better. Sometimes, however, getting to know someone better means that they will attempt to sleep with you, and then when you decline they will confess that they weren't interested in you anyway...and that they are still sending their ex-girlfriend flowers.
Fucking hell. It's a minefield out there.
Fucking hell. It's a minefield out there.
Crush Theme Song: Jean Knight - Mr Big Stuff , because "who do you think you are?"
If you have not yet partaken in the absolute delight that is Outlander, then you need to reassess your priorities. Jamie Fraser is perhaps the crush to end all crushes, and watching him being brought to life on TV has resulted in giddiness and a feeling which I can only describe as "makes me feel like melting off the couch". By some miracle Kim was visiting Canada when the first episode became available on the Starz website, so we got to watch it together. I attribute Kim moving to Scotland (in part) to the Outlander series, which we read in tandem when we lived together back in 2007, so watching the first show with her was the best part of my summer. I love you, Kimmy. You and Jamie Fraser.
|Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, he's everything we dreamed he'd be.|
The Unicorn. Again.It was that time of year when my beloved friend Megan visits from China, and, because my life is a series of minor humiliations strung together with chagrin, I once again got to sit across a table from the Unicorn. Same place, same people; it was like Unicorn Groundhog Day, except secretly mortifying. I went knowing he'd be there, for a few reasons:
1. Megan is important to me, she is my capital "F" Friend.
2. "If he wishes to avoid seeing me
3. Taking excessive care to avoid men who are not interested me seems like a slippery slope that ends in agoraphobia.
4. Perhaps seeing him would allow me to strip away the Unicorn mystique, and we could all just call him by his real name.
The Unicorn seemed a little disconcerted to see me which I attribute to the continuity dissonance he experienced when he was forced to acknowledge that I do, in fact, still exist. That, and the fact that one of the last things I said to him was "total eclipse of the pants". Like I said, mortifying. He composed himself fairly quickly once he realized that my chosen strategy was "play it cool, bitch", and I would even go so far as to say that he was very pleasant. After dinner the Unicorn went off to some meeting and as I said farewell to him I congratulated myself heartily on keeping my act together. Perhaps, I told myself, I had humanized the Unicorn somewhat.
Off we all went to a different place for more drinks, which we are still drinking sometime later when (lo and behold) the Unicorn returns. FRAAAAAAK. I remind myself of my "play it cool, bitch" mantra. I continue to play it cool and remain largely unaffected by his presence until it happens...I am forced to make eye contact with the Unicorn. Previously we had all been outside on a patio wearing sunglasses, thus I had been safeguarded from the following:
The Unicorn shares a Harry Potter meme, smiles, and makes direct eye contact with me. Then, to quote Jessica Darling,
“a lightning bolt shot straight through my skivvies.
Sweet, merciful Allah. He is my Kryptonite, that's all there is to it. He will forever render me incoherent and lustful. So much for demystifying the Unicorn.
At the end of the night he says that we should all go for Waffles, and then proceeds to look me in the face and say (with a knowing smile, no less) "I know you want a waffle with some chocolate,cheese and bacon". I was momentarily speechless.
The Unicorn drove me home. I didn't invite him inside, nor did he offer to escort me. As I got out of the car I told him it was nice to see him, because it was...even if he is my Kryptonite. I walked straight inside without turning around, and after locking the door I proceeded to sit down on the floor and take a moment...because there are times that playing it cool is really lonely, and sometimes, going back to not existing to someone is humbling in a way that momentarily incapacitates you ...most notably when that someone fills your undergarments with lightning.
Crush Theme Song - The first 30 seconds of R. Kelly's Bump N' Grind, because my mind is telling me no...but my body...my body's telling me YES.
Crush Theme Song (according to my body) - The first 10 seconds of Blue Swede' Hooked on a Feeling because Sha ZAM!
A big shout out to my former Spinster's Apprentice, Amber, who recently got engaged. In spite of her insistence that she would be a Spinster for life, I always knew that someone would snap her (and her Kate Middleton collection) up, because she is an absolute treasure. Congratulations, pal! We can safely say that no one who attends your wedding will describe it as a "blatant display of narcissism", which is just one of the many reasons you are a delightful human being. Amber's ring "Vera" has joined the collection of "Other People's Diamond Rings I have Named" along with "Lord Cavelti" (Vanessa), "Stuart Shineman"(Katie), "Sapphire White Tiger" (Danika), and "Holy Shit" (Rebecca).
Random Internet Shaming
When my sister, Amy, visited from Texas I told her that her bronzer brush was the nastiest thing I had ever seen. I also told her that I was taking a picture and that I would later shame her on this blog. Never say I'm not a woman of my word. Never.
|Why, AMY? WHY IS THIS LIKE THIS??|