Instant Dislike

Have you ever taken an instant dislike to someone? Someone who hasn't done anything bad to you or anyone else, but for some reason you just can't stand them? The dislike comes quickly, almost immediately. Rather than waning as you get to know the person, it grows in strength.

I had an instant dislike to one of my co-workers. He's never done anything to me worthy of such disdain. In fact he probably senses that I can't stand him and tries to ingratiate himself to me. This only serves to make me despise him more. I have tried really hard not to let my dislike show. I have tried to find things that are likable about him, but I can't find any. The opposite has happened. My tolerance of him is shrinking. Things he used to do that I was indifferent about, now totally annoy me. It's like a force beyond my control is compelling me to dislike this guy.

I have found that since my dislike for him has been almost instant, whenever he does something I dislike I say to myself, see that's why you can't stand him. Maybe I look for them. But there are so many, it's like he can't stop doing things that irk me. I also go out of my way to note clever or amusing things he does.

I feel guilty for disliking him. What does it say about me that without reason,I can't stand someone? My sister, who is a little on the new age side, said that if you dislike someone for no good reason, then it is because there is something about him that reminds you of what you dislike about your self, in your shadow. Perhaps they reflect parts of you that you don't acknowledge, embrace or reject.

Could this be true? I thought about the things about him I don't like. He's lazy, he pawns his work off on everyone (he actually has done this to me), he's a slow talker, he constantly uses superfluous words like "with respect to" and "in regards of," he summarizes when unnecessary, his jokes aren't funny, he does the bare minimum in his work and doesn't show any creativity or initiative and he wears a ponytail. If these are qualities I have, then I have suppressed these parts of myself, because I can't stand them. Do I despise him because he embodies those parts of myself that I reject and don't give myself permission to surface? Do I dislike him because he allows himself to be a way that I try very hard not to be?

Could it be that sometimes you just don't like people for the same reason that you don't like all foods. Perhaps the expectation that you must like everyone isn't reasonable. I don't wish him ill, although I do admit to some schadenfreude when his manager chews him out at meetings for his ineptitude. Yes, everyone is beautiful in their own way...plus who am I to cast judgements? Everyone has redeeming qualities and worth. Everyone has a right to be who they are. Does that mean you have to like them?

Maybe I am arrogant and judgemental. But I just don't like him.

Vile Duets

My co worker and I try to break up the day by coming up with horrible songs. I pride myself on being able to come up with really pretty disgustingly, bad songs, but he somehow always can top me. His knowledge of bad songs from the 70's is outstanding. Having said that, I would have to say that I soundly defeated him at horrible Billy Joel songs. But he came back and took the Wilson Phillips contest. This ongoing amusement we have includes singing these horrible songs, looking up lyrics and sometimes youtubing them. It is always accompanied with groans of disgust and laughter. These songs then become brain worms that stay in your head all day like some sort of time share tumour. I have to say it really does make the day go by faster, even if it sounds like something you would see on The Office.

Here is our list of Vile Duets. Be prepared to get sick.
In no particular order of Vileness:

1. Crusin', Huey Lewis and Gwenyth Paltrow. I can't stand him, but she really ruins the song. I feel nauseous just remembering in my head.

2. Endless Love, Diana Ross and Lionel Ritchie. He is responsible for a lot of horrible songs. And Madame Ross has a few other horrible duets under her belt. Remember that terrible one, All of You, with Julio Iglesias?

3. Tell Him, Celine Dion and Barbra Streisand. That one just makes me shudder. It is enough to put me in the hospital.

4. Should Have Never Let You Go. Neil Sedaka and Dara Sedaka. As if the song weren't bad enough on its own, this is a father and daughter duet! It is so gross that they are singing a romantic love song together. It is vile and just plain wrong!

5. I Finally Found Someone, Bryan Adams and Barbra Streisand. Babs makes several well earned appearances on the list.

6. After All, Cher and Peter Cetera. Who thought up this pairing? They must have been high.

7. Almost Paradise, Nancy Wilson and Mike Reno. This is an all Canadian barf fest.

8. The Girl is Mine & Say Say Say, Michael Jackson and Paul McCartney. You can't mention the one retched song without mentioning the other.

9. Ebony and Ivory, Stevie Wonder and Paul McCartney. This song is supposed to promote harmony , but it just makes me want to hurt both of them.

10. Can't We Try, Dan Hill and Vonda Sheppard. Thank God Ally McBeal isn't on anymore.

11. When You Believe, Whitney Houston and Mariah Carey. Yuck, yuck, yucky and yuck.

12. 'Til I Loved You, Barbra Streisand and Don Johnson. Yeah, they were in a relationship and they sang together. Just because you are screwing each other, doesn't mean you have to sing together!!!

13. Friends and Lovers, Gloria Loring and Carl Anderson. What I love about this song is that my co worker's brother played it as the first dance at his wedding. The song is all about cheating! So totally inappropriate for a wedding. Has anyone else been at a wedding when the first dance song was totally inappropriate? Please tell!

Got any others? I am sure there are more...

Halloween cats

Why do I find cats stuck in clothes and costumes so amusing? Normally anything mean to cats really bothers me and the cats look really pissed off. But I just love these pictures. Maybe I should send my cat out trick or treating tonight. It can't be any worse than the adults who come to my door with a bag and say, "it's for the baby." As if.

Creep Appeal

When I was in my teens is when it first became apparent. If there was a weirdo, strange person, wacko, whatever derogatory term you want to use for someone who is just a little off or sometimes a lot off, they would be drawn to me. So much so that my friends told me I had "creep appeal". Sometimes it was really harmless, I'd have a little chat with the off person and it would end there. But one time in particular it became really problematic when the most psychotic guy in the neighbourhood, decided out of the blue, that he was in love with me.

I had been in high school with this poor soul and probably never said more than a few words to him. It had been years since I had seen him when I saw him one day on the bus. It was obvious that he had become very unwell and was psychotic. I felt badly for him, but we didn't speak or even make eye contact. Of course, true to creep appeal form, a few nights later he called to ask me out for a date. Not wanting to upset him and definitely not wanting to go out with him, I told him that I had a boyfriend already. Thus began a year of phone calls, flowers, nights outside the house yelling how much he loved me, calls from his probation officer asking if we were getting married, parka wearing in summer while playing bongos on the sidewalk, people on the street asking me if we were getting married and graffiti all over the neighbourhood with his and my name in a heart. It culminated with me having to get a restraining order. I felt terrible through the whole thing because he was so clearly unwell, but at the same time he scared the crap out of me and my friends. I am not sure what happened to him, I haven't seen him in the old neighbourhood in years.

There have been many other instances of the creep appeal, most not as extreme as that, but some as recently as Tuesday night. I had the pleasure of attending the Annie Lennox concert at Massey Hall. There were actually two occurrences that night. When my friend and I approached the entrance she handed her ticket over. I began to walk in and the ticket taker told me that he only had been given one ticket. I told him no my friend has mine, she then said that no she had given it to me weeks ago. No I said, I was certain that she had not. Yes, she said you were on drugs then. Really, I was shocked by my complete lack of memory of this at all. What else have I completely forgotten? Suddenly it came back to me. It was in my day timer in the car. Unbeknownst to me a slightly off guy was listening to this whole exchange and while my friend and began to walk to my car he tagged along asking if my car was far and would I be listening to Annie Lennox in the car and did I listen to her on the way down.

Later once we were in our seats waiting for Annie to come on, I was telling my friend where my seats for Neil Young were. The woman on my left, said "Oh you have Neil Young tickets I love him." Not really a big deal that she said this, she's just friendly I thought to myself, which was actually opposite to my initial impression of her which was sort of uptight and fussy. But when she reached over and squeezed my knee I was a bit taken back. I let it go. When the show finally started a few minutes later this woman started cheering and bouncing in her seat. Suddenly, she hugged me and kissed me on the cheek. I was staring at my friend with a what the hell is she doing look. A few songs later she leaned over and said, sorry I was just really excited. No problem I told her. Why she didn't hug the guy she was with is another story.

The show was fantastic. The sound was excellent and what a great performer Annie Lennox is. She also looks amazing for a 52 year old. As my friend said it is nice to see that a woman in her fifties is sexy. And a woman in her 40's still has her creep appeal fully functioning.

Random Facts

Okay it has taken me a while to respond to being tagged about seven random facts about myself. I have been busy, finishing my father's house, attending various therapies, getting German lessons from a seventeen year old, having bad dates and feeling sorry for myself.




1. This is one of my favourite photos. I have seen it so many times and it still makes me laugh. I love to send people on their birthday.



2. The top speed I have ever driven was 170kms on the autobahn in Germany. Would have gone faster if I had a more powerful car. This is a goal of mine.

3. I have a habit of saving things for when I think the most excellent time to enjoy them may be. I save special outfits, movies, music, wine, food and bath/skin products. The sad thing is that sometimes, the most excellent time never comes.

4. I am fascinated by things having to do with WWI. I have read many books fiction mostly, watched documentaries and would love to go the Vimy monument.

5. One of my lottery fantasies is to have a deluxe camper on each continent that I could tour around in, exploring the world while having the comfort of being at home and not having to pack and unpack. In the extremely self indulgent form of this fantasy I also have a personal trainer, chef and hairstylist at my disposal wherever I go.

6. Once when I was home sick with a bad flu, I got addicted to watching reruns of The Waltons. Yes, I realize what an embarrassing confession that is.

7. I do impressions of actors from The Young and the Restless in the 1980s. I do a great Victor Newman and Jill Abbott when she was played by Brenda Dickson. My favourite line of hers, "John our baby has birth defects!" I am forever indebted to Jacy who, a few months ago, provided me with the following link :
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W5cS07X06VY
It is one of the funniest videos I have ever seen and it stars Brenda Dickson. Watch it; you will not be disappointed.

Dating Cluelessness

I have come to realize that I am equally inept at detecting if a guy is into me or not into me. Which is shocking to me as I pride myself on my ability to read others. It is partially what I do for a living. I am blaming this cluelessness on my mother and her genes. I think it may be inherited. After all she did spend almost all of grade twelve holding hands with another female student without the thought entering her mind, that the other student may be a lesbian and into her. "I thought she just wanted to be friends." Way to reinforce all those Catholic, all girls school, weirdness, stuff stereotypes, mom. It was only after the poor, unintentionally lead on, lesbian student tried to kiss her, that my mother clued in. Unfortunately for the other student, my mother is straight and apparently stunned.

Went out with the dutch boy last weekend and absolutely cannot tell if this guy is into me. We had been talking and messaging throughout the week. His texts are rather flirty, but then in person, not much happens. I think that the waiter, who was this cute, young, Indian guy with big eyes, flirted with me more. Maybe he is shy and it's hard for him to be flirty in person. I don't know. This is going to sound so conceited, but it never occurred to me after the first date that he may not like me. It was only the next day when the thought crossed my mind that he might not be all that smitten with me. I guess that it really didn't matter that much to me if he was or wasn't. Perhaps he is like me, a little ambivalent.

This ambivalence is of course getting fuel from my superficial side that has already made note of a few things that are potentially problematic. Just to prove that I am a horrible shallow person, here is a list of items upon which we do not see eye to eye:

1. He drives a bright and I mean painful on the retinal nerves, yellow car. On the plus side, he has a car and it can always be located quickly in the mall parking lot.

2. He lives in Brampton and has room mates. It takes over an hour to drive there and is the kind of suburbia that could make me insane. On the plus side, I don't have to worry about running into him at Tim Horton's if things don't work out between us. Room mates, just too university days for me. On the plus side, he is trying to save to buy his own place and knows how to share, respect other's privacy and clean up after himself.

3. He hasn't cut his hair since May. This wouldn't be so bad, but he isn't much into styling it. Worse yet, he confessed that he had really long hair, prior to the May cut that was at times and I cringe as I write this, in a pony tail. The horror. On the plus side, he has lots of hair. He showed me a picture from a few years ago when he had short hair and he looked really cute. I tried to stress how nice it looked and hoped that he would pick up on it, but who knows. It is probably a good thing for me not to go out with a vain guy. I have done this in the past to disastrous consequences.

4. He likes to listen to something called symphonic rock. Which sounds like metal with orchestration. I don't really like it and I like almost all types of music. This guy really needs to let go of the early 90's.

5. He likes to watch Formula One racing. Cars going around and around for hours? Unless you have smoked some weed, this just seems so boring to me. But he likes soccer, which other people have told me is boring. Although I think there could be a major falling out between us, if Holland were to face Deutschland in Euro 2008.

6. This is perhaps the most concerning thing, he loves the Star Wars Trilogy. I can't stand Star Wars; hated the first one which I saw when I was ten years old and can't bear to watch any of the others. He tried to convince me that it had deeper political and social meaning. Maybe I have a closed mind about this. At the risk of further alienating him, I told him that I also hated The Lord of The Rings Trilogy. Fortunately, he is not so crazy about it either. He loves movies and has a fabulous collection. This is a major plus.

See how superficial, I am. He is also intelligent, polite, thoughtful and respectful. He thinks I am very funny and laughs at my stories. He has beautiful lips and very well kept, clean hands. And I think somewhere under all the loose clothes, could be a pretty nice body. He hasn't really tried to make any moves on me. Which could be a good thing or could just mean that he really isn't that into me. I just can't tell. This could all mean that maybe he is exactly the kind of guy that I should go for or at least try out.

If a Tree Falls In The Emotional Forest

A philosophical question: if someone cares but doesn't show it, then does this caring have any meaning? Obviously it has meaning to the person with the feeling, but aside from this, does it matter to the person who is cared about but doesn't know it? Isn't "caring" when you do something about your feelings towards this person? Can caring truly exist without an action to signify it? Isn't it just the emotional equivalent of a tree falling in the forest?

Iron Chef

I am totally enamoured with the Chairman of Iron Chef America, Mark Dacascos. He is totally hot and when he does that flip at the beginning of the show I want to lose it. There should be more of him in the show and less of those stupid judges. I want a whole show of him cooking and doing flips. Yummy and delicious!!!

The next day: Blind dates and prayers

Today I have arranged to meet a guy who I found on the Internet dating site. He sounds wonderful when chatting online. He is almost 5 years younger than me, but I am not letting that worry me. Meeting someone in person, that is the hard part. This is someone that no one that I know, knows. So it's a huge gamble. I am just so hoping that I can actually be attracted to someone who is nice and caring and that I am hot for. As I said to my hairstylist friend yesterday, say a prayer for me (I am not even religious just desperate), please make me want to bang this guy. Not right away of course, but please make me think that I might even a little want to bang this guy. The weird thing about it? He chooses to meet at my non relationship relationship guy's hangout. What are the odds? I had no valid excuse to say no to that spot after I went on and on about wanting a schnitzel. See I really badly need to move on. So everyone who reads this, religious or not, please pray for me that I want to bang this guy even just a little.
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So the date turned out okay. We met in a bakery and then went to dinner next door. He bought pumpernickle bread, a cherry strudel, a rye bread and a plum cake. He gets points for all of this. I bought my fav sunflower seed rye, cherry strudel and three giant pretzels. We had a nice dinner and the conversation went really well. Although I don't agree with his belief of Dutch soccer supremacy! As if, they have won how many World Cups? I think he actually enjoyed our differences of opinion; like me he grew up in a family that loves to debate. The high point of the conversation was when he told me how he handled one of his drivers calling him a fucking monkey. Which I thought was pretty funny, of all the things to call someone. As I sat across from him at dinner I vacilated back in forth between thinking this guy is kinda hot to, no he's not hot at all. At first I thought he really needs a haircut, that would do wonders for him. Later, when he played with it and swept it back behind his ears, I thought this hair looks sort of sexy on him. He was wearing a bad shirt. Which is no biggie; many guys just need a little fashion advice. So that's how it went. He sent me a text telling me what a good time he had before I even got home last night.

The strange thing is that last night I dreamt that he was in my house, but it wasn't my house now and that we had had sex. When I got up and went into the kitchen he had totally cleaned it. It was so clean that I worried I wouldn't find anything and that he had thrown out a lot of the old stuff. Although the kitchen part of the dream troubles me, the sex part was pretty good and for a second this morning I thought that maybe I did bang him last night. Which contributes to me thinking that I might want to bang him a little. So the well thoughts and prayers may have helped. Perhaps Oprah is right about the power of prayer.

Pains and Needles

I had a very unusual experience today. I went for an acupuncture treatment to help with the pain from my neck that travels down my arm. I have seen this acupuncturist once before, when I was in severe pain. At that point I was in too much pain to benefit from anything. But I was impressed by how diligent the acupuncturist was in trying to relieve my pain and vowed to return when I was less hysterical.

I explained in a motor mouth manner, about how the drugs for the pain were making me hyper, talk too much, how either my foot or hand or something had to be tapping and my significant difficulty with focusing. I was lying face down on the table. He placed several needles in my arm, neck, hand and leg. He gave me a warm pat on my back saying he would return in a few minutes. At first the needles stung. The sting subsided and soon I began to feel a slow relaxation over take me. I could actually feel tension leave my various muscles, all without my prior knowledge or will. Even my thoughts slowed. I felt myself being swept away with it and went willingly.

When he came back he turned the needles and I asked if he had given me a relaxation needle. He said yes. I said it's working. He left again. Now as I moved into the relaxation, I felt my eyes well and I began to cry. Not sobs but tears. My mind focused in on something that was causing me upset. Then I had this singular clear thought. I have been focusing on healing my physical pain which is good, but I have this other pain to heal. It is still fresh and open, although well concealed. I had been denying how much hurt there was.

When he returned I asked him about the tears. He didn't say much. He doesn't really ever say much, he laughs at me, thinks I am funny. Got a big laugh when I explained that I didn't have anyone at home to stretch my neck. That I had got rid of him because he was a pain in the neck and look at me now. The cat can't stretch my neck I told him. He radiates this warmth and calm. After removing the needles, he asked if I noticed any other changes. I told him that my hand felt warmer as did my arm and I just felt so relaxed, blissed actually. He gave me an upper back and arm massage that included these strange snaps at the end of my fingertips, stretched my neck. He said to come back in a week. I feel compelled to return.

Hopeful Pairing

I have to admit that I am a sucker for baby animals. Maybe even more than human babies. Today I saw this story about a baby monkey macaque that had been abandoned by it's mother in Goandong province in China. It was saved by an animal sanctuary. Although it was now physically healthy it seemed spiritless and sad. That was until it formed a friendship, with a pigeon. That's right the much maligned pigeon has taken this adorable baby monkey, literally under it's wing. I can't stop thinking about it. The unlikelihood of the pairing, the complete contrast of the two in so many ways. The macaque so cute, furry and cuddly. The pigeon, pink eyed, creepy and dinosaurish. I can sort of understand the monkey, it was desperate for a connection after the rejection of the mother. But the pigeon, that's the real shocker. What does the pigeon get out of this? I am not sure if this pigeon is a mother, I suppose that might explain it. It is almost something you would see in a cartoon movie. The picture is so adorable you can't feel angry if you look at it. I just love it when one species connects with another, it flies in the face of animal law and it's so hopeful.

Good Songs Gone Bad in Commercials

Is it just me or is there something fucked up about Blondie's One Way or Another on a Swifer commercial? When that song came out and I thought how fabulous it was, since it so brilliantly captured, obsessive love, to the point of stalking, which frankly every teenage girl (and some adult women who shall remain nameless) can relate to, with such unapologetic confidence. If you would have told me that in twenty years it would be used to portray mopping up dirty floors, I would have said, no fucking way, that would be just wrong. When I was a kid advertisers came up with their own songs and jingles. Some of them were excellent, in fact classics. Just the other day a friend and I spontaneously sang The Big Jim Sports Camper song. Who can forget Rice A Roni the San Francisco Treat? Today it would probably Rice A Roni with some stupid Maroon Five song. The song Venus has been used for lady shavers and body wash. What's next? Nina Hagen for Tampax? Brass In Pocket for credit cards. Any Ideas?

To Sir With Love

The other night after I had fallen asleep on the couch in front of the T.V. I woke up and To Sir With Love was on. Sure it's dated and a little over the top, but Sidney Poitier is wonderful. I was in love with him and wanted to go to highschool in east London, by the end of the movie. I wouldn't say that he is drop dead gorgeous, but he is the personification of what I think a gentleman is, something that seems non existent in young male leads in today's films. There is a depth he brings to his characters. He can be vulnerable, silly, commanding or angry. Underscoring all of this is wisdom, intelligence and a feeling of safety, knowing that he will be able to handle any situation with grace. Plus that rich smooth voice and style, just complete the package. I want a man like him.

Paris a Parent?!?!

I read recently that Paris Hilton wants to have a baby within the next year. She thinks that having a child will make her grow up and be an adult. There are too many reasons for me to say why she bothers me, but this latest brain wave really grates. Paris, you idiot, it's the other way around. First you grow up, be an adult and then you have the baby. What sort of hell would that child be going into? It's a baby, not a chihuahua!

Whoa Nelly

I am really sick of hearing Nelly Nurtado. Every time I get in the car and turn on the radio, there she is with one song or another. I liked a few songs off that album, but it seems like now they are playing every song on the album repeatedly on the radio. Is there no one else out there with decent music that could be played on the radio? Enough already!

Neighbours

So the posts of late have been a little miserable. I will return to my hospital saga later. For now I want to talk about neighbours. For many years I endured what can only be described as horrible neighbours. First there was Gerry. He was a rage filled, dry alcoholic who verbally abused me (I mean disgusting name calling; always including cunt in it somewhere) each time he saw me outside of the house. He constructed a concentration camp like fence between our houses. He was married to Barb, who was a snivelling, passive, enabler who acted like she didn't know what he was saying to me when she was right there. You can't imagine my glee when one day I am outside weeding the garden when Barb comes out and tells me that if I see Gerry on the street I am to call police as there is a restraining order against him to keep away. He is a crackhead and has cleaned out her bank account. I tell her with pleasure will I call the police on him. I have to admit I felt a great deal of schadenfreude over that one. Eventually, they divorced and he forced her to sell.
In moved Tom and Allen, a gay couple who on the surface seemed nice enough, but proved to be racist and partiers. They drank beer steadily from Friday evening to Sunday night. Most of the time in the backyard with a huge fire going in the middle of the lawn, regardless of the temperature outside. Could be 30 c and they would have the fire blazing, beers flowing, Allen, witch like cackling at everything Tom said. At four in the morning it wore thin. If I made the mistake of leaving my bedroom window open, my clothes smelt like I had been smoking sausage in my closet. They ended up selling because Tom didn't like the racial direction the neighbourhood was moving in. He actually said this to me, but in not so polite terms. I found this hugely hypocritical as I endured many conversations from him about how they had been discriminated against for having a pride flag in their window. They wanted acceptance but weren't willing to afford it to anyone else.
Finally came Mike and Lynne and their baby. A lovely, sweet couple originally from the East Coast. Mike cleans up the garbage at the park at the bottom of the street. Lynne is friendly and a very attentive, loving mother. Today, they left me a little potted, flowering plant with a get well soon card on my veranda. I love these neighbours. It is so nice to know that there are still decent, sweet neighbours in the world. Hoorah!

Died and Went to Hell part 1.

After suffering for several days in excruciating agony with pain in my neck, shoulder, arm and hand and trying every therapy under the sun to get relief, I reached the point of complete desperation and made the decision to go to the hospital. Anyone who has been through an emergency dept. knows this is not something anyone does unless they absolutely have to. Upon arrival I explained to the triage nurse that I was in extreme pain, that I had fainted from the pain and was desperate for relief. She directed me to sit in the waiting area with all of the other 40 waiting patients. I immediately began to cry because I knew I wasn't going to be able to tolerate the three hour wait that was ahead of me sitting in a chair! I had been lying on my hardwood floor at home and even this provided no relief. Of course as soon as I sat down an older woman sat beside me and began to tell me her problems and then started to cry. Fuck, even when I am crying and in total pain people seek me out to tell their problems. My sister said that the woman had made a bee line for me. Thanks to my sister's advocacy I was able to continue to wait on a stretcher in the hall. I spent another hour there crying and writhing in pain. I now know what writhing in pain is. Finally my sister got the triage nurse who could see I was in a very bad way and decided to send me back to the be assessed. But as she wheeled me there she had to say that she had bumped me in front of ten other people. I don't know what her purpose was in telling me this, was she trying to make me feel grateful or guilty? It was her poor assessment at triage that placed me in the wrong area in the first place. I was in too much pain so I let it go. I arrived in the assessment area and explained my pain to the nurse who told me all they could do was give me a injection. Yes, yes please an injection I said. In came a doctor who evaluated me and said it's a pinched nerve we will give you an injection and then you will be okay. Thank God above I said. I took the two very pain injections of Demerol gladly because they were going to fix me. The nurse then took me back into the what the minor assessment area. Two nurses then had an argument over whether or not I should rest on a bed or a chair while awaiting re evaluation. My nurse won and I was told to lay on a stretcher in a room that opened onto the nurses station. I was just left there as the Demerol kicked in, on my back unable to move but still in massive pain. I was almost delirious and found myself saying please work, please work, please work, over and over again while I cried moaned and sobbed. After an hour another nurse came in and said, "does crying make you feel better?" I replied that yes it does actually because I am in severe pain. She returned with an ativan and said the doctor would come to reasses me. I lay there freezing, flat on this stretcher sobbing, but high on the drugs, catching words of the conversations of the nurses and adding them into my own thoughts. The nurses were talking about shopping and I said out loud in my sobbing voice, "shopping and shoes, but it hurts, hurts, size eight, yeah me too, make it stop, make it stop.". If it didn't hurt so much it would have been really funny. Finally the doctor comes back and says to me , "sorry I have to ask you this, but are you an I.V. drug user?". No I tell him it's that the drugs you are giving me aren't working. He then ordered another shot of Demerol which is followed by a morphine tablet. Now I am really incapacitated and still in pain. In my drugged and pained state I think that maybe I have died and didn't realize it and I am now in hell. Maybe this is what hell is, to be in horrible unrelenting pain, unable to to anything about it, alone and disdained by those supposed to help you. Yes, maybe I was dead and in hell. I continue to sob until I pass out. I am awaken by a Neurologist who does an evaluation tells me it is a nerve root problem stemming from my neck and gives me a new medication, tells me I need to be admitted to the hospital for pain management and an MRI. When then new medication starts to work I want to kiss this doctor but I am too drugged up. I endure five of the most painful x-rays ever, sobbing the whole time, having to hold my head and shoulders in excuriating postions. Finally I get to the ward and pass out.

Pain

There are so many different types of pain. Each with their own particular sting. Each unrelenting. Each unique. Yet all having in common the desire for their end and a return to the pre-pain state. Are we at pain's mercy? Does it dictate to us or do we have any control? Surely no one wants to feel pain (mashocists and self harmers excluded). I 've heard people say that pain makes them feel alive. Aren't there other ways to feel alive? If you enjoy it, then it really isn't pain is it? Can we control whether or not we feel pain? I don't think so, not unless you are a completely disconnected person. Maybe we can control the way we relate to the pain or the way we do pain. Why is it considered brave and desirable to have a high tolerance for pain? This implies that suffering is noble. Is this true? Should people feel badly or think less of themselves because they are pained by the loss of a relationship? What about physical pain? After suffering for three days which an excruciating pain in my right shoulder, I went to my doctor yesterday. As soon as I told her what was wrong with me, I started to cry. I cried the whole duration of the appointment. Maybe it was the combination of drugs, pms and unrelenting pain, but I just couldn't stop. I apologized to her for crying! Later I realized how stupid that was. Mind you it was effective if my goal had been to acquire major painkillers. I actually felt ashamed because I was upset by my pain and my inability to hide it. How fucked up is that? This morning I was feeling badly for wanting a painkiller and trying to be strong, but the pain in my shoulder was so bad that my brain couldn't stand it and I fainted. I spent twenty minutes on the bathroom floor in child's pose. This denial of pain is getting ridiculous. Perhaps back in prehistoric times to show pain made you vulnerable to prey. Isn't the opposite true now, to deny pain makes you vulnerable and not in reality.

Ten things: Childhood

I was tagged by Jacy to write ten things about me. She suggested I tell the marble or the tongue story, which gave me the idea to do ten things about me: childhood.

1. My mother claims to have found out she was pregnant with me in February, but I wasn't born until December, just before Christmas. Yeah almost 11 months! Which, by the way, is the same gestational period for whales. Coincidence? I think not.

2. My first friend, when I was four, was the boy across the street, Bradley. He used to call on me every day. Often getting me out of bed in the morning. We did everything together. Sadly we moved away and our friendship ended. I remembered him so fondly that I named my cat after him. Unfortunately, it seems that this may have been my best relationship with a male.

3. My favourite pants when I was five were pink paisley bell bottoms. My mother and I had huge fights about what I was going to wear until I was eight when she finally gave up and let me wear what I wanted. Believe it was for the better. She tried to stick me in some God awful hand me downs. I recall a hideous blue kilt dress thing that I had to wear with pre-lycra itchy bulky leotards that ended up at your knees by the time you got to school. My first running shoes were North Stars. I still remember my Dr. School sandals and my first pair of clogs. It was my father who got me my prized blue Adidas tracksuit. Fashion was important to me even as a little kid.

4. I was kicked out of kindergarten on my first day in the class. I came after the school year had started because I had moved into the area. I arrived in class right at snack time. All of the children were seated in a big circle. In the centre there was a tray with one mangled, picked at and rejected by everyone, orange slice. The teacher told me that I was to eat that last wedge of mashed up orange. With all of the children's eyes on me I told her that no, there was no way that I was going to eat that orange. She took this as an attack on her authority and insisted that, oh yes,
I was going to eat it. But I have always drawn the line at food. No one, no one, is ever going to make me eat something I don't want to. I lost it, screaming and yelling that I wasn't going to eat that orange. I don't exactly know what happened but at one point I was upside down and then out in the hall. My mother had to come and get me.

5. Continuing with the food theme: I quit eating meat when I was eight. In one of my father's finer parenting moments, he decided that we should take a trip to his aunt's farm and that I needed to watch the butchering of some pigs. He was trained as a butcher and grew up on farms and didn't think that there was anything wrong with this. Upon return from the Stratford Massacre, I refused to eat my meat, thus beginning a year long war with my father. I can't tell you how many hours I logged at the dinner table with my meat while my sisters laughed in the other room to Happy Days. I also endured many a spanking over this. (which just proves that spanking doesn't work). The man had hands like baseball mitts! I developed all sorts of tricks to get rid of my meat: put it in my pockets and flush it down the toilet, stick it in nearby houseplants and if possible, feed it to the cat. Tricky, because it was easy to get caught doing that one. Finally he gave up. I spent the next several years eating cottage cheese instead. I have only started eating meat again in the past few years.

6. The first records I bought were 45s. Tell Me Something Good, by Rufus and The Bitch is Back by Elton John. I have always loved music and sang fluently in German until I started school. I can still do a great version of Muss Ich Denn.

7. I begged my mother for two years to get my ears pierced. She said I had to wait until I was twelve. On my twelfth birthday my friend and I went downtown on the streetcar and I got my ears pierced at Ostranders Jewellers. They used metal studs and a gun. It hurt like hell but was so worth it. That was the beginning of my love affair with earrings. I feel naked if I don't have any on. Later that evening we went to the movies: Tommy. I was really freaked out by Tina Turner as the Acid Queen.

8.I used to watch Mr. Dressup faithfully. It was my secret hope that one day Finnegan would talk and I had to be watching when it happened. Poor Finnegan, he had to endure that suck up Casey and couldn't talk!

9. My favourite story was The Little Red Hen. It really bugged me that all those farm animals refused to help in the baking of the bread, but all wanted to eat it once it was baked. My first word came from that book: pig. Funny, given the meat thing later. My sister said I was obsessed with justice as a child. Couldn't stand it when I thought things weren't just. I think it started with that book.

10. It is really hard to choose between the tongue and the marble, so I will do them both. Age four, under a dare from my sister, I shoved a marble up my nose. It got stuck and I couldn't get it out. My mother freaked when she saw it. It took me three hours of pushing in downward from the outside before it came out. I think that it contributed to me badly deviated septum. Same year at the park got a monkey bar under my chin and when I went to yell for my parents who were leaving to wait for me, i bit down on my tongue, almost severing it off. It was on by a centimeter. I remember all of the blood on my father's shirt as he took me to the hospital. Once there I was strapped to a stretcher and given blood. The doctor told my mother that they couldn't sew it back on and I would just have to wait and let it grow back together (can't tell you how much it hurt!). I was to eat soft foods only. "Great" I told the doctor, "now I won't have to eat my mother's hamburgers any more.". Always saw the silver lining in every cloud.

Internet dating the never ending story.

Yesterday I checked on the internet dating site and am happy to report that I was contacted by three men. One is ten years older than me, (not beyond reason) and lives in Halifax, the other was over ten years older than me and lives in Calgary and the last one was over twenty, that's right, twenty years older than me and lives in Hamilton! These guys aren't even close to living near where I live, I might as well be dating one of those Russian sailors on that sub that is claiming the North Pole for Russia! And twenty years older, that is almost the same age as my mother! Gross! It just makes me think of Catherine Zeta Jones and that shrivelled up Michael Douglas and I want to gag! I don't I see myself like her. But him, he insisted on using his own body in his nude scenes in Basic Instinct and I have to say that I am still traumatized by the memory of his saggy, wrinkled ass, thirty feet big on the movie screen. See I am superficial. Wait, I forgot, yesterday I did get contacted by a younger guy. He is in South Carolina and wants me to join him on the web cam! Gross for different reasons.

Compliments

So today one of my male co workers who is not gay, but is in a committed relationship, told me that I looked beautiful today. See what some time off and a little Barcelona sun can do? Anyway, I have no interest in any kind of relationship with this guy and I don't think he has one in me either. He sort of said it spontaneously. Wow, was it ever nice to have a man tell me I looked beautiful. I would like to hear it on a regular basis. A few months ago I had my non relationship relationship guy was over, he had on a nice blue shirt. I told him that the colour of the shirt looked good on him. He said yeah you were probably thinking about how it brings out the gray in my hair and I said no, I was thinking about how it brought out his beautiful blue eyes. He absolutely glowed after that. Everyone should be told that they are beautiful. Why is it so hard to tell the people around us, especially those we care about that they are beautiful?

Still superficial

So today I was reviewing some of the guys that contacted me on the internet dating site to see if maybe in my haste or due to the influence of my non relationship relationship, I had perhaps overlooked someone. That's when I saw him. I guess that I had missed him the first time around; there was a guy who in his photo was wearing a kilt standing in the woods. I'm not even going to say what I think about that. But this is not Scotland and not Wuthering Heights. This is my future. This is my future? This can't be my future.

Horrible Songs

A few days ago I was discussing some songs I can't stand with Jacy and I forgot to mention that I absolutely hate, to the point of considering violence that John Mayer song, Your Body Is A Wonderland. I feel bile rise up every time I hear it. I have to admit I can't stand most of his songs. But this one in particular makes me sick. Please make them stop playing it all the time on the radio. One of the spin instructors at my gym used to play for the cool down, it just ruined the whole class. It's like a current version of Lady In Red. Definitely in my top 50 of songs I can't stand.

I am superficial

I am in a non relationship relationship. As if this weren't bad enough I get the feeling that I am about to be dumped. Sure the question is, can you actuallly be dumped when it is not really a relationship? At least not acknowledged as one. Yes you can. This is the new low that I have sunk to. So in response to this pending dumping and given that there really wasn't a relationship officially to begin with, I have decided to try to force myself to date. There is a faint voice in my head that says maybe you will actually find someone that wants you. I haven't completely given up, but really maybe I should. It is really difficult dating. I work in a female dominated profession. The few men that I work with are gay or married. Most of my friends are married or in real relationships and don't want to be out and about trying to find men, if there actaully were any to find. I have joined things I am interested in. Again female dominated and gay men. Who knew it would be this hard. I have even tried internet dating. This is either a brilliant tool for people to connect or it is a gathering spot for pathetic pitiful losers like myself who can't seem to do what most people can do. Not only that, internet dating brings you face to face with your own superficiality. Looking at the photos of these men you start to see how shallow you really are. I try to excuse my superficiality (Is this even a word? Sounds like something Bush would come up with) by blaming the men for lying in their adds. I have actually caught myself saying things like this out loud to the computer screen," there is no way you are forty five, sure you work out five times a week and you have got to be kidding me.". If these adds, as I call them, were true then there should be thousands of single, fit, tall, attractive men strolling along the beach who have just finished cooking gourmet meals after spending a day at a job they love and get paid loads of money for. The sad thing is I am sure they are all thinking the same thing about me when they see my add. It's awful. And I haven't even got to the contact stage. Do you put yourself through this in the rare hope of actually finding someone or do you just give up? Is there really any point to even trying?

Lost Baggage

Is it possible that my lost luggage or as British Airways calls it "Mishandled Baggage" is really a metaphor for my life?

Two days ago I returned from a fantastic trip to London and Barcelona. Which was seemingly capped off with a surprise computer error that sat me in first class on the flight home from Heathrow. Lucky things like that never happen to me. I kept thinking, as I was reclining on my lazyboy like seat complete with personal converter, socks and bottles of wine served in real glasses, that this was some kind of joke and someone was going to humiliate me for mistakenly sitting there. Most of the time on flights my experience is much like what happened to my friend that I was travelling with; a screaming child in back of you that pulls on and kicks your seat for seven hours. Or someone with smelly feet in front and a drooling large guy who keeps falling asleep with his head on your shoulder beside. It was all too good to be true.

Here's where the metaphor begins. In my experience in relationships with men I have never been seated in first class. I have always suffered through economy. Tolerated discomfort and poor treatment because the destination was going to make up for the trip. It has taken me years to figure out that the trip is the destination. Years can go by while you wait and hope in vain to get to that destination. Besides it has been my own fault for not getting to the airport sooner to ensure a better seat and I am definetly not worthy of the extra cost of first class. I have had a fantasy each time I check in at an airport counter that I will be bumped up to first class. Optimism and patience have caused me to tolerate very uncomfortable things much longer than I should. I always think things can get better. But those things mostly only happen in movies.

Of course it was all too good to be true. The great trip and fabulous flight home came crashing down when we learned that our baggage had not made the fabulous flight home with us. But not to worry the British Airway rep told us confidently and assuredly, the baggage will be on the first flight home tomorrow and would be courriered to our doorstep by that evening. We could even check the progress of the baggage on the website. My immediate reaction was of upset and concern. I didn't like begining separated from my baggage, not one bit. There were really important things in there. Like my house keys and my favourite shoes. The rep didn't miss the chance to point out to me how stupid it was to pack my house keys in the suitcase. Of course I knew this already; the same way I know it will rain and refuse to take an umbrella with me when I leave for work in the morning. Some stupid choices defy logic. Same as is true for the relationships. How many times have I known that getting myself involved with certain a man was not a wise thing to do and went ahead and did it anyway. Like that old "Found A Peanut" song I used to sing as a kid. Eventhough it was rotten, I always ate it anyway. So I managed to get into my home without the key and anyway it was all going to be solved by tomorrow I told myself. This just allowed me to avoid the dreaded unpacking a day longer.

So the next day I dutifully checked the website to see the progress of the baggage. Decided it was best not to go anywhere that evening because the baggage was coming. Throughout the day was told that the baggage was being traced via the website. By eight that evening I decided that maybe I should call and see what was happening with the suitcase. After ten minutes of press this and press that I finally got a person on the line who actually laughed when I told her I was expecting the suitcase today. "I don't know why they tell people they will get their baggage the next day. That never happens." She chuckled. She then went on to tell me that if I was really lucky it would take two days, but more likely at least four. At least four! Then she said it could be soaking wet once it arrives as they keep the luggage outside at Heathrow because they don't have space and "you know how much it has been raining in England." "There are some really important things in that suitcase." I told her. "Things I really need. Like my house keys.". "Oh you should know better than to put something like that in your suitcase.". Somehow it is now my fault that my suitcase has been lost and I stupidly forgot my that I had put my house keys in there. I remember thinking they where probably safer in there than being dragged all around Barcelona in my purse. What an idiot I was. How many times have I felt this exact way in my realtionships. My ex, whom I lived with for over five years had the same ability to twist things around to somehow make me responsible for everything. I refuse to think this way anymore. I told the rep. that my friend would also be very upset as she had packed her magnifying mirrors and all of her tweezers in her suitcase and she needed them desperately for some serious plucking. This did not even produce a slight chuckle from the rep.

So I broke the bad news to my friend and then she began to research the whole problem. We discovered through various blogs and websites that there are over 20,000 pieces of luggage at Heathrow that have not made it to their proper destination. Some people waiting weeks and weeks before getting their suitcases. Some having to spend entire vacations without any luggage, some never getting their luggage back at all. My friend then discovered that the situtaion is so bad at Heathrow that they are now shipping by boat the luggage to Milan to be sorted out there.

As the reality of the lost baggage sinks in I am now fondly recalling all of the things in the suitcase that I need. My toiletries, all the chargers to every electronic device I own that needs charging, my favourite Enzo Anglelini shoes, most of my summer clothes, including my good bras. It is really difficult to find good bras that fit properly. All of the great bags and posters I bought at various museums on the trip. I try to be less superfiscial, I try to tell myself they are only things and they can be replaced. That's what people say to you when you lose something. Usually they add something like at least you still have your health or at least nothing happened to you. Here's the metaphor thing again. No one knows how badly a loss can feel until they have their own and even then that loss experience is unique to you. You can never predict how a loss will feel. And even if it was the loss of something you are probably better off without, the loss of the dream of what it could have been or the the loss of the fantasy of what it was, still can really hurt like hell. Escaping the pain of loss becomes your sole focus. You trying in vain to go back to a place before the loss. A place that can never be returned to again. All sounds very dramatic I am sure. I am after all only talking about a suitcase here. But that is the lesson of loss. Perhaps one that never fully gets learned.

So many people have said, that's why I always put everything I need in my carry on bag. Well at Heathrow they changed the rules and only let you carry on one bag. This included your purse. This is part of the reason they can't manage their luggage there they suddenly doubled the volume of bags. The methaphor here is never put anything valuable or anything you need into someone else's control. Here I am mostly talking about your self. Your self worth, your self defintion, your time and energy. You have to carry these things yourself.

Once your baggage is lost, they become angry and almost threatening at British Airways. It says on the website that if you have already reported your baggage as missing then not to call them as calling could result in your bags taking even longer to be returned to you. I imagined someone out there at British Airways in their British accent saying, "it's that bitch Fritzi calling from Canada again about her missing baggage. Just for that she will never see her suitcase again. Say goodbye to your favourite shoes and chargers, you irritating cow." Sounds like they've got the suitcase hostage and I have to await instructions from them if I want it safely returned to me. But at the same time I had to laugh because it reminded me of desperate phone calls I had made trying to salvage a doomed relationship. Each phone call just made the situation worse. Sometimes you just have to let go. Unfortunately the baggage that you want lost never goes anywhere and stuff you want to keep, gets taken away.

I keep picturing my suitcase on some carousel going round and round. With each revoultion the case a little worse for wear. It is like it's me going round and round in circles, lost and unclaimed. Or maybe it is out in some heap of suitcases that have lost their way, growing mildewy from the rain.

See the truth is I want to be claimed. I want someone to track me down and say that this suitcase is important it has lots of valueable things inside of it that can't be replaced. Isn't this just what everyone wants? That is why I have to get that suitcase back.