effing prom

My good friend LoCh sent me an e-mail months ago, about an energetic and (presumably) lovely group of ladies who were collecting girly prom-related items to give to young girls who couldn't afford prom dresses of their own. All together now: 'Awwwww.' Being the e-mail-active gal I am, I promptly forwarded the message to several co-workers I thought might be interested in donating.

Fast-forward a month later. Two co-workers have actually taken the time to go through their closets and come up with some odds and ends for these prom girls. One problem - they can't make any of the 'drop-off' spots because they live too far away. The very last drop-off option is at Queen/Shaw, and as that particular intersection is sort of on my way home, I agreed to take their donation and take all the credit, I mean drop it off for them. ShCo accordingly brings over to my desk a small LaSenza bag. You know the one. White, big old 'La Senza' on the side. IN the bag is the following:

3 pairs unused nylons (nude)
4 rhinestone hair clips
1 pearly necklace (no, not that kind of pearl necklace, perv)
1 dolce & gabbana bra, elegant, silver, retail $250CDN, never worn (made previous owner's boobs "too pointy")
various make-up items and other sundries

So, the bag sits on the filing cabinet in my 'area' for a couple of days. It sits there so unassumingly and quietly, that I completely forget about its existence and miss the drop-off. That's right, because of me, three girls will not have nylons to wear to their prom.

Despite missing the drop-off (Tuesday) the bag remained on my cabinet, in my 'area'. One day, I said to myself, I'll have to give that stuff back.

Today, someone (JuGo) noticed the bag and asked 'What's that?' I pulled my chair over and told her. (Picture it - my cubicle faces the door to the 'small board room'. The door is currently closed because all of the program directors are involved in a meeting behind it. My chair is facing this door, and JuGo's is to the left, with her back to the door. The cabinet is to my left.) I said, "Oh, it's random jewellery and nylons and crap for those prom girls, but I missed the drop-off. Hey, did I show you this?" I proceed to pull out the fancy, designer bra. "Can you believe someone spent $250 on a bra?" "What size is it?" asks JuGo. "I don't know," I say, "about this big." and I put one fist in each cup and hold resulting fist-bra out to JuGo.

At that very moment, the door to the small board room WHIPS open and my boss rushes out. Not my direct report, everyday boss, but THE boss. The man in charge of the entire operation. And there I am, right in front of him, with a $250 bra on my hands.

I'm still blushing.

I'm so fired.

sore feet

Do you ever have a moment when you just have to sit back and appreciate the completely insane, Monty Python sketch-esque DISASTER that is your life?

Put yourself in our heroine's shoes - running late for an evening engagement. No particular reason she is late. The bulk of the day has been spent sleeping, reading trashy novels and eating treats from a nearby Polish deli. For some unknown reason, she was completely unable to rouse herself from her slothful, be-crumbed state to get ready. Until, holy FUCK she has to leave in half an hour. Then the fun begins. Leap into shower. Leg shaving can be saved for another day. Leap out of shower. Madly apply lotion, scramble into clean underwear and begin to blow-dry hair. Once hair is dry, rush into closet and search high and low for favourite (missing) black tank top. Find tank top five frustrating minutes later in sock drawer. (?) Blame mice for moving it. Effers. Plug iron in. Turn to pick up extremely wrinkled pants, turn (quickly) back to ironing board and knock iron flying. Spend five minutes scraping melted carpet off the iron and soaking water from floor, while cursing liberally. Throw yourself into (wrinkle-free) clothing, rush back into bathroom. Remember belatedly that one of the things you didn't get around to doing today was buying deodorant. Search through scary under-sink cupboard in desperation - there's a random mini sample deodorant in there somewhere. Swear you saw it a few months ago. Hastily apply makeup and brush teeth. Rush back into room to throw together over-night bag (because of course, you're going from this evening's engagement to a walk-a-thon the next morning, and the cursed TTC doesn't run early enough to get you there on time, so you have to sleep on a fellow walker's couch). Remember your sweatpants. Forget socks. Remember night-gown. Forget toothbrush. Shove clothes, sneakers, make-up case and pledge sheet into plastic bag. Go put coat on, grab birthday present, house keys, metropass and cellphone. On the way out of the door, grab the plastic bag with overnight-stay accoutrements. Stare in horror at the broken pieces of plastic handles that remain in your hand as the contents of said bag tumble into the hallway of your building. Curse. Kick the bits and pieces back into your apartment, throw gift/keys/cellphone/metropass onto couch, scramble in hall closet for large black duffel bag (seldom seen outside of airport, for aesthetic reasons) and shove contents of original overnight-stay bag (including broken, useless, handle-less plastic bag) into duffel bag. Pick up gift/keys/cellphone/metropass, duffel bag, and exit back door of apartment into sun-porch. Try to open screen door to the outside. Stare in horror at listless, flapping door handle. Try again. Curse. Shove screen door really hard. Curse. Throw down duffel bag/gift/keys/cellphone/metropass and stab hand through the screen itself to try to pull on the handle from the outside. Curse some more. Pick up bag/gift/keys/cellphone/metropass and unlock door back into apartment. Walk out front door and around the block, giving the useless screen door the finger as you walk past.

It's not so bad looking like you're running away from home late at night with a duffel bag full of your favourite things - but only if you don't forget the pbj and oreos.

as restless as a willow in a wind storm

always
it's
Spring)and everyone's
in love and flowers pick themselves

Just a little e.e.cummings to start off the post. Love him.

Despite the recent un-springlike mini cold-snap my mind has latched on to the still-weak beams of sunlight and followed them through to memories of springs past. I swear that from my windowless office, I can smell trees waiting to be climbed and bugs waiting to be chased and games of freeze tag waiting to be initiated.

Heh. Freeze tag. That's right up there with 'Mother May I' and 'Red Rover' and 'What time is it, Mr. Wolf?'. Do kids still play these games? God, I hope so. I have a very vivid memory of one of my aunts teaching us how to play 'Mother May I' in my grandparents' front yard. Twenty years later I'm still skeptical about the 'Mother May I Make Aunty's Bed' question.

Better yet were the games we made up ourselves. Oh admit it, you made games up too. And chances are good they had stupid names and even stupider rules. My brother and I had a favourite when we were between the ages of about 4 and 9. It was called 'Janet'. We would get dolled up in our favourite dress-up clothes, gender be damned, and parade about the house calling each other Janet.

"Hi Janet!"
"Hi Janet!"
"I like your hat, Janet!"
"Thanks, Janet! Want to go ask mom for a snack while I set up the autobots, Janet?"
"Okay, Janet!"

.....and that was pretty much it. No one is sure what posessed us to initiate this particular game, never mind why we loved it so much. One theory (and I can't lie to you, it's my favourite) is that it has something to do with my brother's love for Janet from 'Three's Company'. ha hahaa

Another favourite game was 'Dark Dark Tarantula'. And yes, the name made it much, MUCH scarier. Of course, when you're 8, scary = fun. If we weren't spinning around in bathroom stalls, chanting 'Bloody Mary' or telling stories about a man with a hook for a hand scratching through the rag top of a convertible to attack the blissfully unaware passengers, chances are good we were playing Dark Dark Tarantula. I've actually noticed this game (essentially tag, in the basement, with the lights out) in the childhood stories of several friends, but always with a different name. The best 'other' name for it I've come across so far is 'Shit Monster'. Thanks to JeCo and her siblings for that one. Classic.

Anyway, perhaps the stresses of the past week just have me yearning for simpler times. If you have any stories of childhood exuberance, please do share.

The more embarassing, the better.

Gonna be a Lovely Day

Is the whole world as excited about this movie as I am?? Roller Jam skate-off! Underdogs fighting the good fight! Sequined costumes! Bill Withers on the soundtrack! As if summer wasn't hard enough to wait for as it is.

La La La La Lump....In My Oatmeal

I highly recommend adding random Sesame Street tunes to whatever playlist you have going on. I boogied home to a little unexpected Electric Mayhem this evening (sometimes shuffle is a good thing). How did the Street manage to score such hipsters to make their music? 'Can you picture that', 'Pinball Number Count', the entire Sesame Street Fever album, 'Green'.

This guy has the right idea - he's posted his 25 Favourite Sesame Street Memories. My brother and and played that 'I one the sandbox! I two the sandbox!' game AD NAUSEUM. (That is, when we weren't playing Janet. Which is a whole 'nother post.)

I'm thinking about prefacing all conversations with 'It is I, Captain Vegetable' for the next few days. 'As a former beauty queen' is wearing thin around the office...

Groping Stuart MacLean

I hate daylight savings. You'd think that by my age it would cease to sneak up on me - like that crazy man who smells like urine on the 504 streetcar - but no, every stinkin' year I am amazed by its arrival. This year was no exception.

I had a date to meet my friend SaRo from Ottawa for brunch at Future's, at 11am. My alarm went off at 10, giving me what I thought to be ample time to shower, check my e-mail, iron my socks, etc. Oh fine, I didn't acutally get out of bed until three snooze buttons later, but still - ample time! Turn on the computer...only to face a moment of sheer, gut-dropping panic as I realize my desktop StrongBad clock (who never lies) says it's 11:30. Rub the eyes, look over at the alarm clock, look back at the computer. Don't think 'oh, it's daylight savings', think 'oh, I must have changed the time on my clock when I set my alarm last night' and start getting dressed as fast as you can. I didn't clue in to what had really happened until I heard (alright, eavesdropped on) pope-mourning church ladies on the subway.

Anyway, I arrive at Future's, desperately late, desperately looking around the extremely crowded place to see if I could spot SaRo. No luck. I scored a table near the door and sat down to await her phone call/arrival (important detail for the anal-retentive: I had no number for where she was staying). After half an hour of waiting, I give up and go order breakfast. Two bites into my breakfast, another friend, JeHa, randomly walks in. We exclaim. Hug. She sits down to watch me eat and tell me a story.

She had come to Future's directly from Book City. At Book City she was attempting to buy a birthday present for LaTr, another mutual friend. While approaching the cash register to purchase said birthday present, she noticed that standing by the till was none other than Stuart MacLean. Deciding not to be a spaz and run up to say: "remembermeImetyoutwoyearsagoatRyersonIreallylikeyourstuffyou'retotallygreat"
She waited until he had departed the store. After he left, she went up to the till, said to the checkout person, "Hey. That was Stuart MacLean, wasn't it". They had a bonding moment, geekery-style and then JeHa's phone rings. She answers it, and it's LaTr - who absolutely CANNOT know that JeHa is in a bookstore, or the birthday surprise will be hooped. LaTr says, 'Hey, where are ya?' JeHa stalls wildly and says, "Errrr...uh...yeah, guess what? I totally just saw Stuart MacLean!" And as she speaks she notices that the man himself had re-entered the store and was standing right beside her. Now for someone trying to simultaneously pay for a book, distract LaTr on the phone and convince Stuart MacLean that you're not a psycho, the next move is obvious. You say to LaTr on the phone, loudly, "Yeah, he's standing right beside me. I'm touching his arm." and grab Stuart MacLean. Then before he can press charges, you grab your receipt and book and run away.

Fuck my friends are cool.

Kicker - I was obviously so engrossed in listening to JeHa's tale that I completely missed the fact that SaRo was sitting at another table in Future's waiting for me. We never did meet up, and now she's back in Ottawa. Moral of the story - daylight savings creates chaos, but from out of chaos will rise other friends. Ones with funny stories.

sleet

Things I don't want to do today:

- make chitchat about Toronto and a cappella with a stranger from the Czech Republic
- walk past the crowds praying at the 'Pope vigil' on Roncesvalles
- deal with complicated 'perfectly nice' boy who wants more than my friendship
- figure out exactly what the heck I'm going to do with this blog