30 July, 2008

sometimes a cigar is just a cigar...sometimes it is sooo much more

i really think i must have some good old brownie points with the little baby jebus upstairs, cause you know what? today i was finally going to have a full day. full of what, you ask? why, full of the delicious goodness of the mangy unwashed masses, of course! full of cranky malodorous types who believe that once a decade constitutes a perfectly reasonable frequency of both brushing and dental visits. in short, a day full of the prerequisite number of patients. this, of course, would have made it the first day since my return from holidays that i would have actually had a full caseload...

until...

until the electricity went ker-plonk right after my third patient. we sat around the reception area for nearly an hour, taking turns borrowing the one candle to go use the windowless bathroom facilities, eating jujubes and lemon squares*, and bulshitting, until the boss-lady told us it would probably take a while to restore power and we could all just go home.

hurray! today, i can say with full confidence that jebus loves me. how else do you explain the mysterious confluence of all the wonderful ways in which i went to work every day, and barely did any work for the past two weeks? of course i will not be getting paid, but screw that! money is so overrated when you actually have to earn it.

i think i will have to go back to selling crystal meth to kindergarteners; it is so much more fulfilling AND lucrative, as far as careers go. plus they are so easy to intimidate: you just take their dora the explorer action figure away and... BINGO! out comes the lunch money!


*dental offices are the worst for junk food. of course, i don't consider jujubes junk food. they aren't even food in my book: tasteless hunks of petroleum byproducts coloured with various lead dyes and flavoured with car-exhaust...mmmm...yummy.

29 July, 2008

odd

someone i know once dated a girl who practised a particularly virulent form of one-upmanship.

say your grandfather had just died of a heart attack, hers would have been mauled to death by a pack of rabid poodles lately escaped from a circus.

if you mentioned in passing that you had ridden a horse at summer camp, she would regale you with tales of how once, in north africa, having been kidnapped by a group of touaregs, she had ridden across the dessert bareback on an angry camel, naked, to make her escape.

heaven forbid your friend had just had a baby, hers had just given birth to a two-headed calf, following an alien abduction and sick trans-species breeding experiments.

it's a good thing it didn't last.

28 July, 2008

our lady of perpetual buzz

this day, this monday, i got up, i went to work, i came home and, let it be known herein, i did a round of yoga.

i did a bit of thinking over my holidays and have come to the conclusion that i want the second half of my thirties (and hopefully the rest of my life) to be dedicated to my very own mental health. lately, this has meant (often unsuccessfully) avoiding heated political discussions with my dad, realising when other people's problems were indeed their own, letting go of the desire to have everyone do things that make some kind of sense, ceasing to give a shit about the middle east and generally training myself in the mantra of "fuck it all."

we'll see how succesful i am, but i no longer want to work myself into a quivering, twitchy ball of electrified nerves because my friends or family members insist on making ridiculously stupid decisions. after all, as long as those decisions do not have direct bearing on my very own little corner of the universe, they are really and truly none of my business.

i also want to do more yoga, not purely for the physical benefits but more importantly for the psychological ones. after all, whenever i am faced with idiocy or depression, my tendency is to try for a round of yoga breathing and it seems to work.

so you want to discuss the palestinian/israeli problem? may i suggest someone other than moi?
books on how we are fucking up the environment without clear suggestions for improving the situation? not interested.
oh look! idiots driving hummers? let st. peter deal with them. as long as the law prohibits me shooting them, i will keep my middle finger down.

here's to me becoming a little more relaxed.

27 July, 2008

smoker's toes

the nails on my big toes are smoker's yellow, on account of me being too lazy to put on any undercoat before piling on the hooker-red, and the resulting discoloration tells me everything i don't want to know about the fun chemicals involved in the making of nail polish but, hell, i want me some hooker-red toes and if that means i shall die of toe cancer at the advanced age of 42, well, thus it was written.

also, i am so inflexible, that the idea that i would smoke using my toes makes me giggle uncontrollably.

you know those artists who lose their hands and then continue to paint using their toes? that would so not be me. you'd have to put the canvas waaaaay out there, since i can only bend my knees ever so slightly before they start emitting these highly disturbing and really rather nauseating crackling noises. as for the alternate idea of me painting using my mouth? well, how the hell would i drink wine and talk then? so, i'd best not lose my hands then, because shazaaam! no more painting.

of course i am not painting now either. now, i am too busy waiting for my life to begin, a truly spectacularly fucked-up notion for which i fear i will be punished by getting dead as soon as we leave here.

but, on to other topics:

my arms are seriously sore today. i blame too many downward dogs, followed by a truly pathetic attempt at a nice set of push-ups (girl kind) of which i actually only did 5 before collapsing face down on my yoga mat, trying not to think how sad all this was.

my legs and ass are sore because for the first bike ride in a month or so we chose to ride all the way downtown because joe fresh was having a huge sale on their ridiculously inexpensive and seriously cute clothing of which we purchased much. of course, what comes down must go up,* and so we crawled our way back up the hill, the mount everest of northern alberta, the kilimanjaro of the oil fields, the damn big hill.

as we walked our bikes we had to swat at the army of mosquitoes that were making a meal of us. being slower i kept an eye on mister monkey and between panting would periodically yell out: right leg! over sock! left arm! LEFT! right elbow! there was a couple walking ahead of us and i wonder what they made of these exclamations..some strange game of hillside twister perhaps?

anyhoo...i am sore.



*as proven by tequila shooters and gin'n juice.

26 July, 2008

it's not me, it's you

in other news: the right eyeball twitch that was conspicuously absent for the duration of my time away from here, has made a stunning and dramatic return, right around 7:30 am monday morn. i now have to pretend to rub my eye or push hair out of my face so that people don't think that i am a twitching stuttering bundle of nerves ready to explode at the slightest provocation. which, come to think of it, might actually be true. but they don't need to know that. wink wink.

earlier today:

moi (on the phone with mr. m): do you have pickles at work?

mr. m: what? why would i have pickles at work?

moi: earlier, when i asked you if you had any vegetables in your lunch* you told me not to worry, that you had pickles at work. i need one. pickle.

mr.m: i have no recollection of this conversation. i also have no pickles. are you drinking again?

moi: nevermind. are you sure you don't have pickles?

mr. m: look, i am in the middle of a meeting. i have to go.

i totally don't buy that he was in the middle of a meeting, because why would he call me and talk nonsense about pickles?


*i normally make his lunch, full of healthy canada food guide-approved veggies. last night i happened to be drunk, so he had to make his own lunch which, i found out, consisted of half a ring of sausage, several hunks of processed polish cheese and a dried out bit of bread. oh, and the imaginary pickles.

the secret life of paramecia

last night i had one of the best meals i have had in a long time. and it was at a fort mcmurray earl's. shocking, no?

listen: grilled sablefish with a brown butter sauce, some sort of tomato-garlic concoction, wilted spinach and garlic mashed potatoes. it was spectacular. it was gorgeous. i think i might have used the word "amazing" about 6 times in two sentences when talking to the waitress. i might even have offered to marry the chef, though i will deny this in court and really, i am a little sketchy on the details, on account of the margaritas and the wine i had consumed earlier. but the meal? yum.

on other fronts, back to work sucked the marrow from my bones, chewed me up and spit me up face down on maggot-infested gravel. but i made it through the week largely through the selfless generosity of my patients who, apparently sensing my spiritual malaise, decided to fail to show up for a majority of their appointments. i believe i averaged 3-4 patients a day all week and it sure put a smile on my face. fail all you want, you miserable malodorous bastards! i have just over half a year left!*

friday was capped off with drinks with the girls at a thoroughly uninspiring fort mac watering hole, with the instantly forgettable name of something mcsomething's, but the food was greasy, and the margaritas cold, and the fake-bronzed uber-muscular utterly frightening androgynous waitress only came on shift just as we were leaving, so it was a decent afternoon. the amazing dinner with s. and mister monkey followed, and, like the good girl that i am, i was in bed (drunk, mind you) by 11pm.


*less, if the argentinian, chilean and other assorted south american welders continue to pulverize their newfoundlander competition and work their tight little latin asses off, showing fort mac how it's done, baby! ole!

06 July, 2008

everybody is polish

in london at least...or so it seems.

so, this london:

old. lots of statues of men on horses. lots of old things.

lots of people with poor teeth, bad skin and a great taste in hats. not that good looking, but , man, those hats!

did i mention old?

turns out i'm a new world kinda gal. nice place to visit, this england, but i really wouldn't want to live here. not least because i would get killed what with the wrong side of the road thingie. did you have any idea how entrenched the right-left-right thing is? each time i force myself to look in the "correct" direction, i feel my well-trained reptilian brain cringe with fear, and i sense a giant truck filled with frozen mcdonald's french fries bearing down on me.

so no. no england. i'll take canada. i'm coming home.