LC and the City

Alas !!!

LCpod

Postcards from Italy by Beirut

Just when I thought my computer couldn't be a bigger piece of shit, it breaks down and refuses to turn on and it proves me wrong, that yes, it can be a bigger piece of shit.

Sony laptop- 1
LC - 0

...but who's keeping score anyways. I once uttered on this very site that I would never subject my readers (who have likely dwindled since my too-many-weeks-away-from-this-blog) to a lengthy absence of reading material. I've eaten my own words. For those who still tune in in hopes of finding something, to those who are aware of the hostility between myself and my previous laptop and for those who will regain their affinity for LC and the City, my apologies.

Now, I'm making it seem like so many people followed me and that my words carried a lot of weight. Perhaps there are and perhaps they do, but whatever the case may be, I'm sure as hell not tooting my own horn. I don't toot horns. Actually, that's a lie. I toot horns. Car horns. Often. Toronto hosts some of the worst drivers. If it weren't for the honking, you'd get eaten alive amongst them.

As it stands, Sony and I are no longer best friends. She (I refer to it as a she because it was white with rounded edges which just screams feminine) has been replaced with a sleek MacBook Pro. I'm late to jump on the Mac bandwagon, I realize, but better late than never. I'm still undecided on if it's male or female. Should I call it Major Mac (obviously male) or Mademoiselle Macalla (obviously female) ?

Decisions, decisions..

Friday, the first night of May long. That deserves a beer. One at Real Sports Bar perhaps? We'll see. The night is young, unlike myself.

LCxo

Growing Pains

LCpod

World Spins Madly On by The Weepies

Just  when I thought I was strong-willed and confident. Just when I thought I  was independent and able. Just when I thought I could stand alone and  go forward in life by myself, my sister tells me she's moving back  home.  And I quickly realize: I'm none of the above.

In  life, everything is about timing.  Things happen at a specific time, on  a specific day, at a specific location to a specific person, without  question.  Some of it is left up to chance; but the majority is left up  to God’s major plan.  

Four  years ago, the timing was right for Cha and I to move to Toronto.  Now,  four years later, the timing is right for her to move back.  I'm not  ready to let her go, but things don't work on my schedule.  And come to  think of it, I'll never be ready.  With clarity and direction, her life  is starting and as someone who has been there for, and with her, through  thick and thin, always having her best interests at heart, like she has  for me, I can do nothing but step back and let life take her to where  she belongs.

I  am not very accustomed to these grand farewells.  Lucky for me, most of  the people I care about have remained at arm’s length.  My first real  goodbye was to my eldest sister:

Sister Removal: Round 1

I  was in highschool.  She moved away for university and I remember not  knowing how to deal.  In many ways, I idolized her and everything that  she did, right down to the way she swallowed her water; seriously.  So  this business of having her pulled out of the family home was so foreign  to me that coping was rather difficult.  I remember sobbing at her mini going away party as I chugged back some Black Ice (worst.beer.ever).   

Sister Removal: Round 2:

Fast  forward to now and I have to go through it all over again.  This time,  it's on a whole other level.  To put it into perspective, I shared a  room with Cha for twenty three of my twenty seven years, another four  years has been as her roommate.  I’m just down the hall from her and we  still have sleepovers.  

As three little girls, we spent our days together exploring.  The  entire neighbourhood was our playground.  We’d play house, trek the  forest, make cabins, draw houses in the sand and make Fraggle Rock  clubs.  We erected lemonade stands on the side of the highway in hopes of striking rich.  We  would spend hours playing hide and go seek, fishing for leaves in water  puddles, jumping rope, playing bank teller and Nintendo.  We loved New Kids on the Block and banana penicillin.

We would count on three, utter a swear word and then pinky swear to never tell a soul.  We  thought so highly of ourselves when we made our parents bread balls  (Recipe: a slice of bread, slap a hunk of jam in the middle, roll into a  ball and microwave.  I may have to make myself one of those tonight,  for old times’ sake).  We were well behaved but don't let our cuteness  deceive you.  We had a bad streak.  Case in point: we stole raspberries  from our neighbour to make jam for our dolls.  Bad ass. But in everything that we did, no matter what, I looked to my sisters for approval, protection and guidance.

With  all its glory, there is a disadvantage of being the little sister.   Your older sisters become your security blanket.  But unlike the  inanimate object that is a blanket, you can’t take your sisters with you  wherever you go.  Unlike a blanket, they have a life, dreams,  aspirations, schedules, wants and needs, all of which you selfishly want  to tamper with so your story together won’t unilaterally change  directions. But part of growing up is letting go of those tiny  comforts.  I let go of Pee years ago.  One down, one more to go.  Now, I  have to let go of Cha.  Two down, no more to go.   

My  dad always said we’d have to part ways at some point, but we laughed at  the thought because it was so far down the road that there was no need  to worry, let alone think about it.  But now, we’ve reached a fork in  the road.  She is destined to go one way, and I the other.  

It  will hit me like a ton of bricks when I come home from work and  can't plop myself beside her on her bed as we watch Dr Oz and every  other show that plays after it until 10 oclock.  I will undoubtedly cry  myself to sleep for an indefinite, and likely lengthy, period of time.   Walking by her room with someone else in it will tear me to pieces.  My  heart will skip a beat at anything that will remind me of her; we’ve  experienced Toronto together, so that means everything.  The only thing  that keeps my anxiety somewhat at bay is knowing there is only hours  separating my sisters and I and not heaven and earth.  I thank God for  that.

In  the treehouse, in our rooms, on the swings, in our forts, during our  sleepovers, as we ate our little girl meals, you name it, the three of  us spoke adamantly of our futures, like they were lightyears away.  We  always said that when we grew up, we’d all live together in this big  mansion with our respective future husbands and children (which we  picked out of the Sears Catalogue by the way), and together, we would  live happily ever after.  It’s right about now where I wish that mansion  wasn’t just a pipedream.  Instead, it remains a naïve, innocent and hopeful childhood promise to never leave each other’s side.  

The day she officially moves  out will be the day that I say goodbye to our childhood promise and say  hello to me, myself and I.  It will be the day where I put on my big  girl shoes and learn to walk on my own.

All sappy, sucky-baby-la-la talk aside, I realize that my sisters and I will always be by each other’s side, living together, but apart.  Life: the grown up way.

LCxo

LC Cam - Life in photos

P.S.

Just a tiny reminder to check into my other blog from time to time. It's a visual blog that takes little to no time to peruse. But its purpose hopefully will last longer than your visit to it.

Tiny glimpse into tonight's post:

http://lookingdownwithconfidence.blogspot.com/2011/03/ray-of-sunshine-ma-lumiere.html

LCxo

Get Smart: Undercover with GGM

LCpod

Juliette by Hollerado
Wasteland by Augustana
Coney Island by Good Old War

This business of working 9-5, even though I love consistent hours, is tough on the social life. Here it is, St-Paddy's day, I am Irish (not full fledge but enough to wear it proudly) and Catholic and yet I cannot express my joy of being either by participating in the green beer rituals and crazy attire. While the rest of the city has been lining up outside of pubs since the early A.M, I am in a different kind of line: at my local market buying my tomorrow's fresh produce. The only green I'm sporting is the lettuce and green pepper I'm about to scale. No beer. No barley. No buzz.

However, the night was not a full waste. Like a rebel in the night, I drank alcoholic beverages with Gym Guy Matt, at the gym no less, while he worked his midnight shift. He longed for my companionship, so much so, he was on the verge of creepily finding my phone number from the database and calling me to hurry the heck up. "I was so bored I was going to creep you in the system and call you to come over now". Awww, I am wanted.....only to kill his boredom mind you. Silver lining people, there's one in most things. The way I look at it, there are people who can actually make you bored. But me, no, not me. I am a cure.

I don't show up empty handed. We have to be discreet. Inconspicuous is my game and I know how to play it well. So I shove multiple vodka crans into an empty gatorade bottle. I've never been one to make excellent drinks so that bottle could very well have been 80% vodka, 20% juice. He's a big boy (as he likes to retort, "that's what she said"), so he handled the high ratio of alcohol just fine.

We both chugged back our drinks. I don't know what that says about either of us. All done. No more booze. Not so fast, lucky for me, I have a bottle of wine in my purse. If that doesn't bring me back to my highschool days, I don't know what will. Actually, I wasn't mature enough for wine back then, so switch the bottle of wine for a mickey of anything I can get my hands on and that's a more accurate depiction. Add to that depiction a cigarette flimsily in my right hand taking fake puffs and you really have me down to a tee.

Undercover drinking brought me back to the good ol' days of no responsibility, spending my days at Ecole Secondaire Catholique Champlain and then burning the midnight oil in the back of an elementary school, grocery store chugging back crown royal, bush parties where pretty much the whole town's teenage population would come together, maybe even contemplated cow tipping; or when my gf's and I, all 9th grade post pubescent dudettes, hid and drank a beer in a friend's closet as her dog Belvedere watched on. One beer split between four. That took up a whole what, 5 minutes of our night. Nerds.

I was easily persuaded by Gym Guy Matt and friends to go out with them. My plans to have a couple undercover drinks with him and retreat to my bed by midnight were well intentioned. Technically, I had the choice to go with or stay back. But realistically, I didn't have any choice at all. The decision making was bigger than me. Going out was in my cards. I didn't have a say and so that's why when Gym Guy Matt and Verissimo demonstrated their power of persuasion, almost immediately, I acquiesced. Also what helped was Verissimo's intriguing accent and his no non sense "I have to be at work earlier than you tomorrow morning, so get your ass in my car" argument. So in his sports car we went.

No matter the mode of transportation, I'm never comfortable with heavy accelerating, breaking abruptly, sharp turning, unless I am behind the wheel. It's a control thing. So when I was thrown around in the back seat like a rag doll, I may have been a tiny bit uneasy.

I also didn't have a say in the tequila shot first thing upon arriving at The Madison. Great. I have a shit dinner, I go to the gym and put in a superb cardio session, go home, have some blueberries, then head back to the gym, drink a very potent vodka drink, some wine and all of this is followed by a dirty tequila shot ?! I can already predict my morning: rough. Added to all of this are three pints of delicious beer.

Sitting shoulder to shoulder, I press my glass up to Gym Guy Matt's. Well what do you know, I'm nearly finished mine and big tough guy to the right of me is more or less nursing it like a sucker.

HA ! He's not the sucker. I am, for taking on a 200 pound man in a now very heated drinking competition. In one corner we have LC, standing at 5'7", weighing in at 130 pounds, fiesty, cheaky and ready to rock. In the other corner, we have Gym Guy Matt, 6 feet and however many inches, weighing who knows, alot, solid as a rock (seriously, solid), excited, happy and ready to party. Next thing you know, he stares right at me, both eyes locked and chugs an entire pint. So, what do I do. I chug mine as well. Dumb. The only breed of girl who would chug a beer to impress a guy s one from northern Ontario. I blame my place of birth for my exceedingly heavy buzz and for what is about to go down here.

The evening was great. I walked away from it composed, not sloppy. Fast forward to the morning and you would have thought otherwise. I wake up frantic at 8:04am. I seldomly drink during the week so hangovers are exclusive to weekends. Hmm, are we saturday? SHIT ! I should already be in the subway on my way to work by now. Instead, I am tangled in my blankets in a pitch dark room, my mouth is a desert, my breath tastes like last night, my coat and boots are scattered around the room, and my body is not listening to my central command station that is telling it to get outta bed ASAP and get to work !!!!!

Believe it or not, I get to work on time. I packed myself a breakfast which was too healthy for what my body was craving: grease. So it did nothing in terms of helping me through this morning. I had the spins while standing, walking, sitting, bending down, carrying heavy boxes, hoarding files. I called on St-Patrick to relieve me of this hangover for it was in his honour that I drank. That was the least he could do. My request was not fulfilled.

If I'm going to get through this day without barfing, I need to get some dirty food in me. So lunch time comes around and I b-line it for a restaurant. I don't know what I want but I want it all. I am a bottomless pit the day after I drink. I still can't get myself to eat a big fat, dirty greasy burger. So once again, my inner health nut butts in and what do I do, I go to Longo's to grab a healthy lunch. They have freshly made foods in a buffet set up and you pay per weight. Another mistake of mine.

In one single container, I slabbed together: strawberry salad, zesty chicken, spicy quinoa, curry chicken, chow mein. teriyaki tofu, crisp chili tofu, crab salad, hunks of feta and a kaiser bun. It cost me a small fortune too. Freg.

What I should have gotten was a dirty shwarma or that calorie intense smoked rib poutine at South of Temperance. But nooooo, I have to exercise will power even when I'm hungover and opt against the foods that will almost immediately inject life back into me.

I devoured the first few bites but once my taste buds caught on to what I was shoving in my mouth, my devouring came to a screeching halt. There were too many flavours and the gag reflex was triggered. I mixed alcohols the night before and look where that got me. So I should have known that mixing all these different ethnic foods was not going to do me any good either.

The "I can drink you under the table" champion was not crowned between Gym Guy Matt and I. He says he showed me who's who in that respect, I say I held my own pretty well against a man twice my size. We both want the title so round two is the only way to go about this. I'm sure I'll have tons to tell about that occasion. I can see it now on a score board:

LC: 1
Gym Guy Matt: 0

Now as I eat my goat cheese, walnut, apple chicken salad and treat myself to a biscotti with my coffee (my one indulgence during my training) before I go torture my body at the gym, I leave you with this, food for thought.

Thoughts?

http://www.theglobeandmail.com/life/the-hot-button/selling-push-up-bikinis-to-girls-age-7-is-it-too-young/article1952706/

Inspiring

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PVbri3k31LY

LC Cam - Week in Photos

Drunk Irish or just a drunk ?

Creeping closer and closer to us

On the verge of barfing

Verissimo doesn't like his close proximity

My day-after-drinking lunch. Ew.
Makes me gag just looking at it

My sis and I always choose the best dress out of the three.
This time, they're all ugly.

LCxo

Legacy in the Making: One to be proud or ashamed of?

Lcpod

Window by Good Old War
Tell me by Good Old War
Ho Ho Hopefully by The Maine

On the evening of March 12, 2011, I received the highly anticipated news:

She's heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeerrreee !!!!!!

Like the labour pro that she is, my eldest sister delivered, without a hitch, her fourth child, a beautiful little baby girl to whom I am the Godmother.

To be a Godparent doesn't mean much these days. It really has lost its inherent intentions. The perception of the role is nothing short of wrong. Whether that's a result of poor practice, not enough practice, or simply not really knowing, who knows. But it means a great deal to me, even more so because I know it means a great deal to my sister and brother-in-law to have this sort of figure present in the lives of their children. When they ask someone to be a Godparent , it's a decision well thought out, one with great care.

I actually lost a friend over this exact topic. I don't know how the conversation came about but he struck down the definition of Godparent, saying that it was the person that would look after the child if the parents passed; and things of that nature. I kindly reminded him that a definition is a definition and it didn't matter what argument he presented, by definition, a Godparent is what it is. Quoting a character from my favourite criminal investigation show, CSI Miami,

"It is what it is. It ain't what it ain't. Don't make it what it ain't".

It was by no means a heated argument. Both adults, I figured a conversation could take place and no matter the topic, no matter the opinion, no matter the passion, upon completion we could both walk away from it either stronger in one's stance or more in agreement with agreeing to disagree. But apparently his temper was flared and he then deleted me from MSN and Facebook. It's rather tragic that we've lost touch. We shared a great 4-5 months together, hand in hand, emotionally and physically available to only each other. Just thinking about it now saddens me.

I already feel extremely protective over my nieces and nephew. I take my job as an auntie very seriously. I am by default hired to be their arts and crafts buddy, their play mate, their personal beanbag, another shoulder to cry on, an imagination pusher, and what I can't get enough of, a provider of overwhelming kisses and all encompassing hugs.

But on the heel of this little gal's birth, I really got to thinking. What is it about me that will make me a great auntie, but more importantly, a great Godmother, and what is it about me that will make me falter? What do I have going for me and what is working against me?

What instigated these very deep questions was the responsibility bestowed upon me via the request for my Godmotherhood. I feel a great sense of responsibility over her.

How can I proudly lead this child?
By example.
Am I exemplary?
That's debatable.

She is a blank slate. She is faultless. She is so innocent. Weighing in at 6 pounds 9 ounces, she is blindly trusting us to steer her in all the right directions, if not at least the best ones. Such purity calls for the best of the best and I cannot, and will not, deny her that.

I am not a blank slate. I am with faults. I am not innocent. Weighing in at 130 pounds, I am no longer being steered through life. I make my own choices, aware and candid.

So this is where all my self reflection comes in.

I need to know that what I say, what I do, what I stand for, are all things she (and the 3 other little munchkins I love so much) can be proud of. Most importantly, that they are things I can proudly share and exude.

It shouldn't have taken the birth of a little angel to kick me into high gear in becoming the greatest person I can be, but that is the truth of the matter. I, and many others alike, seek out motivation, a catalyst of some sort, to get the ball rolling. It's a subconscious decision but I need to look forward to something in order to give purpose to what I'm doing or about to do because without it, my actions and the efforts supporting them seem less gratifying.

I relate it to the major clean sweep of your house before a family gathering or before a guest, especially one of romantic interest, comes over. There's this cluster of hours that is wholly dedicated to cleaning up and making everything pristine, as if it always is. Wouldn't it be easier to just keep up with the upkeep and save ourselves from the misery that is last minute cleaning?

Do we put things off because, deep down, we don't want to start them, we want to avoid them or because deep down we know we will not follow through? Why do we wait for the first day of a new year to make a life resolution ? Ever notice new eating regimens always start on Monday?

All this then means we're all talk no action. I don't want to be that. I want to take action. When I talk of myself and my life, I want to use the present tense of a verb, not the future. Let me rephrase that, I will use the present tense and I will not use the future.

I can kind of understand, on a much smaller scale of course, what parents go through with the birth of a child: this complete character overhaul to ensure that your person, what you are, stand for, believe in, say, do, will rub off well on your child.

You have to have all your beliefs in check. There's no swaying. You are the child's foundation. You must be solid. In order to do that, you really need to know yourself and you really need to figure out your basis, your center, your virtues, your deeply rooted morals and then you can stand firm in all of that.

I believe that children are a blessing in more than one way. They're miraculous in the way they are created, and they are a blessing because of the changes they produce in us.

Life breaks you down. Not intentionally. But don't let it break your legacy. We are each entitled to leave a great mark, and there is no better time than the present.

Thank you baby girl (she's still nameless) for lighting a fire in me that will make me the best Godmother in town, the greatest auntie to each of you angels, and a fine person for the world.

LCxo

Knock Knock ! Who's There ????

Lcpod

Stereo Sun by Lupe Fiasco

ME!!!!!! Did you really think I would keep myself away from this blog forever ?!?!? Silly readers !!!! My schedule became busy. Work became hectic. Life happened. My computer was handed over to the trusty hands of a friend who installed the greatest of all great photography softwares and as it turns out, my piece of garbage laptop is infested with thousands of spyware and the next thing I know, weeks go by and I haven't written a single word on this blog.

I've had to apologize to a few people for my lack of blog posts on my life stories or my self proclaimed awesome psycho babble over the last few weeks. Apparently I'm funny ?! Apparently I'm witty ?! Apparently what I have to say is insightful, of some humour and of some help ?! Whether you can relate to me or you use and abuse my stories as a time filler, I'm just happy that I have some viewership so I don't feel like too big a nerd who's writing for an audience of zero. Ideally, I would like to think that there is a certain je ne sais quoi about me that draws you in, seemlessly captivates your attention and with little effort, sucks you into my world; emphasis on the word ideally.

Whatever the reason, thank you for reading. So in the wake of this blogosphere injustice, I give you this:

Dear Readers (I capitalized you guys, you like that ?!)

However many, however few, in Canada, United States, Denmark, United Kingdom, Singapore, Germany, Italy, Russia, Austria and France, please accept my most heartfelt condolences over the loss of your daily/weekly read of LC and the City. I promise to never subject you to a draught of this magnitude. I promise to feed you, at regular intervals, entertaining accounts of the trials and tribulations of a single, classy, quirky, driven woman trying to make it in the city, in every sense of the word. From my struggles to make my dreams reality to my adventures from one schmuck to the next, you'll be front and center. Through the good, the bad, the ugly, the lame, the weird, the awkward, the unacceptable, the victories, the losses, the laughs, the tears and much much more.

To end on a lighter note, I forgot just how distasteful instant coffee really is. I drank it this morning in spite of the chicken bone/ fried food taste it left on my lips. Also, I've renewed my love for Skittles. What a delightful little candy.

Now if you don't think those are two of the most random things someone can say, you have me beat at the art of randomness.

LCxo

Today's Theme: Mindless

LCpod

Light Love by Free Energy

If you're looking for some deep conversation, you've come to the wrong place. Well, for today that is. I am unbelievably tired. I did not get any sleep last night. Up, staring at the ceiling from midnight to the first round of alarm clocks, has drained the life out of me. So much so I can't think. I actually spat on myself today. I know right, who does that. I do. I lost control of my mouth while talking and also temporarily forgot how to swallow saliva. Put both those things together and what you have is a hot mess. It happens to the best of us.

While the roomies just had a deep enough conversation around the dinner table, I'm extremely limited in what I can offer. Hence why this post is senseless. For the most part it contradicts my usual writing style of authoring something of substance, but I'm so addicted to blogging now that I had to post something, even if it was lackadaisical.

It's nice to shut my brain off from time to time. I suppose that explains my inexplicable love for Jersey Shore. A-HA ! Tricked you. By explaining my inexplicable love for JS means it's inexplicable no longer because I've just explained it. Do you follow?

I barraged my sisters facebook page today with the most useless posts. I introduced it as "My lunchtime rants of awesomeness." Sharing is caring so here goes it.

Don't fret my pet, even Victoria Beckham has an oily complexion.

Me: Florida 2010

Plastic vs. Porcelain

Look into my eyeball

Check the face. Check the hands.

That sucks.

If anyone is keeping score, I am no longer crushing on him.

Imitate this look in the mirror and tell me if you look hot.

I wish she wasn't Canadian.

Cat Woman's daughter.

And for a pick me upper, which I fully needed today as a result of my insomnia, I turned to these for that extra kick in my day.

I am newly addicted to this tune. Sofine.

That's about it for now ladies and gentleman. Time to design.

A bientot,

LCxo

The Rise & Fall of Mr. 34: a tale of a lost chance

LCpod

Don't Call by The Secret Handshake
Lately by The Secret Handshake
Bad Cops Bad Charities by PlayRadioPlay

It was a warm winter evening in the city and I was blessed with great weather for my date night with Mr. 34; no elements to ruin my hair, no horrible driving conditions to make my ride to the meeting point difficult. I was rather ecstatic to not have to dress up looking like I was ready to go on an Arctic exploration. It's one of those pitfalls of living in a northern climate. It really puts a damper on looking pretty at times.

After some annoying deliberation, we decided to meet at Real Sports Cafe (Yonge & St-Clair). I say it's annoying because the place I suggested, a quaint, new enough bar & restaurant on St. Clair West was problematic for him. Firstly, it didn't have a website. Oh no, the humanity. Secondly, he allegedly read bad reviews on the place. Contradictory to the many great reviews that I read, I find it irrelevant. Good or bad reviews, it's the company that matters.

My roommates boyfriend was hanging out with me as she was getting ready. I told him all of the above and as soon as it all came out, it became clear to me. We shared a look and straight away, we both started thinking on the same wave length. It's Wednesday. It's game night. He postponed until 9:30 in order to watch the game with his buddies and chose a sports cafe so he could continue to watch sports. The cafe is not conducive to conversation so, he was killing two birds with one stone: ample opportunities to watch his favourite teams and go on a date at the same time. Clever boy.

The initial plans were to meet at Prop for 8:00pm. The plans changed to 9:30pm at this stupid Real Sports Cafe. I'm already kind of annoyed. Initially, he offered to meet somewhere closer to me because he knew that I was busy and this way, a place just a hop and a skip away, made it easier for me to step out for a bit. The change of plans already furthered me away from my place. Which fine, ok, it's only further down the street from me. I can handle that.

Mr. 34 calls. He's at the game. A-HA!!!!!!! We were so right. He's at the ACC, pounding back drinks with his clients. He claims this is all unexpected. I call his bluff. He scurries to try and come up with something. I give him the benefit of the doubt seeing that he is the one who chose Wednesday as our rendez-vous date. I kindly offer to reschedule. He insists on meeting. So the plans are still on. I pump and prep myself up for a date that I've already lost so much interest in.

9 oclock rolls around. I get a darling text from him asking me if I can meet him at Brazenhead since I'm driving. Ok, officially annoyed now.Our conversation went something like this (all from memory)

LC: No, sorry. That's downtown. Let's reschedule.

Mr. 34: We had a plan, let's stick to it? Could we meet ossington, or bloor?

LC: How about we meet at the spot you suggested after you struck down my suggestion?

Mr. 34: Ok. It's just far from me.

LC: Listen, if you're busy tonight, we'll make it another night. I had/have work to do that's why it was nice to be going somewhere close

Mr. 34: We all do.

Ok asshole. I know I'm not the only person in the entire world that has work to do outside of their 9-5 schedule, but where do you get off underestimating or downplaying the extent of the work I need to do? I am starting a business. I'm in my basement studio. You're at the ACC, watching a sports game drinking. If you're going to make it about comparing, let's compare.

He calls. I'm super pissy with him. I insist on rescheduling. He insists on still meeting up. And then, oh and then, as I start talking about how he initially didn't mind a place near by because of my work schedule, he calls me a grandma. I abruptly piped in, in a less than friendly tone, and told him that he didn't know me well enough to call me that. His tone turned less pompous and a little more sincere and he apologized.

At this point, I couldn't care less about the guy. I am completely turned off by this stranger. He all of a sudden turns charming. That wasn't what convinced me to meet him somewhere on Ossington, it was the fact that I had already finished getting ready and I didn't want this ensemble or look to go to waste. I already wasted my night (i.e. no gym, no errands, no work), that I figured I owed it to myself and the things I skipped out on to meet up with him, in spite of his awful, awful appeal.

I chose Levack Block. He replies with "It better be good. Am I allowed to say that not knowing you that well". I giggle in frustration. I shrug my shoulders and simply ask myself where this guy came from and who raised him? Seriously though, who says that. His sarcasm was so unnecessary, if it even was sarcasm. Dude, I don't know you from a hole in the ground. What you say and do in these very precious moments leading up to the date are just as important as the date itself.

I already have my first impression of him. I don't need a face to face encounter to solidify my impression. But, again, I already invested a whole evening towards this date. I'm stubborn as hell, and for the most part, I like to finish what I start. I hop in my truck and drive away.

I'm down the road when I see the time. It's almost 10:30pm. By the time I get there, sit across from this man who I do not want to meet, have a drink, drive back home, it'll be passed midnight. Common sense kicks in, I pull over, I call him, I get his voicemail and tell him I have a flat tire. Ok, so it wasn't the most original, honest thing to say, but he was so persistent all the other times that I needed something that would hopefully shut him up.

He still insisted on meeting and all of a sudden, he's down for meeting near my place only because he thinks I'm stuck on the side of the road somewhere with a flat waiting for a tow truck. Woman in distress, I'll save youuuuuuuuuuuu !!!! That's exactly what he's thinking. Thanks but no thanks. He wanted to come say hello, which I declined and out of pity told him it would be a raincheque on the hello. What I failed to mention was that the raincheque would bounce because it's good for never.

I've said before that you can't get back all the time, effort and money you put into dating. But at least I was done up for my dreams and I woke up with sweet hair.

So, as quickly as we made plans to meet for drinks, those plans came tumbling down. As Jim Carrey says on Bruce Almighty, that's the way the cookie crumbles.

Until then, cheers to a date that never took place.

LCxo

Russian Vodka Soaked Peanuts

LCpod

This Charming Man by Stars
Airplanes by B.o.B ft Hayley Williams (Janski's Raving Stars remix)
Your Ex-Lover is Dead by Stars (Final Fantasy Remix)

Take away my major hangover most of my Saturday, and I can easily say that my weekend was exceptional. Actually, in spite of feeling like garbage Saturday, my weekend was exceptional. Maybe even with a capital E. Put that in your pipe and smoke it. I'm lame.

The plans for the weekend were to leave for back home to spend it with my family, celebrate my mama’s birthday on the Saturday and then spend family day together.  It only makes sense to spend this fairly new statutory holiday with none other than my family.  

Plans changed a little.  A cousin (brother of my cousin in law) was in Toronto from New York for a wedding. So rather than leave on the Friday, we stayed back to spend the night with him. Cha picked him and his gf up from the airport, stopped in here for a drink.  We then were chauffeured to the Intercontinental so they could unpack, get dressed for the night ahead, and of course, have another drink.  It was a stiff one, but still went down really well.  

 oh duty free !

While they prettied themselves up, my cousin told me the greatest joke ever.  It may not make the harshest comedian critics laugh but it’s right up my humour alley. You must recite it aloud; otherwise you won’t get the joke:

Joke: What do you call a fish with no eyes?

Answer: fsshhhhhhhhhhh

Get it, no “ i’s “ ?  So great.

We had a booth at Pravda, a Russian vodka bar on Wellington.  The décor was so homey and welcoming.  Red carpet, luscious fabric couches for the booths.  The ambience was spectacular.  We had a great, great, great, great evening.  It was so nice to see him and such a pleasure to meet his girlfriend and some of the bridal party.  We all got along great.  The excessive alcohol surely played a part in our speedy friendships but we immediately clicked the moment we set foot in the place.

Starving even before we left my place, I monopolized the little bowl of mixed nuts on the table at the bar.  I so badly needed them to keep me going that even when vodka was poured into the bowl thinking it was a glass, I ate them anyways. Yum.  Vodka soaked peanuts.  

I sported a simple look for the night; black jeggings with a sideseam exposed zipper at the hem, an army green tank top with a leather welted chest pocket and a white asymmetrical zip up knit jacket.  Surprisingly, the only proof left on my jacket that I drank vodka crans was a tiny  smudge of juice on my left arm.  I am astonished.  You really don’t understand how much I attract dirt and stains when I wear white.  I go to great lengths to stay scotch free but it never fails.  That’s why I never wear it, but this jacket was a steal, regular 60$, on sale for $10.  How do you pass that up?  The answer: you don’t.  

As I was dancing and doing my little 1-2 step, a gentleman from our crowd ran up to me, grabbed my hand and said with such passion “your shoulder pads are sexy as hell”.  I loved the compliment and I laughed so much because who says that really.  Even just writing the story now is making me giggle.  Funny thing though, I’m so used to shoulder pads in my tops and jackets that I didn’t even notice there were shoulder pads in my new jacket until he mentioned it.  I love people that are that observant.  

I took out my trusty little Tide to go stick the morning after but who knew that those things went bad because it smelled like dirty feet.  I brought it up to the noses of my roommates and they cringed at the smell.  I still used it.  Desperate times call for desperate measures so even when my stain removal stick smells like feet, I will use it on the off chance it still works.  It worked.  

The groom was so happy, and then also extremely inebriated by the end of the night.  The groomsmen were supportive, excited and in an equally inebriated state.  Bottle after bottle, we laughed, we danced, we sang, we mingled, we hugged, we were silly.  Katy Perry’s Fireworks came on and I have never seen a group of adults jump and shout so much to a pop induced tune.  I lost a majority of my voice because of it.  I usually sing into my bottle of beer as if it were my mic but since I had a glass, the straw became my mic. We blew the crowd away with our over zealousness. Or so we think.  For those precious moments, I felt like a rockstar, like my voice could carry a note so well that maybe, just maybe I had a nice voice.  It feels so great to belt out a tune it's no wonder singers describe their time on stage as cathartic and at times indescribable And then I realized….I can’t even hear myself sing and I'm lost in the lyrics. (random thought: Isn’t it contradictory to describe something as indescribable?  Doesn’t that mean you’ve just described it?)  

I felt sort of like the caregiver of the group seeing that I wasn’t as drunk as the rest of them.  I became cocky, being this composed after everything I drank.  That was until I got into a cab.  I finally sat down for the first time all night.   And everything came flooding in.  Each vodka cran hit me, one by one, and I became just like the rest of them, sloppy.  My sister and I tried to talk but we both had such a hard time that we just laughed at each other.  The simplest thing: I wanted a number out of her phone.  All we had to do was look it up in her phone and then insert it into mine.  Simple task.  WRONG.  It was arduous.  It took us most of the entire cab ride home, roughly a 20-25 minute ride.  Did we even pay for the cab ?!?!?  Answer unknown.

We planned on leaving at 6 am Saturday morning to head home.  Maybe two drinks in at Pravda, we threw those good intentions out the window knowing damn well that with the alcohol flowing as it was, we were not waking up at the crack of dawn.  And we were spot on with that assumption.

I set my alarm clock for 9am.  Nine am came along, and I hated my life.  I was almost ready to skip out on the entire weekend and stay in bed the whole time, that’s how hung-over I was. Put it this way, you know when you see or smell alcohol the day after and it makes you want to gag a little.  Well the sight of cranberry juice, what I used for mix, made me gag.  I woke Cha up, startled her right out of her drunk slumber, and we took off.  Thankfully and miraculously, my sister’s friend and boyfriend were catching a ride with us and they did all the driving.  Like divas, we were chauffeured all the way home.  

At first Cha and I had the giggles, which we always do when we’re hung-over but then it turned sour because my hangover was no longer a laughing matter.  My headache was out of control that even the three Advils I took were no match.  Just sitting down gave me the spins, and don’t even mention the blowing snow (or the winding snow as Cha mistakenly called it).  That made me dizzy more than anything else There were snow squalls and white outs and that didn't stop me any from wearing my shades the whole time. The glare of the white snow hurt my very dehydrated brain.  I cursed my physical state but I had so much fun last night that all my pain and suffering during my 5-6 hour drive with severe spins, jaundice and a lack of sleep for a visit of less than 24 hours was so worth it.

Skip a couple of hours and we’re home.   I speed out to the local mall to pick up a couple of things for my niece. I missed her birthday and told her we would celebrate it, just her and I, this weekend.  There was a misunderstanding because she thought I was throwing her an all new birthday party.  The moment they hear birthday party, nothing else matters and all they hear is birthday….celebration…fun…and any other word that means they’re going to get gifts and eat cake.  I shot myself in the foot with this one.  It’s rather hard throwing a mini shindig for a kid when you’re probably still intoxicated from the previous night.

Sunday morning, I wake up to the call of my niece and nephew.  It’s hard to deny a little boy and girl when they quietly approach your bed, stand patiently, gently poke your face and angelically say your name asking you to wake up.  Sure it was 8 am and I was still tired from Friday, but these little kids are my life. Sunday was spent as a family (minus 18 year old brother who is into  going to Montreal so he can drink) and then I hopped into the family Ford and drove back to Toronto with my parents.

I have my parents vehicle for the week that they’re gone to Florida.  I had the luxury of driving them to the airport and seeing them off for the second time in two months as they go to a tropical place where the sun shines, sandals adorn people’s feet and a round of golf is part of your daily routine.   I stand out like a sore thumb with my ride: a big ass Ford F-150 with camo.  Spot the northerner.  Aside from it being completely a hunter’s vehicle, it does not belong in the city.  It doesn’t fit anywhere.  As we speak, it’s parked in my tiny little driveway with the tailgate taking over the sidewalk.  Parking somewhere other than my driveway proves to be trickier.  I don’t even bother anymore.  I go straight for the end of a parking lot where it’s completely open and I can turn in with ease.  No more trying to squeeze into a tiny spot to be closer.  This city is not conducive to large vehicles.  What it will help me with however is going to IKEA and getting myself a new wardrobe / organizer / bedroom furniture.  No problem there.  

Tomorrow night is date night once again.  That made everyone at work who is living vicariously through me rather happy.  On several occasions, I had to devote a couple minutes away from my work into giving the low down on him.  We have a cute family at work.  One of my colleagues always pleaded with me to give her 5 minutes with JB and she’d make damn sure he’d smarten up.  What a gal. 

This time it’s with an older gentleman.  Penciled in my schedule are drinks with Mr. 34 (his age).  I know nothing of Mr. 34 other than he is 34 and he resides in a swanky area of the city, home for him is Lake Erie and he’s going on a trip in March.  I don’t know if I should expect a more mature date because of his age, as opposed to my other dates with 26, 28-29 year olds. I hope to be greeted by someone with their story straight and with a more secure head on their shoulders, someone who, because of where they are in their life, makes sure honesty trumps everything, selfishness is not an issue and, simply put, he’s a man.