apologies to my fan

I would like to apologize to my fan. I haven't written anything in awhile, as I have been sick with a sinus infection. I mentioned that in my previous post.
I appear to be recovering.
Three of the five days that I've sat around, sleeping, sighing, obsessing, etc. were weekdays.
Weekday television.
I was raised on the weekday television menu. The siren that used to be part of the soap opera's General Hospital opening credits was comforting to hear. I still picture my mother lying on the love seat watching All My Children, One Life to Live and General Hospital. I got her hooked on All My Children back in 1981, when she scolded me for being too young to watch it.
My sister got me on to the Young and the Restless back in 1984. I also loved Another World, which tragically got cancelled in 1999. Texas was an Another World spinoff but it died back in the early 1980s.
I also have some knowledge of As the World Turns and Days of Our Lives. The only soap I never got into was Guiding Light. And I also don't watch the newer Bold and Beautiful or Passions. I do have my limits.
Soap operas are incredibly silly, ridiculous and annoying. I skipped watching All My Children this round of sickness and picked instead Cagney and Lacey reruns. I loved that show when it ran in the 1980s. Did you know that Sharon Gless was the third, that's right the third actress to play Cagney? Loretta Swit played her in the TV movie and Meg Foster was Cagney at the beginning of the series. Rumour has it that Meg was a bit too "butch" for the taste of the producers.
I always had a mother-crush on Sharon Gless, or Cagney really. Cagney was tough, an alcoholic knocked around by life, but deep down she was a teddy bear. She'd cry when you least expected it. Like when her beloved father, Charlie died. Cagney got all drunk and had to admit she was an alcoholic. Beautiful. I wanted to be Cagney's long-lost daughter. Years later, a friend of mine worked on a TV series with Sharon Gless.
"Please, please, please, get me her autograph," I begged.
Sure enough, one birthday, special-delivered to my house was an autographed photo. And accidentally included was Ms. Gless' business card with her home phone numbers.
oops.
"Yeah, don't um use that," my friend asked me.
"Ok, of course not," I said. I never did, good non-stalker that I am.
Wow, that was a tangent.
Daytime television. Cosby show re-runs are also comforting. Ditto the Golden Girls.
Dr. Phil is a lovely new edition to daytime tv. 3 p.m. here in Vancouver, channel 16. Dr. Phil started on Oprah and now has his own show. He finds really messed up people and puts them on TV. Helps them out. Oh my God I love it.
Oprah is often ok too and yet this whole Hermes thing is getting a bit out of hand.

sick like a sick person

I'm sick like a sick person. But I know my fan worries when I don't write regularly.
I appear to have a sinus infection, which would explain the weakness, nausea, exhaustion, neck pain, etc. and blather.
Apparently it's contagious like a contagious thing (apologies to those at work I exposed it to earlier this week) so the nice doctor handed me a prescription and told me to continue staying home. Good lordy lord. Does he not know I slowly (slowly?) lose my mind sitting at home? Well, I need to anyway, I feel crappy. I believe antibiotics take 48 hours to work. So at 48.1 hours, if I'm not feeling better, I'm running back to the doctor. That will be 12:35 p.m., PST. Saturday, June 18.
Blather.
I saw the movie "Same Time, Next Year" on tv this afternoon. I've seen it before but I love love love it. It's from 1978 and awesome. If you haven't seen it and are bored and sick at home, rent it.
That's all for today. My brain is not working at a good enough capacity to continue.

Rex Smith etc.

Today there was a free store at the first annual Commercial Drive fair. Very cool. No cars, street vendors, singers, dancers, happy people.
Lots of junk at the free store - but the concept of just taking and not being arrested was an odd one for a lot of people, myself included. "I just take this?" One guy asked. "Yup."
I found an old Rex Smith album, from 1979 - remember - You Take My Breath Away and Never Gonna Give You Up. Remember his movie with Denise Miller? Denise Miller is apparently 42 years old now and Rex, I think, was on a soap opera recently. Sigh. I took the album, even though I don't have a turntable. I put it on my desk. Rex, with his bizarre haircut (kind of Peter Frampton-ish) reminds me of that overwhelming feeling I had for him, watching is movie, listening to his songs.
That was a long time ago.
I'm feeling old, have been for awhile. 40 looms 9 months away. 40. 40 40 40 40 40. That makes no sense to me that age. I want to live in denial about it but can't stop thinking of it.
Work. ESL teaching, as I think I've mentioned in previous blogs. Thank God my fan base of two is busy doing other things lately so they don't have to read this. A student or two or 10 complains about your teaching style, a comment card is filled out and you are called in for a closed door meeting, what happened, etc. I am defintely the worst person to have to try and defend myself. It makes me angry, sad, defensive, deflated. Who has the self-esteem for this? Two students, filling out the cards "in secret." Thought somehow I wouldn't find out, wouldn't notice their absences. Some students love me, others . . . not so much. I'm almost 40 and still playing popularity contest. This school is pretty good, a union and an understanding boss. Other schools will get rid of you pretty quickly if all the students don't love you, if you don't get smiley faces on all of your evaluations.
40.
Unmarried, uninvolved, unchilded. My dentist, who I saw for the first time in five years (finally have coverage) has told me to get a grip.
"Forty sets you free," says she. Yeah, yeah but she owns a house and has been a successful dentist for 21 years.
Oh and it turns out I've broken a tooth from my chewing ice obsession. Eeek, expensive crown needed.
40.
This is a downer blog entry tonight. I'm generally feeling downered. I worry an anonymous commenter will tell me to bake muffins or something and get a grip.
I often hope if you sit in the blackness that it won't overtake you.
I did buy a lovely bag today - a purse type thing - made apparently, from a camel's hair blanket. Cool.
40
I wonder if I'll learn in my 40s to accept myself and not freak the hell out everytime someone fills out a comment card saying I am not so good, not so kind, not such a good grammar explainer. I wonder if I'll learn to accept being single and not see it as a flaw in my character.
I wonder if I'll be able to write in the darkness and that it will be more than something cliched.
40.

things she knows

Water, lemon and cook for an hour, she tells me. I want to know how to get rid of rice stuck on my pan. She just tells me this like it is right at the front of her brain.
She is Martha Stewart without the age and the prison sentence. She has more organized Tupperware than anyone I've ever known. One day I asked if she had lemonade and she just sort of whipped it up, from scratch. Out came the lemons and the lemon juicer thingy (Tupperware, I think). I dropped in one day around 6 p.m. I saw this great looking stir fry on the table, ready to be eaten.
"Oh, is it dinner time?" I asked.
She added more salad and sat me down.
"Eat," she said.
She also has a nose ring, often dresses unabashedly like a dyke even though she's married to a man. "You look so dyke-ee today," I've been known to say, "People are going to think we are a couple."
She just laughs and pinches my butt.
She's my only friend who is as into the boys on Queer as Folk as I am and has been known to rattle off a treatise on their hidden pains and desires. I stopped watching the show for a while last year and she was not so happy about that. This season is much better, by the way. (Mondays,10 p.m., channel 39)
She has a little two-year-old daughter that loves unrestrictedly but never pushes too many toddler stories onto me. She knows that I would love to have a child before my eggs disappear and is always - somehow - working toward that end.
"I saw a cute guy in the store today, should I give him your number?"
"Not so much," I say.
Once when I did a strange thing with a strange person she instant-messaged me every two minutes to make sure I wasn't dead.
She shares my disdain (rage? disgust?) of mainstream Christianity and yet manages to hold onto the spiritual in a way that gives me hope.
I had a birthday party for myself recently (yeah, yeah, I know) and she brought over tons of food, including asparagus spears that were oddly popular. Candles were brought over. The place was completely funkified. She made a cake.
She tries to find positive things to counter my complete and utter negativity.
"I am so lonely sometimes," I tell her, "that I want to stick needles in my eyes."
"I am so going to get you laid soon," she responds.
"Excellent," I say, cheered.
Yes, a serious blog today. I know this will make my 2 fans uncomfortable and all, but what the hell.

with apologies to Costco

Eeek! I forgot Costco in my comparison of grocery stores (my last blog). Well, Costco is more of a warehouse really.
Anyway, the other evening my friend Tracy and I headed over to Costco. She has the card, I have the car.
Costco - have you been? Absolutely anything can be bought in bulk! Macaroni and Cheese, milk, meat, strawberries, soup, cows, pigs . . . Amazing really. Being a single (bitter) gal, I don't buy much in bulk but what I do enjoy is the toilet paper. Before I moved into my own place I lived for awhile with a roommate who doled out toilet paper like it was gold. One roll at a time. Sometimes she stole a roll or two from a workplace, resulting in some harsh one-ply with the giant hole in the centre. We had a weird thing going on - she put out a roll, then I put out a roll, etc.
So now that I'm on my own again, I go wild for toilet paper. Costco has 30 rolls for less than twenty dollars. It's a form of toilet heaven.
My friend Tracy has a wee family and a homestay student so she spent $300, filled the cart to overflowing. She was cranky and desperate because she hadn't eaten and her blood sugar was dropping. Oddly, the usually ubequitous sample people were absent except for a cereal woman. Worried that she might faint, I tore open a pack of those homemade style bakery cookies. "This was completely open," I told her. We indulged in toffee-chocolate chip.
Later, she was still hungry so opened up a big bag of nacho chips.
"Want some?" she asked.
"Nope." I was busy eating a pack of strawberries.
Later, I saw her hiding that open bag with the vacuum cleaner bags. She did it all surreptiously. Shocking, really.
In other news, my friend the E.R. nurse tells me that last Friday night they were inundated with sick people who had travelled across the nation hoping to be healed by a certain religious leader visiting Vancouver. Apparently they have chronic illnesses and were very weak as they headed out to travel. Turns out they weren't healed. I guess it's not just Christianity that make what turns out to be false claims. Too bad.

Bag 'em, Danno

The title is a humorous reference to the late great show, "Hawaii Five O". Remember, Book 'em Danno? Anyway, I don't know if that is how Danno spelled his name or not. If you don't remember Hawaii Five O, you must be under 30.

Groceries. I find grocery shopping dull. Dull, dull, dull. Lots of people do, I hear. Although for some, I notice, it is a family time as they stroll through the grocery store, side-by-side, in a beautiful display of familial love and tenderness. This devotion to family is often broken by my cart jamming up against one of their backs and my shouting "move!"
But seriously, grocery shopping.
Here are the three giants in Vancouver: Safeway, Superstore and Save-on-Foods. I have been to all three hundreds of times.
Safeway is the most expensive. And yet, its aisles are friendly and inviting with enough room for lanes of traffic in both directions. Shoppers seem less likely to stand in the "huh?" pose, blocking the way of others. The Safeway cashiers bag the groceries and say "Thank you, Miss/Mr./Mrs. insert last name here. They are required to say that and more often than not mess up the pronunciation of my name, but it still fills me with the sense of being known in this cold, often cruel world that chews you up and spits you out like yesterday's meat.
Superstore. Oy Vay, says the Jewish half of me. I go to the one on Rupert Street. The others I cannot speak for. It's cheap at Superstore and you can buy lots of non-grocery items. Employees rush by on rollerskates. They don't bag your groceries though and you have to pay for the bags.
Shoppers at Superstore do the "huh" stance innumerable times and often in groups of five or six, thus completely blocking aisles. They also seem to come to a dead stop right in the middle of an aisle, oblivious to those around them. Strolling is all too common. It reminds me of when I saw the Roman Coliseum, people walking about a mile an hour in order not to miss a thing. "This is not the Roman Coliseum, you know!" I shouted at one older couple. They were Chinese and I don't think understood a word I said. They smiled so I smiled back.
Once at Superstore I turned a corner and saw a child in a cart playing with a plastic bag over his head. "Eeek!" I shouted and began to rant to his father. It became obvious to me that the poor man didn't speak English either and that my pointing and screaming was doing exactly no good. So I mimed choking and dying. The child merely stared at me through the plastic bag (his eyes were indeed bulging a bit) and the father laughed and backed the cart away slowly.
About a year and a half ago I returned from a two-month long trip to Europe. Right after I got dropped off at home, before I even checked my mail, I walked, in the rain, to drop off my 10 rolls of film at Superstore. This was a mistake because I was sick and the jetlag hit me at the exact moment I stood in line. Somehow I ended up in front of a woman who was clearly there before me.
"Well, some people just won't the hell wait, will they?" she said to the clerk, pounding her fist onto the counter.
I looked at her.
"I don't want an argument," I said.
"Who wants an argument,' she responded, well, in a shrill voice.
"I am so filled with jetlag," I told her, "That I may vomit all over you any moment."
The clerk looked stricken. The customer told me to go ahead.
Save-On-Foods. Save-On-Foods has my heart. It is cheaper than Safeway AND they bag your groceries. And they sell little lunch-sized scotch pies. I have never had a bad experience at Save-On.
The grocery store - friend or foe?

Further thoughts on sub boss

Those of you who have been following my blog faithfully (enough to fill a 2-seater sports car) will know of sub boss. But to reiterate for my new fan, subboss is the boss right below the big boss. Hence, subboss.
Now sub boss is going back to being a teacher in a week or so, so I think it is a good time to have a little dedicated blog to her. And, since she is one of my two loyal fans, she deserves a little extra attention.
Sub boss. I first met her (I won't use her name since libel laws are so sticky, sheesh) about a 13 months ago when I began my stint at this Vancouver downtown ESL school. At first, I wasn't sure what to think. She gave a few other new teachers and me an orientation that was very - um - quick. All I remember, honestly, is something like" "blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, jackets go here, blah, blah blah timesheets, blah, blah, photocopier codes, blah, blah, any questions?"
I was nervous so it all went very fast.
Because I am intimidated by authority, particularly other women in authority (hmmm, that is years of counselling needed right there), I was vaguely intimidated by her for a few months.
"I'm vaguely intimidated by sub boss," I'd mention to a few other people.
"Sub boss?" they'd laugh, "She's harmless."
Turns out sub boss is harmless and funny too. Funny ha ha and funny strange. I've never met someone as able to take other people's crap as she is. It does not touch her self-esteem. I think that I could spend ten concentrated minutes yelling in her face "You are the anti-Christ, sub boss!" and she would look at me and respond, simply, "Oh yeah."
It's an interesting and deep kind of self-confidence that she got somewhere. Maybe she bought it at Lulu Lemon.
Now sub boss isn't perfect, of course, but due to libel laws faults will not be mentioned here.
I can be weird around her. Well, okay, I can be weirder.
"I so think Sharon Stone has so done something weird to her face," I'll say.
Can you imagine saying that to your sub boss?
Soon enough sub boss is in the pool of weirdness with me.
"Yeah, she's done something." And we speak for 10 minutes about Sharon Stone. (What is with her face? She looks 25. It's creepy.)
One day she said to me, "This sandwich looks interesting, but really it's not." Then she took a bite. "No wait, it is."
I love it.
A bone to pick though.
Sub boss has set up her friend and co-worker with a man. This man is apparently hot and the co-worker would love to rip his clothes off, etc.
"um, what about me?" I ask sub boss.
I don't know if she will set me up with someone or not. Co-worker is younger than me and I think it should definitely go in chronological order.
Sub boss laughs this off while refusing to make a set-up commitment. In fact, she kind of slinked away.
Sub boss.
Lulu Lemon.
My vocabulary has expanded hugely since I began this job.
My next installment of blog (a preview if you will): gay men and my obsession with them and my confusion about butch lesbians. This could be politically incorrect and possibly libelous, so I may have to consult a lawyer first.
Also, is Michael Jackson actually a butch lesbian disguised as a black man with white skin?

biking to Brittany

How does Brittany Spears spell her first name? I know it's not Brittany but I am too lazy to find out.
So I was at the gym, Trout Lake Community Centre to be exact, and attempting to bike a bit on the stationary bicycle. It's one of those comfortable bikes with a nice seat. Still difficult though. I can do the stairmaster no problem but the bike is a whole new ball game. Blather, so now I'm cross-training - a little stairmaster, a little bike, a little scone after.
The TV is on, as usual on Much Music. At first I think it's a nice little piece of pornography, what with the young woman in her sexy underwear, g-string and such. She is rolling around with a well-muscled young man in his underwear. The music is thumpa thumping as it does, I imagine, in porn films. "Wow," I think to myself, "What a strange gym. They're showing this in the middle of the day." It's a bit like watching the Showcase channel after 10 p.m. on Friday nights, not that I ever do that of course.
I don't find the guy that hot. The girl is built though, lovely arm muscles. But why does she have a microphone attached to her head?
Oh wait wait wait wait wait.
This is a music video, filmed live it seems because there's a stadium full of an audience, cheering. It's Brittany! (Britney? Yes, I think that's it, Britney). Why have I never seen a Britney video before?
So a Britney video is basically soft porn. How excellent for Britney. I'm not a prude, I like me some soft porn, particularly gay male soft porn but that's for a different blog.
I can't make out a word she is singing. I think it's meant to be empowering though, because she sort of keeps pushing the man in his underwear aside. Sometimes she shimmies down a pole nd other times she does some interesting writhing on a bed.
That's so empowering, Britney.

well I'm unwell and a few more things

I feel under the weather today. Unwell. Run down. Near death. Whatever.
I'm not a fan of feeling unwell I must say. I'd rather have it all or nothing. You know, like have the flu straight out where you feel wretched and have a high fever. That way you don't feel compelled to get up and do something.
But when I feel just vaguely unwell then I'm still healthy enough to get bored.
Hence (hence! how hoity toity) I need to learn to be more self-entertaining. I know people who like being by themselves for hours, days at a time.
"What do you do?" I ask them, all incredulous.
"Things," they tell me, "I've got so many things to do."
"What kinds of things," I ask again, stunned that so many people have these "things" to do.
"You know. Errands, cleaning, knitting, quilting, painting."
":Oh," I say, "things."
I want things to do. Well, hey, I do have a few things. I read, I write my blog for my ever growing fanbase, now up to three people, I put my futon in the upright position during the day, I vacuum my 600-square-foot place, I read Rosie O'Donnell's blog. Things.
But soon, I run out of things.
I am thingless.
So I call up a friend.
"Hey, what are you doing," I ask.
"Oh, there's some things I have to get done."
"Still? You're still doing your things?"
I'm on the lookout for more things. If you know of any, please let me know.
I had these ripe bananas and I thought briefly of making like banana muffins or something but I haven't really ever done that and that would take effort and the purchase of the "base" products - sugar, etc. So I threw them out. I guess making the muffins could have been a thing.