BELLY OF THE BEAST

February 16, 2011

Lcpod

Very Loud by Shout Out Louds
VCR by The xx
Douchebag by Mat Musto
 
Going to bed starving is not a great idea when you have to fast for an ultrasound.  Sure I slept off most of the ticking time to my medical appointment but that meant I went to bed with a rumbling tummy and woke up with a roaring one, and couldn't do a single thing about it.  Doctor's orders were strict: essentially, starve.  I had to skip out on the freshly brewed pot of coffee, mind my egg white omelette, whole wheat toast a-la-no-butter  and thrice sliced orange.  How many times I pressed the snooze button, I don't know. I finally pried my eyes open and took a couple minutes in bed to go through my email notifications on my phone. It's habitual to read WWD's morning report (WomensWearDaily), get my little jolt of fashion to jumps tart my day.  It's especially entertaining this week because it's NY Fashion Week and up to date reviews and photos on all the runway shows and presentations is just fabulous.  Best so far: Donna Karan and Proenza Schouler.  Crappiest so far: Rodarte.  I never quite understand their fame.

Donna Karan





Proenza Schouler




Rodarte




I walked out my door to walk down the same street, to the same street car stop, ride the same route to the same subway station.  Two subway stops in, with no entertainment, no music, no daily paper, I obviously doze off.  When suddenly, to my left, a movement of colour catches my sleepy eye.  There is a very well dressed man.I immediately zone in.  He had on a light beige wool coat with a grey scarf tucked under the standing shawl collar, with his black and white plaid dress shirt with cufflings peering out of the sleeves, a fur (real or faux is unknown) hat, freshly pressed, slightly skinny legged, dress pants, a great pair of two toned shoes that look like they were pulled right off a 50's movie set, with spectacular dark pink and navy striped socks and a leather satchel.  So well put together that I start to wonder how much his whole ensemble cost him.  My estimated price tag: approximately $1000.  And that's only one outfit.  If he's anything like me and doesn't like to wear the same outfit twice, a significant amount of his disposable income must then be allotted to looking good.  He is either well to do or another broke soul keeping up with appearances.  

I'm enamoured. I totally dig his look.  So I keep an eye on him, every so often looking over at this stylish commuter.  And then something happened, something that ruined my whole perception of him.  His clothes, his look, his great choice of colour palette, none of that matters anymore.  It's all gone to shit.  St-George station says the automated announcement in the subway.  I look over and he, with his scraggly pinky, is picking his nose, full on, whole finger in the nostril, I don't care who's watching type of digging.  I'm visibly repulsed.  There is no more appeal to this stranger. I am utterly grossed out.   But then think about it, where is that hand going after? It's going to grab onto the pole to stand sturdy in the subway, then the escalator railing, the door handle exiting the station, his money to purchase his morning tea/coffee, the elevator button etc.  He is no longer my Wednesday-morning love.

People start flocking in and through the human traffic, I can still see him going at it.  Like come on, give it a rest.  My attention span is limited this fine spring like morning so I'm over it as long as I occupy my time with something else.  He will remain a distant memory if I do as much.

So what else can I look at?  Oh, how about the big crotch in my face!!  It's one of those things that defines the TTC: awkward stare downs, crotches in your face, unwelcomed and accidental horizontal spooning with strange men.  The less than smooth subway ride makes the lady sway side to side, front to back yet she still refuses to hold onto anything to keep her standing.

So, I'm faced with a crotch, the subway jerks, crotch lady is still not holding onto anything.  She comes flying.  Her trajectory: straight for me.  Her estimated time of arrival on my entire body: a split second.  At this point, I'm in full panic mode that I will be face planted but at the last minute, I don't know how, she manages to free her hands from her many bags and grabs a hold of the bar.  There is a TTC god !!!  The last thing I want first thing in the morning is an overweight woman falling on me, chest first, when I haven't had a coffee, haven't eaten in what seems like ages, as far as my eating regimen is concerned, and when I'm half asleep and my cognitive abilities are not revved up or sharp enough to react to her fall; thus not able to prevent a forced motorboating.  It's not fair, nor fun. Just hold onto the freggin bar will you.

Cynthia out did herself tonight with a lavish dinner for an old colleague.  I picked away at the pots and pans as their backs were turned. Shh.  Don't tell.  I previously made a bib for another one Cynthia's dinner guests so she called me out from my basement studio and kindly asked me to make Lorr a bib.  I'm like a circus freak that comes out when company is around, or like Dinner with Schmucks kinda thing you know - Cynth has people over, ohhhh Lynda, come make a bib.  I'm being used and abused but arts and crafts are my thing so use and abuse all you want.



It's only when we have new visitors do we really pay attention to the decor in our house (i.e. lifesize poster of Sidney Crosby in full hockey gear and the Sidney Crosby Tim Hortons calendar poster in our kitchen).  Needless to say, one of us is a Crosby fan.  My sister will fight to her grave for this Nova Scotian. 

The calendar serves a double purpose: eye candy and period tracking.  Cha took it upon herself to start the calendar.  For all to see, marked in orange is Cha, me in purple and Cynth in green, this tracking system also allows people to know when they should cuddle with us and when they should stay away from us.  Visitors beware.


"Let me help you track your periods ladies"

Thanks Sidney !!!

Getting my new phone was kind of like a blessing in disguise.  I couldn't recover any of my old numbers so out the window went Anthony's number and Justin's as well.  Interesting mix up of feelings for those two.  I wrote Anthony the other day, via Plenty of fish account, saying it was nice meeting him, thank you for the bottle of Bailey's and wishing him luck in his search. I just don't get guys.  This whole disappearing act is rather childish and that kind of behaviour is so prevalent amongst them.  I'm hearing other people's stories and they too have been a victim of cessation of communication.  It's strange and not to mention immature.  In any event, I wrote him.  No reply as of yet and it's been a few days.  I don't anticipate one, never did, and I'm sure as hell not looking at this as a way to get back into talking with him.  I'm just extending a half fast well wish.

Right now, I don't have anything to report on the boy front and that is upsetting the masses here at work.  My colleagues gave me shit this morning as they feel I am slacking with my dating life.  I don't have any gossip or fun & flirty banter to share and that is apparently killing their habit of living vicariously through me.  Plenty of fish is getting plenty old, fast.  Aside from the rarities that caught my attention, that site sucks.  Watch, I'll meet the love of my life on there and I'll of course have to eat my own words. 

Come to think of it, there's a really cute guy at my gym.  I, with unbelievable confidence and sass, got his name and striked up a conversation with him a couple days ago, that we are now chummy with one another.  Next thing to do is check for a ring and if no ring, find out if he has a lady friend.  That is my to-do list this week.  Does Little Big Man have a girlfriend ? 

Stay tuned.

LCxo

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