Wednesday, July 28, 2010

13.5 hrs

What a fucking shit-show!
After tossing and turning all night, afriad to be late for work I made it with two minutes to spare on only four hours of sleep. First thing's first, coffee.
If only. Instead I notice that the gate is already unlocked, "who the fuck is already here?" I groggily make my way into the restaurant only to find the middleaged HDAD riddled mess of a floor manager frantically rushing around trying to install a new phone sysetem. "Where the fuck did I put my flashlight?" he asks me, as if I could give a damn.
I arrived early to receive a delivery that didn't show up for another two hours. I decided to have a cup of that water dressed in black; no cream or sugar. That morning cigarette did feel like a tiny victory over my spinning head, racing heart and troubled existance.

Things could have been normal, until the mechanic rolls up. He was there to check out the problematic hot water heater.... after I had to google the "literature" that should have came with the "equiptment" I noticed that one of the troubleshoots was checking to see if it was set to the right elevation. Apparently I wasn't the only robot in the place that longed to be on the West Coast.

I had finally gotten one of the two phone lines to work after McGiver left the building, and the lunch rush hit. Table after table of stuck up women 'out for lunch with a girlfriend' strolled in, horrible patterned shawls and jackets alike. Everything was typical, until it was time for the entire establishment to decided they would like to settle their bills at once. 'Communication error, please call' reads both of the portable debit and credit terminals. "Oh, you've got to kidding me?" I say to my morning dream team. After having to explain to several guests who even suggested they would have to leave an IOU as payment that they would need to go to the ATM across the street in order to pay, I felt vindicated, we had survived another mechanical malfunction.

The day began to run smoothely, the remaining waitress made no fuss about having to pick up all of the tables while I ran around calling our plastic paytment providers. She didn't even seem to mind that she would be covering the floor while I was in a meeting with a liquor rep and boss lady. The meeting went as expected, a few really awesome ideas for the upcoming weeks, and a promise of more advertising materials. Just as things were calming down the horrid sound of the the bell ringing against the flung open front door signaled an incoming attack of the lesser kind. The beer rep.

Tall and wirey, a man I would find hard to trust. He attempted some smooth talk about why he, once again, couldn't pull through on a promise. Boss Lady was having none of it. No sooner had he begun his latest installment of excuses and beating around bushes was he gone.

All of this was topped off by a very interesting private birthday, a dad who decided it was ok to change his daughter (or effeminate son's) diaper on a table and the realization that we were out of co2. After the final table of campers, who, by the way, had remained under attack by harsh above lighting and mosquitoes had left, I was all but ready to drink a bottle of tequilla. I mustered the strength to climb the fourteen stairs to paradise to order an old favourite, "double jack and coke please." I sipped this forgotten security blanket of a cocktail, and said a few quick "hellos."

Eventually, I made my way to the street to hire a cab home. Thankfully, he knew the way. I decided not to see the boy tonight. Though things are going well, and we are back together, I didn't think it was a good idea to reintroduce him to tired, irritated and emotionally exhausted me. I exited the cab, climbed a few more stairs to the porch and was greeted by two intoxicated roommates right after I pushed the kety into the door.

The new bed looks comfortable, and I fear that after a day like this one, I could use a solid fourteen hours alone, pipe in hand.

Monday, July 12, 2010

Heartache and The Renegade Wheat Ale

I have been here before. The cloud of cigarette smoke swirling around my head, Emily Haines purring over the speakers and the rhythmic clicking of buttons as my fingers enter words to describe the emotions racing through my head.
Heartbroken, head spinning, stomach turning, eyes swollen and red from uncontrollable tears and a mind full of memories I am trying to forget.
It's hard to imagine how it all went wrong, but one thing is for sure, I will NEVER date younger again.

The issues ranged from one of us being hyper dependent, emotionally unstable, afraid of commitment, full of darkness and unable to communicate to jealousy.

There were no angry words as I returned keys to that dingy and dark downtown dwelling. There were no real words at all, actually. Just a series of suspicious sighs that seemed to be something he wanted to say desperately being held back.

All photos have been deleted, the 'like' notes have been burned, and rest of "his stuff" is in box, waiting to find out how it will be delivered to the defendant.
The search for an empty box ended up bringing me a lot of clarity and a beer, so things are looking up.

As I was looking for a box to put the remainders in and was starting at an empty case of beer from last night's celebration of who I am, and who he thought I was. Would only myself and Christopher find it hilarious to send the remaining articles of screaming insecurity encased in a yellow beer box? Distracted, decided instead to collect the empty bottles (a really fun problem solving challenge and easy enough to accomplish to restore self-esteem). I had collected 11 bottles, and was quite positive that we had polished off before I turned to the whiskey and vodka. This renegade beer bottle had induced a substantial panic attack (had I lost control of everything?) I gave up, and decided that a glass of water would calm my nerves, I opened the fridge door, and there it was, between the mustard and vinaigrette, a full bottle of grasshopper.

Finding a full bottle during a search for empties is not uncommon. However, finding an unopened bottle in the refrigerator is a motherfucking miracle!

Moments of Clarity:
1) There wasn't as much stuff here of his as I remembered there being before. Flashback to last week when he was barely noticed by me collecting all of his dvds. Those kind of details that you only recall after the fact. Hmm, that should have been suspicious.

2) Fuck, I thought I was having a stressful day. Imagine all those poor bastards down at the stompin' grounds of Stampede scurrying for shelter. Interesting how the animals weren't allowed to pay for a ticket to that new rodeo event.

3) All panic attacks are best treated with an ice cold beer, I don't think I will be winning an Eddie for that concept.

Sunday, July 11, 2010


With Trina blaring in the background, I have decided to dig up this old blog, and bring it back to the roots of intention and expression. Last week was tragic!
My days off were spent lying in bed with a killer toothache, finally, I forced myself to the dentist. This was devastating on multiple levels. The price to remove my wisdom tooth was the least of my concern once I realized where I was. The only dentist close to work that could take me was in, ahem, Forest Lawn. Imagine rows and rows of beat-up cars, strip mall after strip mall offering payday loans, the chance to pawn off your belongings for a fraction of the price and I am sure plenty of opportunity to take up a meth addiction.

I entered the clinic and to my delight I was in line behind Mama LaKota and her tribe. I could also overhear a Lebanese man telling his wife that it might be beneficial to remove all of her teeth instead of paying for the root canals. I managed to find a quieter place to sit, only to be startled by the blood curdling scream of a toddler from the operating rooms (read halfassed cubicle).
Finally, my turn to be examined. After explaining the pain, the location and what I thought to be the problem, dental hygienist (who was once refereed to as nurse by dr.obvious) suggested that it was my wisdom tooth.

One hundred dollars later, and I was told that I would need to get the tooth removed and given not only two prescriptions, but a pretty copy of my x-ray as a souvenir.
I made my way to the closest pharmacy to trade that little piece of paper for two tiny containers containing pain killers and antibiotics. As I was entering the supermarket the security officer (with his billy club and his notebook) ordered me to check my bag at customer service. (WHERE THE HELL AM I?)

I check my bag and head over to the pharmacy to claim my prize when I noticed that there was women everywhere carrying their purses. "Interesting", I said out loud and right then and there I decided to take out the days frustrations on whoever was imposing this ridiculous rule. I was a rebel, with a very pathetic cause--but I was a rebel. While waiting in line (that's right), to retrieve my bag with the little coat check ticket I decided to ask some very simple questions to Customer Service. CUSTOMER SERVICE.
"Why is it that I was asked to check my bag, but there are ladies all over this place with their purses? Are you guys then liable for any loss or damage?"
"Take it up with security, my break just started"
The look on her face amazed me. I felt that my mother was going to come out of nowhere with a bar of soap and a look of disapproval. She didn't, so it became a win-win. I had taken my anger and frustration and doubled it enough to certainly ruin her little "break", possibly the rest of her day.

An appointment next week will take care of everything, so I hopped on the downtown express bus and was rushed into the core.

Friday, July 9, 2010

It's that time again

Cowboy hats, daisy dukes, farmer tans and debauchery.
The Greatest Outdoor Show on Earth has resurrected once more for it's annual assault on this poor city.
The animal rights groups get their panties in a knot, everygirl dresses as though auditioning for "Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy" part deux and every guy, regardless of age, race, financial situation and acne believes that this is finally the year he is gonna 'smash some box'.

The city is plastered building to building with slogans such as "YAHOO! and YEE-HAW!, and it's begining to look a lot like Texas"