Saturday, August 14, 2004
then, realized
Writey bit. Was annoyed by cheerful Jen and was grumpy today. Don't anyone be getting all out of whack, it's an exercise in invention with only kernels of truth. Not all of them mine.ancient curses
"There was a man here, looking for you.""Did he say who he was?"
"No. He just said that he'd come back another time and maybe then he'd catch you."
Those words. I hear those words and the first thing I wonder is if someone's told him where I am. An automatic mental flip-flip of the memory rolodex, who knows? oh god, I was there, who mentioned him? who sees him? who? spiralling down and up through the years in a rush.
Why I don't automatically think it might be good news at this point in my life I just don't know. Could be it's still a reaction like a kicked-dog instinct sharply honed over many years. One that, while no longer strictly valid in such an extreme sense, has left it's own nasty residue. A kind of shivery slice of anticipation to live on like a ghost inside my room.
It doesn't occur to me, even after that initial twist, that it might be something good, something fantastic and life-changing. Something deserved. I'd learned my lesson well that good things don't magically come to any of us, except maybe those who you can instantly see have no right to them.
It can't be an angel, a genie or a leprechaun with wishes. It's not someone you used to know or used to work for - who's decided the company can't do without you anymore. Name your price, we want you back. Not someone who owes you money. No one with unexpected wealth or gifts.
When someone comes looking for me in the place where I think I'm finally safe, something oily with cold and featherlight wings begins to flutter in my stomach. For a moment, all sound ceases and the only noises I hear are wave upon wave in my head that deafen me, leave me swaying, before I breathe breathe and there's silence inside me once again.
Broken arms and cracked ribs. Split lips, a blurry eye. Fists. Guns. Silence. Working temp, a different place every week and coming out at five to find cards on my car. A car behind the bus. A car at the end of the lane. Thumps behind walls and soft little cries. Shadows moving fast ahead of you in an alley. Footsteps tap-tapping on a deserted walkway as the ocean continues it's melody in the background. Unceasing. Uncaring.
These painful, heartbreaking things - witnessed and endured both - of a violent and angry youth linger far in the background. Mostly forgotten. Mostly accepted. All looked squarely in the face. Mostly gone.
Yet, nothing frightens me as much as "he's looking for you" and I wonder briefly if those four words will ever loosen their grip on me. Or, even if I should wish them to.
i think i was starting to frustrate him
Jen. Who? says: guant3 says: the island? guam?
Jen. Who? says: *snort*
t3 says: gaaaaarrrrrnnnnnnnnnnnnn!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Jen. Who? says: told you, cannot type when laughing. I make a bad australian. maybe cause I'm CANADIAN
Which after learning 'freeballing', 'freebagging' and 'toe-y', I can't say I'm too arsed about learning more of it. I like the Brit slang much better. Bugger it, I promised myself I would write something tonight. I'm off.
oh no, I couldn't ... really ...
I've been talked into playing baseball tomorrow. This is bad. I am weak. Why? When I was in Grade 1 - we played softball in gym. Some little shithead child broke my nose. Never played again until I worked for Fish and Wildlife and my very first run - someone hit me in the middle of the back. Hard. Then, finally, year before last, Dave and Brad talked me into it. Brad threw the ball, which hit the ground and bounced up at a great speed right into that bone. You know, that one between your knee and your ankle that runs down the front of your leg. Really close to the skin. Shinbone? Yeah, that's it.Right about then I figured the universe was trying to tell me something. But, OH NO, here I go again.
So, the house has been mostly cleaned. I am going to take a break on the balcony and then work on my volunteer project. How exciting am I? Really?
Mental note to self: when looking for an article you saved from the newspaper it may be in your best interests to assume that you MAY have photocopied it and are not looking for newsprint. Since you've just noticed it sitting on the desk in front of you, even though you looked there fifteen times.
The article was about the best things about older women by Robert Mason Lee, which some ass at work gave to me. Cause, well, you know, it's been on my mind and why bother saving everything if you never actually do anything with it? Besides, it makes me laugh, especially since the writer is a man. So, here you go, some bits...
1. Younger women are like bijou apartments on the Left Bank: absolutely darling, but you wouldn't want to live in one. Whereas, older women are like an Edwardian terrace in Mayfair: commodius (although I could have done without that particular word which MerriamWebster defines in part as.... "comfortably or conveniently spacious" ), well-furnished and cozy in winter.
2. Younger women expect the best, older women have known the worst.
3. You can walk around the house naked with older women. They don't count your six-pack; being reasonably fit will do.
4. Both older women and younger women have their delightful charms in bed; this is a given. But as Franklin said, "in the dark, all cats are grey". Don't think roller coaster, think a long train ride through the mountains. Which would you rather be on?
5. Older women are better at pleasing conversation. They are more impressed by a fast wit than a fast car.
and last, but not least...
6. An older woman is more likely to know tht life is a funny old thing, often difficult, and frequently tragic. She knows the same is going to be true of you. She will be less downcast when times are downcast and more fun when times are fun. She is less likely to take you for granted.
Which fits just nicely into what is playing on the radio right now. Aldo Nova. And not 'Fantasy' which I think may be the only one I've ever heard on the radio. 'Ball and Chain'. First concert I ever saw. And yup, that dates the shit out of me, don't it, since the album came out in 1982.
lyric at post:
..Life is just a fantasy
Can you live this fantasy life..color>
Friday, August 13, 2004
undone
I had tons to do today but absolutely no focus. Mind flitting from place to place like a fly in a shithouse. So, I accomplished nothing other than something to do with a bathtub big enough for two. Now I'm home, where it's too hot and I have a list of things that must be done in the next two days staring mercilessly at me from the spot I stuck it to the wall. So, nap. Then maybe I'll be able to get something done.I hope.
edited....story time with Tony:here
I haven't seen Tony:here since March. I knew there was a reason for this and I was willing to wait it out, as I believed I knew what that reason was. It was me. He needed to take a step back from what you guys experienced here during the Lacey decisions, for the simple fact that being around me then was like "being shot in the chest". You all experienced the pure feeling and that's an easier thing to read than it is in reality. No matter how much reality dilutes it. We all know I'm all over the place. I'm a human being of extremes and I probably always will be but the time between December and June was the most terrible thing, for me and those around me.Tony:here is nothing less than honest and I've come to rely on that from him. Even though, sometimes, it's been difficult and the things he has had to say to me are painful. He has stuck by me through so many things, I cannot fault him for his decision to step away for a little while. I also cannot fault him for feeling me out on the phone a couple of times before he agreed to see me.
Tony:here has fallen in love and suddenly a man I've known always to be mostly stoic and unemotional, is a veritable overflowing cup. Which interests me because suddenly I get to ask all the things I've always wanted to ask and I get to hear all the things he's never told me.
We talked about, well, almost everything under the sun. Our lives lately. What we've been doing and feeling and learning. Even how we learn - why I need to say things out loud (to the blog) as I talk myself through the things I'm trying to learn, but how that he has learned from me that he 'blogs' in his head and it fulfills the same purpose as what I do here.
And me, fascinated, because he is in love. So I want to know. What love looks like from inside my friend. And although it's hard to distill four hours of non-stop conversation into a few paragraphs and although some of this is not explained at all, it gives me a point to which I can return and remember.
We don't often ask people what it feels like and I don't know why because we really have no idea other than what we've come to believe from society. My friend Marlo made a point the other day that when she asks her married friends if they are happy, the answers are usually not that hopeful or happy. We know that people get married for all sorts of reasons and that everyone has a different idea of what love really is. I've watched friends 'talk' themselves into loving someone and I've done so myself. We can convince ourselves of just about anything if we really want to. But why do we want to? I guess that would be one of those decisions based in fear.
So, completely entranced, I listened as Tony told me. How it makes him feel. What it makes him do, makes him want to do. What he thinks society expects of us, what movies and obligation have taught us to want. What and how, he believes, the real thing feels like and how he feels inside of it looking out at a new world that he's never seen and in fact, never knew existed. How society feeds into what we have all come to expect our lives to be or what we expect love to look like. How much of that is a lie and what are the things he believes to be the truth. How love feels like the last thing you thought it would. And all I can do is marvel and think and listen so that I can learn from the things that he has come to in the last year, in a rare moment of his sharing.
Then, of course, there's all the things he's never told me about me. Not in the way that people make offhand comments about who they think you are but someone who's spent a long thoughful time working it out, watching you and is enthusiastic about relating all the good things he sees because he's just so damn excited for me. I don't often get to see how I affect other people. Other than email, which is an amazing and wonderful phenomenon in itself, but coming from people that know you, there is a different flavor, a different feel. Even the bad things aren't hurtful for the simple fact that he's coming from a place of love for me and an idea that I can be better than he'd ever thought I could be, that constantly I suprise him and show up on another level and throw him all over again.
He tells me that when he first met me - he was completely blown away. There was wit, intelligence, wisdom, stories (and I feel a bit weird saying this, like I'm all big-headed) as well as the ability to know when I'm being stupid and dumb and an idiot but, all the same, being able to laugh about it and tell a good 'Jen story.' Because, by now, we all know I'm a storyteller, I just have a limited scope - the things I know. But, he realized somewhere along the way that I required honesty and sincerity and communication. So, since he was not ready for those things, he made a conscious decision to back away and be a friend. I've never known this during the five years we've been friends but I can honestly say I never looked at Tony:here as a prospect for anything other than a friend. A lifelong friend. But, no matter, he has become, over the last five years, someone who will always be in the top five of people whom I love. One of the very few people I feel that I can rely upon, in a world where I rely upon so few. He has pulled me from the edge more times than I think he will ever know. With the understanding that, if I need someone to help me, my family will never do and, of everyone else, I will never ask. He was one of the only people I told when I was sick. For the simple fact that I owed him nothing less. And he deserved nothing less.
I respect him enormously for the person he is but also for the simple fact that he's stuck it out with me because deep down he's always believed that I would find the things inside of me that I've spent so long looking for. His faith surprises me and makes me smile.
So, first and foremost. Jen,also - I gave him that email. And he wants me to tell you that you are gifted and beautiful and that your words are priceless and amazing. Oh, and that you are fabulously spot-on and he is flabbergasted by your talent.
erm. Agreed. You still make me cry.
Secondly, he tells me that being someone who affects the mood of the people around me, that once again, I've become this person who's 'intoxicating to be around' and I've become again, that person who he was so infatuated with but has seen only flashes of for five years. That I am now, again, that person who draws in everyone around me and drags them along with me on whatever journey it is that I'm taking at that moment in time.
That my honesty will destroy me at the same time it saves me. That my saving grace behind my honesty is the sincerity with which it is delivered. Because there are so few people in the world that truly believe that what they say is important and understood.
I have to admit that I had a boss once who told my that my biggest failing was that I believed wholeheartedly in what people said, instead of what they did. That, as a part of that, I always thought that people believed what I said because what I say and what I do normally tend to be the same thing. The only times they really aren't are the times I'm lying to myself, not to those around me. I always knew he was right but I just could never see any way around it. Until now. I couldn't see how to get it until now.
I've hit an exponential learning curve that I do not want to end. Ever. And, if you're willing, you can come with me because I'd very much like to take you along.
Are you packed? Are you ready? Let's go.
Thursday, August 12, 2004
an interesting question in the midst of a minefield
A couple of weeks ago, Canada's weekly newsmagazine, Macleans, ran an article entitled Can science give you a better sex life? The premise being the assertation that 2/5 women may be sexually dysfunctional (FSD) and whether it is an 'epidemic'-- or a manufactured problem and the research being done on a 'viagra for women' kind of pill.Although I may or may not have strong opinions on this topic, I'm too busy right now to climb up on my soapbox and harangue my gentle readers but you're getting a couple anyways.
It's a convoluted case-by-case sort of thing. Do I think women are more complex than men? Physically? Sure we are. I think we can all agree on that. Do we need a cure-all pill? I'd say that may help some people. Do I think it would address what I believe to be predominently the cause of the problem, if that's what we want to call it? No.
What do I think the single most effective thing that this planet can do to solve / prevent / address the FSD issue, if that's what they choose to call it? Do something to stop this... Around the world at least 1 woman in every 3 has been beaten, coerced into sex, or otherwise abused in her lifetime. Most often the abuser is a member of her own family. Somewhere in America, a woman is raped every 90 seconds. (US Department of Justice, 2000) It was estimated a couple of years ago that currently there are 60 million female survivors of abuse in the United States alone. (I'm not forgetting that 8% of victims are men, but we're discussing women here).
Take a sec and look around you. If there's 18 women in your office - SIX of them have been abused. If you've dated say... five women, chances are one of them has been raped. Violently. Maybe by one of the people who they are supposed to be most able to trust. Maybe by that uncle you sat across from at dinner last week. Do you think that maybe a whole schwack of "female dysfunction" could stem from these kind of traumatic events? Considering there's so many of them. Think about it.
Have I had bad sex? Of course. Have other people had bad sex with me? Undoubtedly. Do I think that's because of FSD? No. Am I a 'feminist'? No. I'm a woman. I have common sense. .... you're getting my point here, right?
I do find the following reader comments from here and here pretty much cover the spectrum...
-- Dr. Jim Battersall, Vancouver
-- Maggie Negodaeff, Ottawa
I have found that bright, witty, gentle, compassionate men have had the quickest, most effective results on my libido -- but all the men I know who fall into this category are either taken or unavailable. Maybe there is a way our Canadian education system could produce better-educated men, who would then become more desirable lovers. The health system would benefit because women would not suffer as much from FSD and the pharmaceutical companies could concentrate on researching cures for real diseases.
-- Christi Grout, Salt Spring Island, B.C.
Female "sexual dysfunction" is more than just the product of the overactive imaginations of drugs-for-profit corporations. It is the result of years of gender oppression. Women's magazines rarely tell you how to please yourself -- just how to please your man, and you better look good doing it! Once men and women get beyond this cultural tripe, that lucrative little niche market will disappear. Bad news, Big Pharma: feminists and their men don't need your help to get their kicks!
-- Kerrie Thornhill, Vancouver
It is not up to drug companies to define what sexual dysfunction is. Only the individual can do that. If I want to have sex only once a month, what is wrong with that?
-- Jennifer Richard, Sheet Harbour, N.S.
Considering that the female gender is every bit as human as the male gender, why should we suppose that sexual dysfunction is in male territory any more than baldness is a male-only affliction?
-- Steve Trask, Riverview, N.B.
I hope the guy who came up to me this morning and offered to give me his leather jacket for gas money gets wherever it was he was needing to go. Hopefully, that was out of my neighborhood.
Phone call this morning that said, "I've just signed up for the Pro-Am Tournament as I wanted to have a feeling what it would be like to play professionally. My golf game has seriously improved this year for two reasons. My mental attitude and your swing-coaching. Thank you." How's that for nice?
I'm all proud of him. And feeling pretty good about myself too.
Wednesday, August 11, 2004
Quirky Jen-Beliefs I Will Defend to the Death
or
I'm Feeling Much Better Now But You Are So Dead When I Get My Hands on You
I have serious issues with being referred to as a chick. I do not know the origin of this particular bit of Jen-ness, sadly, otherwise I'm sure I would tell you. You can call me bitch, wench, twat, tit, hey you, and well, a lot more, and none of them will bother me. I must admit ditch-pig, a charming left-over from high-school, does irritate me slightly for although I don't recall being called that, it just ....ick. It also has to be said that any of the myriad old and new words ending in "unt" will only pass my lips if they are really and truly deserved.
Many times in the past and with myriad personalities I have politely requested that this word not be used in my presence or, if it must be used, that it is not used to refer to me. This, usually followed by whining, bitching and yelling only further engages the male I-just-can't-help-myself gene which will inevitably cause them to have the hated chick top-of-mind, front and center and just dying to be used when around me.
And, trust me, it's not a *giggle* oooo, i hate being called that *giggle* kind of thing. It's a 'could you just step a little closer so I can punch you in the face' sort of knee-jerk reaction. Ramps me right up.
I have, however, somehow recently become a 'chook'. Which, I did sort of think awfully cute until (damn that internet) I looked it up.
Which brings me to belief numero deux....
'Cute' is not to be used in conjunction with people over 29 for any reason. Whatsoever. (nice segue, hey?) Once one turns 30 one becomes endearing, bewitching, fetching, touching or winsome but never, ever, CUTE.
That particular hell (latin term= nauseo preciousness infernus) is reserved only for those who have not yet reached the awesome, staggering and inspiring hard-won age of 30. Those of us that have deserve words that reflect a little respect. Thankyouverymuch. And that will just have to be a painful and time-consuming lesson that I may even untie you for.
And, don't you just find the funniest things when you put cute into the internet?
And now, I am going to sleep for 12 hours. Goodnight.
lyric at post:
..Put your hands on your hip let your backbone slip
Do the bearcat..color>
i am
a back, suddenly feeling like a snapped vertebrae, laying on the floor of an empty officea tummy, with too many grapes, a plum that may not have been all-the-way ripe and three cups of coffee, upset with my owner
eyes, gritty from three days without adequate rest, blinking in the flourescent lighting
a neck, in sympathy with the back, creaking and popping with every motion
a brain, no longer connected to my speech function, unable to form full sentences without transposing words
a mouth, smiling, in the direction of a computer screen
a heart, light, in spite of the sudden complaints of a body unused to being pushed so far
a girl, awed, at serendipity seemingly putting in some overtime
a blogger, absent, for another day longer
Monday, August 09, 2004
Monday thoughts
It feels like early October in Victoria - but in Calgary. I like it. I want to sleep outside on the balcony. I really do.The postal people are uh... a little behind ... (ie: slacking off and not walking the 50 feet over the to post office to leave MY PARCEL for me)
The cat is driving me insane. I may have to (insert the medical term that sounds nicer than 'rip-out-his-tongue-with-my-bare-hands' here).
FTP'ing away. It's been hours. My, what an awfully... big... website you have, my dear.
But, hey, there was that funny email - something that makes me smiley when I wake up to one in the morning (although it is not nearly as nice as the real thing), and then that other one (sorry, Pob, but thank god other people wake up with bruises too, besides me and Bandhag), and the quite witty and welcome IM chat.
I rented out my parking spot and some lucky new underground parker is on her way up with cheques. Extra income. A good thing. Cause that girlie just paid for something that's a sneakity-sneaky secret.
T1 gave me things to do today and for once, couldn't find fault with me, like I'm sure he sets me up for lately. Cause I rock. And they no longer ruffle my little feathers.
I walked to AND from work today.
Tony:here and I are getting together for beersh on Thursday and I have not seen him since March. It may take two days to catch up.
I ate large amounts of healthy fruit and vegetables today. And then never got around to dinner except for a slab of cheese. I am proud.
And those things have made my day.
Oh, and I'll be leaving in November to fill in for T3 during harvest so he can have the condo and ski while I make cute with the sheep (and tell his parents completely false but convincingly shocking stories about the apple of their eye) in a land far, far away.
Sweet dreams, all. I'm taking a day off as I have to do some of that "yes I do have a life and I am not an internet addict" stuff, so I'll see you Wednesday but until then a little question from Muted Faith to occupy your minds.
will it still take the same number of pancakes to cover the doghouse
if your arms grow ten feet long?
Good luck with that. I'm still choked that noone but M2 got the joke in here. Or maybe was just the only one to admit to having an inherently dirty mind.
lyric at post:
..touched down in the land of the Delta Blues
in the middle of the pouring rain..color>
carrot 'evidence'
Well, okay, they just mention it. You're just going to have to trust me on this one. Article here.For, although it gives no evidence of any sort, contains the infinitely intriguing line... 'That's why I like to remind young smokers I know that the habit strikes men in the penis and women in the face.'
Hey, haven't I seen that in every porn movie, ever? Uh, not that I watch those sorts of things, you understand.
The licorice root works quite well too, but the last time I tried that, I tripped at a football game and ripped open my knee. It bled for three days. I was actually becoming paralyzed by the fear of rare diseases and imminent death from loss of blood before MaJen (who gave it to me in the first place) mentioned that licorice root is a blood thinner.
So, licorice root in moderation, kids. Be careful out there.
hello? hello?
When I got around to turning on my phone this aft at 3 pm, it seems that my front door called me twice this morning. What does that mean, you ask? Well, I'll tell ya....I got a present, I got a present! From Chrissykins! Although I do not deserve one. But I can't waiiiiiiit to get home and see what it is. 'cited. Very 'cited.
Oh, and I feel that I can put this in writing as it was comment about engineers made by another engineer....
"Yeah, there is that whole nasty myth that there are no good engineers but there are, really, it's just that it takes a mining engineer to find one."
tee hee
carrots saved my life
The word 'carrot' always reminds me of this nasty passage in a Norman Mailer book I read as a child. Now, you would think I shouldn't have been reading Norman Mailer as a child, and you would be right, if only for the simple fact that I now associate carrots with strange sexual practices. This was also the very first time I ever encountered the word 'twat'.Apart from that, however, someone told me a while ago (and it may have been one of you) that carrots helped with nicotine cravings.
I COULD KISS YOU, WHOEVER YOU ARE.
(uh, eating them that is, just in case you thought I might be at work and... oh, never mind.)
Sunday, August 08, 2004
aaaaarrrrggghhhhh!
I have just spent an hour looking for an article I saved from the paper four months ago. Cause it was funny and it made a damn good point, to boot. And yay, though I wade through the valley of the packrat, I cannot find it.I did however, become mightily distracted by emails and posts and unexplainable horoscopes I saved. I'm sure that at the time, these horoscopes must have had some profound meaning that I was sure I would remember forever.
Newsflash. I've forgotten.
And, although I had planned to update some stuff and things in here, I am far too frustrated to do so. So while I listen to good old Hawksley Workman sing Jealous of Your Cigarette, I'm going to post links to a couple of Pornyboy's classic posts. Cause I miss him. And then I'm going to go cook up that peppered angry bovine I bought the other day.
I'll Have a Tenner on the Archbishop of Canterbury, Please
A Journey Across the River Styx to Buy Shorts.
In Which There is Vomit and David Bowie's Penis Makes an Unwelcome Appearance in My Head
and one more, since I could go on forever, resurrecting lovely laughs of my past, not to mention postitively hours of whining pathetically and abjectly about PB's absence (I hope you're reading this YOU BASTARD!) ahem. No, no, quite alright, thanks.
This 'What Goes Around, Comes Around' Deal...Is There An Increase In Momentum or Anything?.
lyric at post:
..I'm jealous of your cigarette
And all the things you do with it..color>
*sigh*
Someone found my site by googling... "drink listerine"Things like that touch my heart in such a special way that tears spring to my eyes and make all this worthwhile.
Uh. Not.
