Tags: public transportation

the dream king

(no subject)

Oh, man. Yesterday was a hell of a thing.

In addition to having an Ugly-Fat day, while walking along Wellington after work I was sloshed by a wall of water I can only guestimate was about 6 feet high (seriously. It was above my head..) After the disbelief had worn off and the appraisal of my dirt-water soaked clothes was done, I noticed a cab pulled over a few feet ahead of me. The man apologized for the wettening, though he seemed fairly indifferent and I let him know that “no, I didn’t believe it wasn’t his fault” and “yes, I was annoyed.” As luck would have it, this was not the only event which made me glad to be wearing dark clothes..

That morning I had also been the victim of a sudden brain abduction which had caused me to wear flip-flops, as opposed to..oooh…anything else?! In the evening, after checking out the hundred and eleventh apartment with M3, I boarded the 51, tired and soggy. About two seconds after that I was lying sprawled on my back on the sticky grunge of the bus floor. It was funny. Really. I swear.

Though, I’ve long since given up the tendency towards mortification after a gaff in public I feel a little strange when no one allows themselves to laugh or even acknowledge a spontaneously loss of control over your limbs.

Still, last night’s performance was so spectacular, I heard a couple of people snort under their breath…

Ah, progress.

It wasn’t all bad news, though. The place we visited was quite nice and we’re waiting to hear back from the landlord about our bid for it. Plus, a trip to Jean’s in NDG introduced me to the miracle that is, The Pumpkin and Shrimp Roti. Mmmmm. Both the restaurant and the dish come highly recommended.

Because you care

Friday saw me chowing down with Margaret at Café L’Etranger (go there. have their quesadillas. that's an order) and then making my way to Saph for the first time in a while. I feel I should go, maybe not “often,” but more frequently than I do now… All the fun of a rave without the fucking ravers*.

Saturday saw me face down in my pillow until about 6:00pm. I finally dragged my sorry ass awake long enough to bake a couple dozen cookies (chocolate chip and chocolate-chocolate chip) to take as an offering to Simon Law’s “new” apartment. He’s a terrific host and that it always feels good time to make new friends. I almost caught a celtic-punk show downtown, but it was already 12 and my faculties were pretty compromised…

Sunday, after oversleeping a little, I went home to Ste. Anne’s and accompanied the parentals to the home of a second-chance couple** in Baie D’Ufe. He’s of Indian origin and prepared a sprawling feastivus of chicken and shrimp curries, rice, kale, and an assortment of veggies. He also “forced” upon me some of the best beer I’ve ever had (something French called, “3 Monts”) and a few too many glasses of Mo Tai, a Chinese wine*** he brought back from a recent trip. He showed us pictures of the mountains he’s climbed (Kilimanjaro and half of Tibet…) and I caught up with his partner’s daughter, Rhian Wilkinson, who is awesome at soccer and plays for Canada’s national team. After a few raunchy jokes and the mandatory, “so what are you going to do with your life” quiz, we left. I felt invigorated the way you should after a good meal with friends, but I also felt pretty unaccomplished. My declarations of, “oh, I’m planning such and such” rang just a little hollow.

Home, then, with my parents. We relaxed a little, talked about my money problems, and then the dad-o and I settled in for a couple taped episodes of BSG. All was proceeding according to plan; the chief and Helo weren’t getting along, and then they were; Adama and Roslin looked like they were going to smooch, but then they didn’t; Starbuck was being sexy and hilarious; and then Ro fracking Laren shows up and the shit hits the fan. I left feeling a little raw (sure I dislike Six, but I don’t want to see Six point 2 raped and tortured, not to mention seeing the commander get all back-of-the-bus and stuff…). The ride home was spent having my fatigue slowly dawn on me and doing quite a bit of cursing over my early morning decision to wear a completely inadequate coat.

The earth rotates. My alarm rings.

This morning’s commute made me want to kill. Sometimes, while riding on public trans. I get gooey, “I love the world” feelings while looking around at the different faces in front of me. Rush-hour on the orange line approaching Berri, however, is not one of those times. If ever it were possible to experience from the ground level a wave of rats pouring off a ledge, I suspect it would feel quite similar. At times, humans can be loathsome creatures…

Since then I’ve been OK, though. After disposing of the bodies****, I made my way through the sunshine and construction to my place of work.

On my way here, I once again ran into a man I said I’d have lunch with and my recently adopted, “I’m not going to date totally random people anymore*****” rule went quickly out the window. He’s very attractive and he makes me laugh. He’s also quite a bit older than me, but at this stage, I don’t care.

So now I wait for the work to come in and hope that missy is not working from home.

*Hey, I’ve been to raves. I’ve enjoyed raves. But never have I labored under the delusion that I was not being an idiot while doing so.
**I know a decent number of couples like this; the first marriage turns sour about 20 years in and then, after a mild midlife crisis, you find the partner of your dreams…
***Can you really call it wine at 38 proof…?
****3 in total. One from my car and two more from the escalator. They had it coming; Don’t tell, okay?
*****My two best relationships have developed out of great bus-ride conversations, but I’m weary of the dating thing at the moment.