Monday, January 26, 2004

Friday night was TC's baby shower at KC's. JH was there, and I was able to guilt Ru into going too. She brought JD, who is taller than me. :P

It's nice to see everyone, but you really don't get to spend one-on-one time with anyone. Just bite-sized moments really.

Saturday, I finished reading Cocktails for Three. It's about a trio of thirtysomethings, career women... It was fluffy, but fun. Now I'm reading another "chick lit" book called Up and Out, by Ariella Papa. She's my age, maybe two or three years older, and she's wearing glasses very similar to mine in the picture at the back of her book. I took that as a sign to give her book a chance. :) The jury's still out on that one. The next book on my list is Gatecrashers, by Madeleine Wickham. I think it's about a mother-daughter team of gold diggers who go to funerals to hit on rich widowers. Should be amusing.

I haven't read Mrs. Dalloway or The Hours. I tried reading To The Lighthouse, which is another Virginia Woolf book, a few years ago. A very dear friend of mine was doing his Ph.D. in English lit at Mac, and I took his book recommendations very seriously. I guess, at the time, I found Woolf's books just exhausting to read. I was 20, and hadn't been exposed to anything like "stream of consciousness," or whatever they call it. Maybe I'll give Lighthouse another try. :)

Sunday, we saw Big Fish! I LOVED it. Even The Boy said he was fighting back tears at the end. Beautiful story.

Also Sunday, I bought myself a new perfume. Don't you just love perfume? I could leave my house looking like an absolute bag of dump, but I would still need to spritz my neck, wrists, and behind my ears.

I went to Sears, boyfriend in tow (his opinion is valid, I suppose), intending to buy my first ever bottle of Chanel No. 5. I thought that every woman needed to own one bottle of Chanel No. 5 in her life. It smelled a lot different than I'd remembered. And The Boy hated it. He said it smelled like his mother, which I know is not true, because his mom wears things like Chantilly. Anyway, we went to a few different counters, smelling as we went, until we were accosted by a tall, thin, perfectly made-up blonde, asking if I wanted to try Escada's new fashion fragrance, "Island Kiss." Hmph. Not really, but okay. I hated it. Fruity, springy, it almost hurt my nose. Of course, The Boy loved it and spent the next few minutes with the little tester card pressed against his nose.

It was either Island Kiss or Cabaret. The stuff that smells like patchouli. Anyway, I gave in and got Island Kiss. And now I love it. Grudgingly. I also, however, got two sample bottles of Cabaret. I think I'll get that for myself for my birthday. :)

Almost better than the perfume itself is the bottle, and Cabaret had the best bottle by far. I know you understand. :)

I'm sorry to have blabbed at such length over something as trivial as perfume. It felt good though.

Thursday, January 22, 2004

Last night was nice. AC was feeling somewhat charitable and gave me a ride home. He's actually almost tolerable, when he's not being a pain in the ass.

I read some of Cocktails for Three, checked my email on the laptop (371 new messages. Damn you, SPAM!! And damn you, so-called SPAM filter!), and watched Train 48. Then, The Boy got home and made us subs for dinner. They were SOOOOo good. We buy the sub packs of meat, with 10 slices of each of three meats (salami, ham, turkey, etc.). He used to put all the meat on two subs. Meaning that each of us got 15 pieces of meat in one sitting. Finally, I put a stop to it, making him give me only half of my serving (still WAY too much), and put the other half on another sub for the next day's lunch. That's been working famously. I get lunch made for me, and he feels like he's not wasting.

We watched the usual dinner shows: 70s at 7:00, and Friends at 7:30. Then, we watched The Apprentice at 8:00 (thank God the Donald finally got rid of Sam!). Don't worry, we taped American Idol on the time shift, at 11:00.

About The Apprentice, I was glad Sam was gone. Did you see the way he was glaring at Donald after he'd been fired? WOW! I would have swatted that face if it had been looking at me! He looked all psychotic! And about Omarosa. I don't think she's as bad as they say. Well, I do, but I don't want to. She has accomplished a lot, but the whole racist thing was absolutely uncalled for. (One of the other girls said something about the teapot calling the kettle black, and Omarosa took it all personally, saying that it was a racist comment.) I think she could be successful but, right now, she seems like she's all talk. And not good talk.

Then we watched Celebrity Mole Yucatan. I think Tracey Gold is the Mole. I could have sworn that, at the beginning of the show, I saw the words "Missy's sister" flash on the screen. I'm probably hallucinating, but I could have SWORN!

Don't worry, I'm well aware that our nights consist of nothing but television; however, I just noticed that I've never really talked about work. I don't plan on starting now.

Wednesday, January 21, 2004

Dad called last night to apologize for Saturday night. I told him that he had no reason to apologize, but I was glad he called anyway. He sounded a million times better.

I finally got an email from CP! I'd emailed her a few times, with no response. Finally, I left a message on her answering machine (must remind her to get with the 2000s and get voicemail), and still got no response. I guess she was just busy or something. Thankfully, she and RA are still doing great. He seems like a nice guy, and I hope he treats her well. She said they're thinking of coming to Ontario in the summer, to do Wonderland, Marineland, etc. That would rock. She's never visited before, and she's never met Maceo or Little Guy. :)

I finished Diary of a Mad Mom-To-Be this morning. I really like Laura Wolf. Now I'm going to go back to Cocktails for Three. It's just more serious than the stuff she wrote as Sophie Kinsella. I knew it would be, but I guess I expected the writing styles to be similar. She is the same person, after all. You would think, like a singing voice, that her writing "voice" would have shone through. Hm. Guess not.

Monday, January 19, 2004

I spoke too soon. What an eventful weekend.

Friday night, we went for games night. It was actually really fun. There was no fighting (!), and everyone seemed to have a really good time.

Saturday, The Boy took me to the mall on his way to work. I had an appointment for an eye exam, so I decided I would look around for a bit while I was there. Turns out that my previous eye doctor had "over-corrected" my vision, so my glasses are stronger than necessary. My eyes are forced to focus harder than they're supposed to. Hm.

After the exam, I went across the hall to Lenscrafters to take a look around, coupons in tow. I didn't find anything really, except a really smarmy sales guy who kept saying, "Wow!" every time I tried on a pair of ugly bright blue frames. Ick.

Then, Saturday night, we went to The Boy's parents' for dinner, as usual. On the way, The Boy indicated that he had no desire to go to Chapters afterward, which pissed me off to no end. I'm not even kidding. I was absolutely fuming. I guess, to me, it signified just an other instance of my tagging along with whatever he wanted to do. Chapters was something to which I had been genuinely looking forward, and he said he didn't want to go, because we would barely have time as it was, to get home in time for "the shows" at 8:00.

So this sort of set the tone for the rest of the evening. I was fine during dinner. Then, I went downstairs to help JS do some research, and she took off on me and went back upstairs to hang out with everyone, leaving me alone in the basement. The Boy came down to look at some video game reviews on the other computer, and I thought it strange that he couldn't just do that at home. I let him know that I was bored, but he continued to browse the web site, viewing a dozen game trailers and taking the time to chat with his brothers after every one.

My mood was souring even more.

I have to say that I realize how petty I'm being. I'm well aware. I just had been looking forward to him (and Chapters) all day, and now he couldn't take his eyes of the damned computer screen.

Then we had the daunting task of taxiing everyone around: A&H to Rogers, JS to a friend's house, pick up MS, back to Rogers to pick up A&H...

By the time we were on our way home, it had gotten even more difficult to disguise my foul mood. I was trying. Sort of.

Finally, The Boy got tired of my unresponsiveness (I was responding. With grunts.), and got angry himself. We drove the rest of the way home in silence, and I felt bad for ruining what could have been a nice night of snacking and movie watching.

We got home and parked in our usual spot, in the back of the parking lot. I opened the back door of the car to take out the bags, and his video game fell out and onto the snow-covered ground. He snarled, "That better not have been my game." I said, "Oh, stop being such a fucking baby. It was an accident, and your game is fine." Our dialogue was now dripping with venom, and I knew that we were in for a rough night.

I practically ran to our building, which is no small feat for me, considering my paralyzing fear of walking on snow, and got there before he did. I opened the door, but I was carrying bags in both hands, and couldn't hold the door open. He came up behind me, and just stood there, watching me struggle with the bags and the door. I said, "Could you get the door please???" He pushed me aside and said, "Get out of my fucking way," and ran upstairs to our apartment, letting the door swing back and hip-check me.

I stood there, absolutely appalled. This is NOT cool.

I made my way upstairs, again no small feat considering the load I was carrying, and found him stuffing clothing and toiletries in his backpack. He said, "I'm fucking out of here. If I had my way, you and your fucking cats would be gone by the morning."

And he left.

I argued with myself for the next few minutes about what to do. I wanted to leave. I really did. I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I knew that it was anger making him say these things and, while it wasn't acceptable behaviour, I didn't want to storm out like he had, closing the door on the past three years.

So I called his cell phone, and let it ring until his voicemail picked up. I hung up and called again. I repeated this for a few minutes, and then gave up. I actually started considering the logistics of packing up the kitties and leaving. While the thought of a new apartment REALLY appealed to me, a new apartment without him did not. Even though, at that moment, I wanted to bash him over the head with a cast iron frying pan like they do in cartoons.

I debated with myself for a few more minutes, and he called. He said, "What the fuck did you want?"

Me: "Um... to talk?"

Him: "I don't fucking want to talk to you!"

Me: "Why did you call me then?"


Him: "I'm just going to Windsor for the night. I'll see you Monday."

Remember who lives in Windsor? Yes, that's right. His ex. Sure, his best friend lives there too, but that doesn't matter. We both knew what he was doing. He was threatening me. Trying to make me beg him to come home. Fuck that.

Me: "Do NOT do that."

Him: "Why the fuck not?"

Me: "Do NOT do that."

He basically then hung up on me, and I was so furious that thought I was going to pee my pants.

A few minutes later, I heard him walking down the hall, then heard his key in the door. He was all jovial, saying he was really looking forward to a nice weekend, and who knows what would happen once he was surrounded by all those memories, blah blah blah.

I was on the bed, pretending to read Cocktails for Three by Madeleine Wickham, a.k.a. Sophie Kinsella of Shopaholic fame. I was very smug, wishing him a safe trip, etc. At one point, I actually got up and tapped him on the shoulder and said, "Please don't do this." It was my best, "Let's work this out, but I'm not apologizing" moment. He shrugged me off, and I can't remember what he said afterward.

He came home a while later, and spent the night playing video games. I went to bed to read, but ended up falling asleep. Yes, when I'm upset I sleep. Not in a narcoleptic-fall-asleep-on-the-spot kind of way, but in an asleep-the-moment-my-head-hits-the-pillow kind of way. He slept on the couch.

I woke up around 1:00 a.m. to the phone ringing. You know, when the phone rings at that hour, two things come to mind: 1. Someone's died. 2. Who?

In my half-asleep haze, I ran to pick up the living room phone instead of just grabbing the one beside the bed. I was surprised and scared to hear my dad's voice on the other end.

In a nutshell, I couldn't tell if he was drunk or not, but he just needed to talk. For an hour. At one in the morning. I was the perfect daughter though, listening, trying to cheer him up, etc.

He went through every emotion imaginable. I had to make him promise me, twice, that he wouldn't do anything to hurt himself. He kept saying really cryptic things about leaving something behind for CJ and me, and how he just couldn't take the pain anymore. I went with tough love for a while, how selfish it would be to hurt himself, how we could never forgive him for leaving us, how he needs to stick around for grandchildren. That actually cheered him up, and he asked if we were naming our first son GC.

I don't know how to cheer up my dad. Until my parents split up, the only emotions I'd really seen him show were anger and slight approval. You know, like the bashful fatherish, "Gosh, golly, I uh... love you too... uh... So what time's the game on?" Now he's turning to me as a shoulder to cry on. I can't possibly turn him away when he claims I'm all he's got.

It's funny that he said something that really bothered me. He said that he thinks of me and CJ equally. While it's a nice thing to say, the fact that he had to say it kinda disproved it. I was really shocked, and kinda hurt. It felt like, if that was true, it wouldn't even cross his mind to say it. It wouldn't have crossed my mind, because it's SUCH a non-issue. He's my dad. End of story. Why was it now a topic of conversation? It's like he was feeling noble that CJ and I were 50/50 on his life insurance. I damn well hope we're 50/50! Why in hell wouldn't we be?

It's not about life insurance. It's about making an issue of something, by trying to pretend it's not an issue, which is exactly what his, "I love you both equally," speech did for me.

I really believed that I was equal, and my life before I joined the family was forgotten. It really hurt to have it be brought up, even if in a favourable way.

Anyway, so after our hour-long conversation, during which I promised to call more often and he promised to take care of himself, I woke The Boy and asked him to come to bed. I hoped that the phone call would glean a little understanding. Maybe some compassion. It did. Sort of.

We slept in each others' arms, apologetic, loving, vowing not to do whatever it was that did this again. I slept like a baby.

We woke up early, showered, and headed to Dave and Buster's. (Kinda like a Chuck E. Cheese, I'm told.) We made the traditional Sunday morning stop at Tim Horton's, for a large Coke (for him), and large French Vanilla cappuccino (for me), and two "everything" bagels, toasted, with herb & garlic cream cheese. Except they didn't have Coke. They NEVER have Coke, and we always vow, "We're never coming to this Tim's again," and we always mean it, but forget until we ask and they're out of Coke. So he got Diet.

Dave and Buster's was great. We played lots of games (including a drum one that I ROCKED!), and got lots of tickets. We ate lunch there too, and it was delish. When we were out of tokens/points, we went to the prize counter so I could use my tickets to get a prize. I got a big red stuffed bull terrier, or pit bull as they're more commonly called, and then we headed for home.

I made a white pizza for dinner (yummy!). Then we watched the season premiere of "Surreal Life" that V had taped for us. Wow, Ron Jeremy is GROSS. Tammy Faye could be confused for a squirrel without its Ritalin. Tracy Bingham was a spoiled bitch, with her "I can't bathe in a raspberry bathtub!" And Vanilla Ice? Hi, unstable failure!

So that was pretty much the weekend. Glad it's over and things are back to normal. Sort of.

Thursday, January 15, 2004

Well, I feel bad now.

I wrote my last post while I was waiting for The Boy to get home from work. He had a break-in at the store last night, and said he may have to stay a little late so the other guy can measure the door. Well, he was late getting home, but not because of the door. He brought home pizza and wings for us. Nice, eh?

I had a horrible day at work today. It just felt like I was being pulled in a different direction every three minutes. I couldn't get anything done, and just wanted to scream. I think everyone forgets that I'm doing the work of three people. Well, two and a half.

Who am I kidding? I hate my job. I hate most of the people that I work with. I dread going to work every day. God I hope that they mean it when they say that my blog will be private.

I haven't done this in a while. It's going to take some getting used to. Obviously, I haven't really been putting my heart into this whole blogging thing. Well, to be honest, I haven't really been putting my heart into anything lately.

Which is sort of the reason why I wanted to do this. I'm thinking that maybe, just maybe, my brain is feeling fried because there's too much stuff going on in it. I can't concentrate anymore. I just sort of float through life, and it's not fair to The Boy. Or myself.

Speaking of The Boy, I love him more than anything else in the world. The car has seriously done wonders for us. I know it doesn't really make any sense, but it's the honest-to-God truth. There's still one problem though. A few nights ago, I was looking online at some nice engagement rings (yes, I'm one of "those"), and he said something like, "Well, in a few years, when I propose, I'll get you one like that." I said, "A few years?" He said, "No good?" I swear I could feel my uterus shrivelling, just a teeny bit.

Come on, we're not getting any younger here. I'll be 27 in a few short months. I wanted to be married, going on baby #2 by now.

I remember, when I was young (like 13), I thought of the year 2000 as the mid-point of my life. Can you believe that? How naive is that? I thought of 22 as the mid-point of my life, punctuated only by one success after another. Maybe a record deal, or a prestigious career of some kind. The kind of career that would warrant a briefcase and pantsuit on a daily basis, and would pay enough to provide for those suits. Cashmere, designer, in power colours, like navy blue, chocolate brown and, best of all black. I thought that by 22, I would have it all figured out. I would own a house and maybe a cottage, a nice car or three, nice furniture, nice clothes... and a husband.

Let's compare. Here we are, in 2004, and I still don't have any of those things. I live in a shabby, rundown, third-floor walkup. I don't have a car. The Boy has a car that he lets me sit in. Our furniture has been mangled by our pride of cats, with little resistance from us. My clothes are covered in the fur of the aforementioned cats, so much so that the lint brush is my new best friend.

And husband? Maybe in a few years.