The Shortage

I work for the government. I am a loyal and proud civil servant. I may not get paid as much as I should, but I do my job to the best of my ability because I know I ultimately serve the citizens.

Right now, we're experiencing a bit of a deficit. Okay, so we're experiencing a really big deficit. I will valiantly do my part to help save money while still providing the best services that we can, but I will draw the line somewhere!

The past couple of days, the women's washroom has run completely out of toilet paper at least twice. Staffers have had to go to the floor above or below to "take care of business". This then causes a cascade effect inevitably causing several floors to be without the much sought after TP. I highly doubt it is part of our cost-cutting measures, but you have to admit, it is highly inconvenient!

I'm thinking that the next time the building runs out of "supplies" I will leave. There's gotta be something in our Workplace Health and Safety manual about standards of cleanliness.

The Irony

Why is it that the people you don't care to ever see again, you always bump into when you're feeling particularly dreadful and grumpy?

And the ones that you do want to bump into again, you never see but you are constantly reminded of them in the faces of strangers?

I'm sure there's a physics equation out there somewhere for this.

The Chinese Horoscope

Happy Belated Lunar New Year to you all. And apologies go out to non-Chinese folk who celebrate the same New Year. Yes, it's tough being a minority within a minority.

Just checked out my horoscope.. and apparently I'm supposed to be dating goats and pigs.

Pigs? Check.
Goats? Gotta work on that.

Paging billy-gruff and porcine people...

The Equation

WARNING: If you are sensitive of stomach, do not continue reading.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.

intermittent lactose intolerance + thong = one unhappy compulsive liar

curses to my damned asian genetics and VPL issues!

The Sky Screamer

Ron Howard is in town. Yup, little Richie Cunningham is here in the TDot. Some of my friends and I went to attend a screening of his latest film, "The Missing" and see him speak tonight. Unfortunately, the event was mismanaged and those of us on the waiting list ended up shivering in the cold night air.

There was a good sixty or so people milling about and attempting to keep warm. And like the typical Torontonians that we are, we didn't complain directly to the management staff. We just raged quietly to ourselves about how this whole situation was "unacceptable" and "not at all what we expected". Way to put your foot down, people! Then again, I am not only a member of the Self-Mutterers Club of Toronto, I am also the President. I just stood there freezing my ass off and silently shook my fist into the air.

As aforementioned fist-shaking was happening, I noticed a strangely-familiar looking guy nearby. It quickly occurred to me that I had worked with that guy over 10 years ago, but I just couldn't place his name. D... D... it was a name that started with "D"? I couldn't remember what though. Now, if you're a normal person, you would go up to that guy and say something like: "Hey, you look kind of familiar. Didn't we work together a long time ago? Hi. My name is Reese." Unfortunately, my brain is not wired in the "normal" way.

Here's what I did instead. I turned my head to the side, facing away from him, and calmly yelled upwards into the night sky, "DAVE!" Subtly, I glanced around. Hmmm. No reaction. So I decided to give it another go. "DONALD!", I screamed to the clouds. Pause. Nope, nothing. Finally, I yelled to the moon, "DOUG!" THAT got his attention. My friends thought I had suddenly become insane. They had no clue what I was attempting to do. One even said to me aloud, "Are you trying to figure out God's name or something?!?". I laughed and then realized that "Doug" was looking over at me smiling a huge grin. Oh crap. That IS him. And he KNOWS I know it's him. Maybe if I pretend that I don't see him, he won't notice me hiding here. Of course, there is that silly business of me yelling his name out loud. Fuck. I'm in hell.

Moments later he came over and started talking to me. I feigned surprise and ignorance. Or shall I say, I attempted to feign ignorance, for I was genuinely surprised that this whole thing was happening to me. Silly, silly Reese. He asked me how I was doing and we small-talked for a bit. I pretended to not know his name. Yeah, like how transparent and retarded is that? The big shocker was that he mentioned he still had my number from back then. Weird. In those days, I figured myself as a hot shit networker and used to whore my business card all over town. Yes, I was a "calling card slut". Apparently, he kept it handy for 10 friggin' years. I also remembered just how stupid I was 10 years ago, and I was insane enough to have flirted with him back then. From what I recall, he was a very odd guy. I also recall that I was a girl who really liked odd guys. Damn.

Anyhow, my friends and I had had enough of waiting for the theatre to let us inside, so we decided to bail on Ronny Howard. (I'd have to make it up to him some other time.) Thankfully, it also gave me an opportunity to make a quick departure from further talking with "Doug". I talked long enough with him to discover that 1) he's still very creepy/odd; and 2) I no longer have a thing for those types of guys. So I managed to extricate myself from experiencing any further awkward moments.

So the big lesson that I learned today: Don't yell people's names into the sky. And don't pretend that you didn't do it either. People have an amazing facility for noticing such bizarre behaviour. The amusing thing is... based on tonight's events.... I think I won in the "who's more imbalanced" contest.

Oh God... I hope he doesn't follow up and actually call me. Nothing is crazier than a guy who likes crazy girls, right?

The Phone Call

Can We Still Be Friends
Music & Lyrics by Todd Rundgren

We can't play this game anymore but
Can we still be friends?
Things just can't go on like before but
Can we still be friends?

We had something to learn
Now it's time for the wheel to turn
Grains of sand, one by one
Before you know it, all gone

Let's admit we made a mistake but
Can we still be friends?
Heartbreak's never easy to take but
Can we still be friends?

It's a strange, sad affair
Sometimes seems like we just don't care
Don't waste time feeling hurt
We've been through hell together

Can we still be friends?
Can we still get together sometimes?
Can we still be friends?
You know that life will still go on

We awoke from our dream
Things are not always what they seem
Memories linger on
It's like a sweet, sad, old song

-------------

Listening to this song, and because I am in a reflective mood made me do something I hadn't planned on doing tonight.

Lately, I've been frustrated with the singles scene. Everyone makes promises, everyone lies. I am just not one of those people. I guess I ran out of patience. I had so many people tell me that they'd call/write again... and then they don't, for whatever reasons. At first I chalked it up to timing, to lots of things. But then my obsessive personality took hold, and I did the unthinkable... I made a list.

In the past year, here's how many rejections I've had:
1. Pinocchio
2. Dick (really, that's not a pseudonym)
3. Laal (cause she didn't know what real feelings were)
4. Derek the Firefighter
5. The "I Wanna Be Your Man" Guy
6. She
7. The Guy Who Kept Bailing Cause He Was "Sick"
8. The Free Weed Guy
9. New Year's Eve Guy Who Doesn't Respond To Emails
10. The "You're Drinking My Beer, Alexander Keith's, and I Promise to Call" Guy

I was frustrated with the fact that so many people don't hold true to their word. And I remembered that I had promised to call Laal again even though she had dumped me six months ago (on the phone even!). I didn't want to be like those "others" who didn't follow through. I wanted to be a girl, true to my word, even though she may not deserve my respect. So I called her.

It was supposed to be a quick call. I was supposed to wish her a Happy Chinese New Year, and all the best, blah blah blah. She seemed so happy to hear from me, that I kept her talking. She missed me. I could tell in her voice. We talked about what we each did on New Year's Eve. She also had seen some photos of me from New Year's Eve that a mutual friend had taken. She hesitated a little as she quickly confided in me, "You looked absolutely gorgeous that night." I felt I had won a victory. She noticed. Of course she noticed! Who wouldn't? I couldn't help but wonder if she was manipulating me again, by hitting me where it hurts: my ego.

We chatted about her plans. She talked about taking her Masters abroad. What I interpreted was that she was running away from her current existence... again. She's a runner. She doesn't let herself feel emotions, hence the Laal nickname. Laal was a one-show character on Star Trek: The Next Generation. (Yes, a geek reference I know, but this one is a good one, I promise!) Data created an android daughter for himself, Laal, and she had one ability that he did not: she could feel love. In the end, it was the emotions that burnt her out... and she ceased to exist. My ex was nicknamed Laal after confessing to me that she wanted to break up because she felt a strange pain in her chest every time we were together. I told her it was vunerability, and it's often associated with love and relationships. That, or she always had heartburn when we were together.

She was young, and not experienced in relationships, let alone one with another woman, and so she ran. She dumped me on the phone before going on a long trip, saying, "Can we just be friends?" Yes gentlemen... women get this line too. So, I pulled a Chandler Byng and said, "Okay I understand. I'll give you a call when you get back". My male friends said to me, "Dude (they always call me dude), she kicked you in the balls, and you said 'Thank You'". If only I had balls, I would have something to clutch at in pain. But all I had was my wounded ego, and a broken heart. (And yes, if I truly HAD balls, I would have given her a piece of my mind, but that's another story.)

So she left. I sulked. She returned. I sulked some more. And, I never called. She didn't call either. Six months passed. And now, here I am. Doing a post-mortem on a relationship, and wondering if "friendship" exists between us.

We ended up talking for 1 1/2 hours. I'm good at talking (or writing for that matter) endlessly. What I found surprising was that the longer I talked to her, the more annoyed I got. Her initial excitement and flirtation diminished into disinterest and depression. She's a very pessimistic girl who is very self-involved. I know she can be kind, and a wonderful person to hang out with, but I realized that she is incapable of showing affection, and does not know how to express closeness to another human being. I found myself giving her a pep-talk about how life can be an amazing journey, full of happiness and that she shouldn't dwell on the negative things. I was giving HER a pep-talk. I was giving HER a pep-talk! The girl whose heart she broke a mere six months ago, was giving her a pep-talk! (If I repeat it enough, maybe it'll be real in my head?)

Well the phone call came to an end rather uncomfortably. No promises this time of calling again, or hanging out. I just wished her the best, which I genuinely meant. She said the same thing to me. And then she hung up. I felt incredibly stupid afterwards, but only for a short while. I realized that I had accomplished my goal. I didn't let it be a "what if". I gave respect when it was hard for me to. I am a better, and perhaps, wiser person than I was a few short hours ago.

I also have a heck of a blog entry! So, this leads me to think one thing:

Did I call her so I could blog it? You tell me.... ;)

The Impending Storm

Is it just me, or do we Torontonians like complaining about weather? Normally, I try to err on the side of caution, and say that living in Toronto comes with its caveats, but today it looks like the snow is truly that bad.

It's 4pm in the afternoon, and many of my cubicle compatriots have either fled or are in the process of abandoning ship. I, on the other hand, still sit at my desk, trying to decipher a bit of code that just won't compile in my Access database project. My captain, (read: my manager) is nowhere to be found, so I cannot leave without talking to him first. Yes, this is madness. I have been transformed into your typical approvals-oriented, permission-required civil servant. I have a feeling that if this were the Titanic, I would be the ridiculous bureaucrat running around for the captain to approve my requisition form for a lifejacket from the supply room.

I must be stupid. I mean, even the news is fear-mongering right now. Look at the Toronto Star's headline for today: "Worst of Snow Yet to Come".

It normally takes me 1 1/2 hours to commute home by transit. This morning it took me two hours to get here due to transit delays. So the irony is, even though everyone else is leaving early because of the storm, I get to leave late! Grrr. My boss is still not here. I'm torn. Do I ditch with two hours of my shift left? I wonder what is more tortuous: frostbite or being wracked with guilt?

Further proof that I don't possess common sense: I look forward to going outside later and taking pictures. Wish me luck on the trek home.

Reese

PS. If this is to be my last post... know that I died with hypothermia thinking: "Too bad, I can't blog my last thoughts....."

The Melancholic Fever

It must be the weather.

I am often funny. I am often melancholy. Sometimes the space between the two extremes happens so quickly. And yet, I am never prepared for it.

It must be that I'm getting sick... again.

It's only 6:30pm and I find myself distracted, stressed, headachy, and tired. I rage at myself for not being productive. I had planned to complete incomplete tasks, mount aggressive campaigns against the towering piles of paperwork in my office, and purge my writer's soul by documenting and revising my life's activities and verbose opinions. And yet, that is not to be this evening.

I will sleep. I will attempt to sleep... for even though my body starves for rest, I still suffer from insomnia. Perhaps the constant drone of my laundry in the spin cycle will lull my active synapses and silence them for awhile.

OR...

I can watch Ellen Degeneres in the unfortunate comedy "Mr. Wrong". Talk about irony. Sigh. Again, I leap into the safe haven of comedic observation.

The Photo Mission

Even though it was blistering cold outside today, my fellow photojunkie pal, Prince Dis-arming, and I were determined to grab some shots for an upcoming photo contest. The sun was out and it was a gorgeous day.... but damn was it ever cold! I think we hit a low of -31 degrees Celsius.

We both shoot digital, so the concerns of freezing our expensive toys were valid (the cameras, not our keisters). Prince Dis-arming is using Canon's brand-spanking new Digital Rebel... and boy is it ever sweet! The sucker shoots really fast! (The camera, not my friend, although he's been known to be a little trigger-happy too. I digress) And let's not forget about the image quality! It's no wonder that so many film-holdouts are converting to digital this year.

I myself (as opposed to you, yourself) shoot with a Nikon CoolPix 5700 and I managed to grab a few print-worthy shots. I think next time I'll try and get up earlier to get some more of that limited winter daylight. But who am I kidding? I went to bed at 6am this morning!

This shot is too overcast, but I found the "upwards shadow" effect interesting. Otherwise, I think this photo mostly sucks.

Anyhow, with last night's partying, today's photo excursion and a BIG Chinese New Year dinner (the actual dinner being big, not that the party was hosted by obese Chinese people)... I am one wiped cookie. I promise to be more interesting in the next couple of days. And if I'm not... well, you can stop reading my blog. And if you don't, well, then I think you have some issues yourself doncha?

The Pick-Up Line

Believe it or not, I actually had a guy say this to me tonight at a club:

"Your body symmetry is really beautiful."

With lines like that, I truly believe that the human race is in danger of extinction. More on my late night/early morning adventures once I get my well-deserved beauty sleep.

The Email of the Day

I just got this email from Elly Laytor. It made me laugh so hard that I just had to share it.

-----

Subject: Inteesting poblem at wok...

No, that's not a spelling erro in the title....I'm having keyboad issues. The "r" key only woks half the time. I'm sending out some eally pofessional sounding e-mails today. It's stating to get annoying. :)

Happy Fiday!

Elly

The Accolades are Coming! The Accolades are Coming!

Ha ha ha! Lookee what I got!

WEBLOG wannabe 2004 weblog award awarded to Revisionist Reese in the category of "Best Use of a Disclaimer"

The Blogaholic in Me

Found this cool quiz: "Are you a blogaholic?"

I scored 72 out of 100! But apparently this is a good thing.

Results:
You are a dedicated weblogger. You post frequently because you enjoy weblogging a lot, yet you still manage to have a social life. You're the best kind of weblogger. Way to go!

Whoo hoo! I have a social life!

The Sweetest Pain

I have a headache. It's starting to edge out from my left outer temple to the center of my forehead. It pulsates and throbs with a jazzy syncopated beat, but I do not care. I should be taking pain relievers. I should be going to bed. But here I sit at my beloved computer, with a silly grin on my face, suffering from insomnia, and relishing the memory of a separate pain that is as sweet as honey.

One of the best feelings one can have is to truly enjoy another's company. To look into each other's eyes and to know that you "get" each other. To click. To not have to speak to communicate. I have that with a few people in my life, and I cherish the moments I spend with them always. Those relationships are a comfort to me. I can just be. Something inside me lets go because I don't have to try anymore. It's effortless and I love them for it.

Recently, I spent time with someone who almost fits this category, except for one additional, complicating factor: physical attraction. Physical attraction elevates this "click" to a level that is both exhilarating and frightening. I feel my heart beat faster, I feel my eyes get wider, and I feel myself gasping for air. And I know that it is all for naught because She will never, ever, return those feelings. I yearn for someone I cannot have. She does not know of my attraction. All she knows is that I am the person who makes her day, who makes her laugh in a way that no one else can, and who can relate to her and understand her without trying. I am the friend that she never expected to find.

I feel transparent to her. I feel both exposed and guarded at the same time. Exposed, because I cannot help but truly enjoy our time together just talking, laughing, and living, but wondering if somehow she can divine the secret I hold in my eyes. Guarded, because I am holding back on expressing my affections to protect our wonderful friendship.

I thought I had a "type". I knew it inside and out. But ever since she entered my life, I am now thrown. She is a surprise to me.... but a wholly pleasant one.

I do not pretend that I love her. I do not kid myself that this could be nothing more than infatuation. I dare not convince myself that somehow, like in a crazy romantic comedy, everything will turn out in the end after much hijinx, because I know that my life is NOT a movie. Somehow though, I become blissfully unaware of all these things when I see her smile, because I know that sometimes, just sometimes, that smile is just for me.

This is what I do know. I will get over her. I will move on eventually, and hopefully nurture our relationship into a true friendship, one without the complexity of attraction. In the meantime, being with her is, for me at least, ... the sweetest pain.

The Lessons Learned

Today I learned:

- that no one would notice if I were to go missing at work.

- that if you go looking for trouble you'll find it (and sometimes in the most unlikely places like your work email inbox).

- that your bad day can turn into a good day by just one phone call.

- that I was the only person who made some folks laugh today.

- that just because some friends may not see you in a long while, they still think about you.

- that you can drive 150km/h on the 401 at 3am.

- what "TJ" means.

- that I still suffer from insomnia.

The Attack of the Killer Deficit

CHEER.... the hapless heroism of Captain Debt-Fighter!

JEER.... to the deadly traps of Mistress Shop-a-holic and Lady Lackin' Discipline!

FEAR.... the animated assault of fearsome Queen Procrastination!

[Warning: Popcorn not included.]

Yes, I spent last night with a man who was only interested in me for my money.... my financial advisor. And ladies, let me tell you: it was well worth it!

I think it's time.... it's time I became a grown-up. I've spent the last several months... well... spending! Now I really need to buckle down and plan for my future, as well as anything further than "right now". This past year has been about self-discovery for me. Since I'm still suffering from "New Year's Resolution-itis" I figured I would continue on down my list.

1. Write something regularly. (check!)
2. Work on my programming/web skills. (check!)
3. Work on my digital photography portfolio. (in progress!)
4. Go to the gym 4 times a week.

uh.... let's skip that one!

5. Put together a financial plan to get out of debt, save money, invest, and buy property. (in progress!)

I am very pleased. My financial advisor also happens to be a close friend. Let's call him BizarroReese because I swear, he and I have so much in common, I wonder if we're twins that were separated at birth! He'd refute that no doubt. But to relent and give him a point: I'm the one with the bigger case of ADD. Okay?!! um... train of thought... derailed... What was I saying again?

Anyway, getting the finances organized and planned actually feels possible. I didn't realize just how much I should be thinking about, and that I've taken my future for granted. I think it's so important because I think our generation gets so much angst about today, that we rarely look ahead. Okay, so replace "our generation" with "me". I don't speak for our generation. Well, not YET. It's also about looking out for No. 1... yourself. No one else will do it. I do have a dependent: me. I am a firm believer in taking the reins into your own hands, and not letting other people drive your life (or horse in this case).

I'm only saying I believe in taking an active role in your life. I didn't actually say I do it on a regular basis. It's like saying that you believe in flossing, but you don't always do it, especially after a long night of decadence and debauchery! [My friends in the dental hygiene field, PandaGirl (because she likes to stay out late and eat bamboo shoots) and YummyMummy (because she is both tasty and a mommy), are probably going to lecture me now. Argh.]

Taking care of myself for myself is something I learned the hard way, well because the hard way is just about the only way we learn things when we're young and foolish. Now, I'm proud to say that I've officially achieved the status of "older and foolish".

So, please go out there and take care of "bidness"! Whether it be your health, your finances, or your mental well-being... go do it for yourself, because no one can do a better job of it!

[END PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT]

The Reese "Quote of the Day"

"Celebrate your good fortune, and know that you deserve it." - Authentic Reese (without revision)

The Loss

Sorry, but there will be no posts of consequence this evening. I was all set to be insightful and revelatory, but then I went and lost my website template. So the whole site design was gone. And the only copy I had was several versions old.

My insomnia has gotten the better of me.

Thankfully, I managed to rebuild most of the missing elements from memory but now I've wasted away my evening. Reese, you suck. No posts for you.

The Thing About "Read Receipts"

Email read-receipts are handy things when you use them at the office. It can verify for you whether an important or time-sensitive message has been read by your recipient. This is a great office feature purely designed to "cover your ass" in modern-day business dealings. Using them in social situations is however, borderline obsessive.

Dear reader, it may be hard for you to fathom, but yes, the fabulous and ever charming Reese is a single woman. I know! You can pick your jaw from off the floor now.

So, as of late, I've been hitting the singles scene and meeting lots of new people. Phone numbers or emails get exchanged as well as promises for re-connecting. Because I'm a modern girl, I've had opportunity to be the one to initiate contact after the first meeting. Let me tell you, it's been disastrous! I think that the men boys in question were too freaked out by the concept. I would send out an email and invariably get a short reply or none at all.

In the case where I don't get any reply, it has been suggested by my dear, kindly friends that maybe I sent the email to the wrong person, or maybe he's on vacation, or maybe he checks his email once a month, or maybe, JUST MAYBE, he's trapped under something immovable and heavy which prevents him from replying, no matter how valiantly he tries. These same friends also suggest the use of email read-receipts in future situations so as to avoid that unnecessary angst. Do you buy that? I don't. Geez, drunken dialing is bad enough.

Lesson learned: put the rejections (including the indirect ones) aside and move on. And please, please don't use read receipts. It only makes you look more obsessive... and my friends can tell you... I really don't need to add that to my repertoire.

Remember: friends don't let friends use read receipts.

The Remaking of Battlestar Galactica (aka The Making of an Obsessive Fan-Girl)

Yes, this is a geeky post.

Yes, I supposedly do not watch television anymore. But I didn't plan on breaking my resolve nor did I really, really watch television.

I caught the "re-envisioned" version of Battlestar Galactica that premiered this weekend. It's a two-part mini-series that was shot and made in Canada. I must admit that I never watched the original series so I went in without any bias. It was good. I was working on my website while watching mind you, but it was good. I do hope they make it into a regular series, but mostly because I am now interested in finding out what happens to these characters.

And I will also cop to another thing.... I thought that the actress playing Lt. Sharon Valerii (aka Boomer), Grace Park, was really hot. ;) I became aware of this talented actress through her regular role as Shannon Ng on the CBC series "Edgemont". She played a teenaged lesbian struggling with coming-out to her strict, Christian, Asian parents. Sound familiar? I've also seen her do guest stints on a couple of TV series, Jake 2.0 and Dark Angel, both of which were shot in the Vancouver area. So, needless to say, I've noticed her body of work. LOL.

So Grace plays this tough fighter pilot chick who gets to traipse around in flight gear, carry pistols and generally "save the world". Add to that the fact that she's a tall, Asian chick who used to model (the actress, not the character), and you've got me my perfect combination. Damn, she made those flight suits look sexy.

I seem to have this thing for female celebrities who play ass-kicking roles or are ass-kickers themselves: Angelina Jolie, Lucy Liu, Jessica Alba, Eliza Dushku... the list goes on. I think I like the "tough-chick exterior" mixed with the "vunerable girl interior" in women. Oh, and Asian girls... don't forget that. LOL. Who am I kidding? I pretty much drool at anything that walks nowadays. The poor boys who attempt to pick me up really have no chance. It's sad really. But I throw them a bone every now and then.

Ironically enough, if the above qualities are what I'm looking for in a woman.... then I really should be dating myself. Argh. I would, but I think I'm too high-maintenance!

Moral of the story? Love yourself? Nah. I think I just focus on dating myself more. Interpret what you will.

The Web Update

Hallelujah! I've discovered blog skins! These skins enable me to take someone else's template for a weblog and tweak it to my liking. Unfortunately, I'm still spending 5+ hours re-learning my HTML and CSS skills.

Anyway, here's the unveiling of the new design. I'm still fixing little things here and there, but basically this is the site design I'm running with.

Comments are welcome!

Thanks.

The Learning Curve

I've been spending the last couple of days trying to design my new web site. The designer in me is having tons of fun, but the technical side of me is getting frustrated with the code and software I'm using. I think the sleepy side of me just wants to call it quits.

I am starting to wonder if I've hit that "can't teach old dogs new tricks" stage! My attention span wanes once more...

On another note, I've discovered how much fun the winter can be. Yes, it's -35 degrees Celsius out today. Yes, we have slow commutes home due to all the snow. But what about how funny everyone looks today? Think about it!

When I'm commuting amongst the various winter-gear-clad travelers, I keep wondering if anyone I know were to recognize me, dressed as if I'm mushing snow dogs in Alaska. Being dressed in full-length parkas, large toques, and scarves up to our eyes, obscures our identities. It's like traveling incognito! So the next time you're feeling dismal about the cold state of affairs in our grand nation, hum the "Mission Impossible" theme to yourself and dart from subway car to subway car pretending to be a member of CSIS under deep cover. It's guaranteed to make you smile. (Or be escorted out by transit security personnel, but that's just an insignificant detail!)

The Matter with Money

It's that time again. I'm spending my lunch hour at my desk pondering my financial future. You can thank "New Year's Resolution-itis" as well as the fact that it's frickin' cold outside for this office-nesting instinct.

As I think about my financial goals (to have money and not debt), I am slowly beginning to realize that I'm gonna have to give up my baby. That's right. My beautiful car. I am really hesitant to do that because a) she's the only thing I truly own (okay, so the bank owns half of her, not that you're paying attention) and b) she's the only thing that allows me to escape the clutches of Scarberia with ease.

With the cost of fuel, increases to auto insurance, and the fact that she's a bit pricey (all the prettiest things, cost a pretty penny) all lead to approximately $800 a month of cash that I don't get to keep.

Argh! I can't decide. I'm attached to her. I can't imagine my life without her. I think I'm going to have to sit down and list out the pros and cons. Do I stay or do I go?

In the meantime, I'm sending an open call to any available sugar-daddys or sugar-mommys. That, or someone willing to whore their car to me on a regular basis?!? Pretty please?

The Stranger Gets Stranger-est

I'm starting to worry about my dear friend Elly. She's the one who found all these wonderful "fat replica" links. Well, it turns out there's this whole cottage industry on strange anatomy-inspired knick-knacks.

Elly, Elly, Elly Laytor. I'm worried your online life is goin' down the hooooooole.
Reese: (to no one in particular) "Hi, Lady!"

Feto Soap (yes, I'm not kidding)
Fetus Soap on a Rope (insanity I tell you)

Somehow, I feel happily well-adjusted.

The Strange Gets Stranger

Okay, ignore my last post as being strange. My gal pal, Elly Laytor (again, another pseudonym) just notified me that selling replicas of fat is big business! MyPetFat has actually has COMPETITION!

Check out this other site. Fat and Muscle Replicas

MyPetFat is a steal after all!

The Fat, and How Not to Chew It

Sometimes you come across things that are just too bizarre to be real. Hey, if you're a visual reminder kinda gal/guy, this may just be the ticket to your weight goals for the year! Check out My Pet Fat.

The Test Results

Called the doctor's office. Turns out I have a weird result in my blood tests. I have to go back and take some more.

In other news, my stomach hurts and I suffer from insomnia.

How is your day so far?

The Examination

I hate doctor's appointments. I don't hate the appointments themselves, nor do I hate the doctor, but whenever I have to have one, it is always the most unsatisfactory feeling. I'm a practical girl. I like straight answers. But everytime one goes to their doctor, for whatever reason, it seems like the person who is supposed to be the medical expert, pulls answers from the proverbial hat.

"Doctor, I have a problem with [insert ailment here]."

The doctor will then go on to list a range of possible causes, and then waits for you to nod your head at the list. Whether or not any of those listed items strikes a chord with you, the doctor then will either a) send you on some tests; or b) give you drugs; and sometimes c) both. Doesn't this feel a little like guessing to you? I might not be an expert in modern medicine, but no wonder people get misdiagnosed and/or over-medicated. A little frustrating I'm sure for both patient and medical professional.

Anyhow, I had a "fun" visit with my (gentlemen brace yourselves) gynecologist the other day. And it occurred to me just how odd a profession it must be. The whole time I was remembering that "Friends" episode where Rachel had a crush on a cute gynecologist. Turns out that the cute doctor felt he had seen one-too-many [insert euphemism here] that it had an impact on his sex life. The reaction on Rachel's face was classic. I wonder if this is an actual "occupational hazard"?

Well, either way, I'm sure it doesn't affect my gynecologist since she's a she. Actually, during the examination I couldn't help but notice that she's looks an awful lot like Lucy Liu, freckles and all. (Yes, I'm sure all my straight male friends are fantasizing about this right about now.) As part of my routine exam, she sent me on some blood tests and an ultrasound. Let me tell you that being forced to drink 6 glasses of water, and then get pushed and prodded during a pelvic ultrasound is not the best feeling! Before we started, the technician asked me "Do you have to pee?" I said "yes". She said "Good! Come on in!" It was very bizarre. I tried not to think of anything water or liquid-related the entire time. The noises coming from my tummy reminded me of my childhood playing on other people's waterbeds just before we accidentally popped a leak. Thank God for going to the gym and working on my pelvic muscles or else the technician would have had to call in the janitorial staff.

Anyhow, I get home and I get this message from the doctor's office saying "Hi. It's the doctor's office. Could you please call? It's not urgent." I HATE those messages. It's the equivalent of getting a message from your girlfriend who never calls unless something is up and she says "um.. could you call me back? don't worry... i'll tell you about it later". Of course you're going to worry! Whenever people tell you not to freak out..... you get more freaked out! I'm sure everything is fine. I wonder what kind of message they leave when it IS urgent? I'm curious, but I'm glad I don't have to find out anytime soon. I just hate getting those kinds of calls.

The Allergic Reaction

Today was my first day back to work after taking one week for vacation. As soon as I stepped into my office I felt an immediate, visceral reaction. My eyes started watering, my nose got stuffed up, my sinuses filled, and I couldn't breathe.

So, even though you may joke.... I think I'm allergic to my office. Of course, I'm also a gold medalist in the "Conclusion Jumping" event.

It makes sense doesn't it? I felt great all week long. I wasn't exposed to anyone who was sick. So obviously it has to do with my unventilated, lacking-a-window, heat-box/pressure-chamber known as my office?

Well, that theory got blown out of the water when I still felt crappy after I arrived at home. So now I'm sure that my office just plain ole' makes me sick. That, or my cold has a sense of humour. Silly bacteria, don't you know that tricks are for kids?

My apologies to my adoring audience of three. No witty posts for you tonight. I will try and recover from this work-related illness and climb into bed. Too bad there's no workplace compensation for this!

The Rent for the Rents

I live at home...

(pause)

I still live at home...

(bigger sigh)

I still live at home with my parents. There. I said it. I'm just one of many twenty-somethings who due to various reasons (most of them financial) are currently co-habitating with her folks. It's not that I'm complaining. Well, that's untrue too. I am complaining in a way but I really don't have a huge beef with my folks. It's just that when you're a young and foolish teenager, you imagine your adulthood in a particular way. You just get pretty damned surprised when you find yourself as a supposed-adult, and you are still living in your childhood home. This just wasn't the life I pictured. Of course, I also imagined myself to be tall, blond, and dating a Hollywood movie star. Such is reality.

I love my folks. They are kind, generous, and I get free laundry facilities. So many of my "independent" friends are jealous that I get to save lots of money since I don't pay rent. They tell me that I'm living the good life. They also seem to forget that I actually do pay rent.... just not the money kind of rent. I like to call it emotional rent.

emotional rent e-mo-tion-al rent, noun.
1. state of mental agitation or disturbance used as payment, usually of an amount fixed by contract, made by a tenant at specified intervals in return for the right to occupy or use the property of another

Unfortunately, I do not pay my emotional rent at intervals that I'm aware of. I have yet to see this "contract" that I'm bound by. I have this sneaking suspicion it's written in blood... my stupid-genetically-related-to-them blood. So I pay, and I pay, and I pay. Sometimes more than once a day. For example, my folks have this crazy habit of wildly changing their perspective on me, their oldest child. One day, I'm their baby and I need to be treated as such, and the next, they look to me as if I'm the parent. I like to call it the "sucky-baby syndrome".

My folks like depending on me to do things for them. But they do not ask me as they would any other adult. They ask me by whining to me in a "sucky-baby" voice. "Honey! Tomorrow is daylight savings, and I don't know how to change the clock! I can't do it by myself!" My crazy thought usually at this time is: how in the heck did these people raise me? Didn't daylight savings pre-exist me? It's not just the stuff with technology that irks me. I can maybe sympathize with that, but it's also sheer laziness. My father will call for me when I'm in the kitchen, into the living room where he's watching television, and ask me to change the channel for him. Usually, I'll spot the remote not sitting a mere foot from his position. Moments like those... I feel like I'm the family dog who needs to fetch his master his slippers and the morning paper. If I wasn't living with them, I'm absolutely sure they would go on with life without me. But because it's convenient, and because I owe them for my life's breath, they get away with telling me to do all sorts of tasks that they can do themselves.

It just doesn't end at home. My parents have no boundaries. My absolute favourite is when my mom is at home making something from a recipe she's never used before, and feels the need to call me at work to ask me to interpret aforementioned recipe. "Honey, what do they mean by 'mix the marble cake batter with a knife'"? I recall putting the phone down very quietly, and doing my best impersonation of Edvard Munch's "The Scream". My manager gets a kick out of these phone calls. Thank God someone at the office has a sense of humour about it. When I got my cellular phone, I tried my damnedest to "keep it secret, keep it safe". Eventually, my parents' keen senses picked up its existence and now they can reach me 24/7. I am only surviving due to the miracle of call display and voice mail.

I know these are little things to deal with in one's life ... but they do add up. To my "independent friends": try and remember WHY you moved out before telling people like me that we have it good. So needless to say, I look forward to the day when I'm able to at least place some distance between my parents and I. In the meantime, I will force myself to enjoy the time I have with them.

Living with my parents has made me insane.... but damn, it makes my writing a heck-of-a-lot more amusing.

The TV Addict

I admit it. I used to be a huge television addict. I used to watch about an average of 3-4 hours of television a night. I blame my parents completely on this one! As a kid, I wasn't really allowed to go outside and play with other kids since my parents were incredibly suspicious about other people. So growing up on television was my entire youth. That, and tormenting my younger brother. Hey, I had to do something during those commercial breaks!

So I became someone who would watch pretty much anything. Crappy sitcoms, hour-long dramas, reality shows. You name it, I was watching it. I recall feeling angst everytime one of "my shows" would be relegated to cancellation-hell or hiatus-purgatory. It was like breaking up with your favourite characters. I would go through each stage of grief in fast-forward: Denial, Bargaining, Sadness, Anger and then finally Acceptance. I would quickly get over it once the new Fall season would start up again and of course, get addicted to yet another slate of shows.

I gave up TV cold turkey last Fall. It's been hard. It's so much like breaking up with someone. You cut all ties, but then continue to hear about how your "ex" is doing. You get little spoilers about what they've been recently up to which piques your interest. But you stay strong, and stay away. I don't want to hear about how Sydney slept with the supposedly dead Will Tippen, or how Ross helped Rachel overcome her irrational fear of swings! I just don't want to know! It's like tempting a Jenny Craig client with a big fat Snickers bar, and then following that up with a NY Fries with the Works chaser!

I had to quit. It was taking over my life. Like a bad relationship, I was spending too much time with my habit instead of living my life. So I decided to fill my time with more important things.... like sleeping, and talking to real, live people.

I can honestly say that I haven't been watching television with regularity. It's on when I do my laundry, or ironing, but other than that... nothing. I am thankful for the years of entertainment that my habit had provided me. I also pride myself on being a PopCulture-Phile. I can sing almost any 80s sitcom theme, and know all the names of the crews on ST:TNG, ST:DS9, ST:Voyager and Enterprise. (Okay, so that last one makes me a geek and not necesarily a pop culture expert, but you get my drift?!?)

So to my poor beloved TV. I miss you. But not as much as I miss living a life without commercial breaks.

The Thing About "About A Boy"

I was fully intending to go out tonight. It's a Friday night. I'm on vacation. And I'm single. Why shouldn't I go spend it by painting the town red (where did that expression come from?) and hanging with the beautiful people? Well, the short answer is this. It's bloody -31 degrees Celsius outside! I know. This is Canada for Chrissake. We should be accustomed to this weather. Normally I am, but getting dolled up for hanging out in a lounge does not usually require long underwear and two sweaters.

Instead I opted to hang with my oldest and dearest friend, Cinder-Hella. (Obviously, "Cinder-Hella" is NOT her real name, but I enjoy giving my peeps their own unique identities in my version of reality.) Cinder-Hella (CH for short) lives with her parents and her two not-so-ugly step-sisters who enjoy hanging around us like white on rice when CH is not being forced into some magic guilt-ridden task which usually involves being quarantined at home or self-flagellation. Where are your fairy godmothers when you need them? Probably stuck at home with frozen fairy wings.

I bundled my tiny self into several layers of clothing so much that I resembled a 10-year-old boy about to play snow fort and find himself buried purposefully as the foundation of said fort by much older, meaner boys. Then I headed off to CH's house. Brought along the Hugh Grant flick, "About A Boy". We sat and watched the film with said not-so-ugly step-sisters, Selma and Patty, who were permanently affixed to the living room couches.

This movie has significant meaning for me. It was almost one year ago that I first watched this film on DVD. The film is basically about Hugh Grant's man-child character not having any meaning or attachments in his life, and how he goes about making this life change and starts connecting meaningfully with people. The main theme is: "No man is an island." Last year when I saw this film by myself, I was in a miserable state of affairs just having gone on a break with my boyfriend of 5 years. Literally, the next morning after watching the movie, Mr. Gutless Wonder (let's call him Pinocchio, cause he was wooden and not at all a real boy!), calls me up on the telephone and breaks up with me! He was the type to not make connections in life, and then wonder why he was so alone. Very odd. So the message behind the movie was something I took to heart in the past year. It's a great film. Every man should see it. Life is short. Make the most of it. And always, always beg forgiveness from your girlfriend 'cause you're most likely wrong. You just don't know it yet. Hyuk, hyuk!

Speaking of short lives. I discovered something pretty grim today. I apparently will die on Sunday, July 19, 2054. So, if you're morbid like me, you'll enjoy getting this extra info so you plan out the rest of your miserable existence. Check out The Death Clock.

The List

I awoke this morning with an intense memory of my dreamland activities. I dreamt that I systematically hooked up with, seduced, and slept with all of my former dates/attractions/relationships that were never consumated. It was very odd. It was also a very long list. I've had many unconsumated relationships. And yes, I do believe a lot of that is my fault. Damned Roman Catholic upbringin'! I guess my subconscious was in a "what if" mode. That, and last night's adventures at Fairbanks put the libidinous thought in my poor sex-starved brain. Beware, I'm on the prowl! But my silly morals get in the way... sigh.

Some people have the ability to lucid dream, that is, the ability to control their dreams. At times, I can be one of those people, but it's not something I can do all the time. When I do control my dreams, it's as if I'm directing/editing a film. I can fast-forward, edit, rewind, change camera angles, revise the scene. It's very bizarre.... sometimes I think I'm more concerned about the photographic quality of the scene than the action taking place:

"Cut! Now Reese, could you lean into your light a little to the left when you're kissing your Grade 9 crush? Don't remember his name or your lines? That's okay. We just need the VISUAL quality! Less talking! More natural daylight! Places! Action!"

I even have dreams where I'm talking to myself as the "actor" and giving myself direction in the scene. It's like the director-persona is my conscious trying to control the actor-persona subconscious. Does that make sense?

One part of my dream had a lot of close-ups on a number dispensing machine. Each person on my list had a number in the chronological order that I met them. Don't even ask me how high the numbers went! But the concept is just so surreal. Ever stop to think about how many people you've met in your life? If you were to assign a number to each person you've ever introduced yourself to by the time you hit 20, you'll probably be in the hundreds or thousands if you're hyper-social.

Here's to meeting lots new folks in the New Year. (And not actualizing my dream and going through the list!)

The Need

It's 3:20am and I just got home from going out with ma "boyz". This is not a typical Thursday night for me, but hey, what can I say? I'm on vacation. We checked out a rare-groove, old-school, classic house night at a place called Club Menage in downtown Toronto. (Don't ask me to define what those musical genres are, because I'm not one who's up on music. I just know that I like that kind of music.) Even though the place was pretty empty, I had a great time because the music was awesome. ("Tunin' from human, bloomin' a blossom" - That's for you Maestro fans.)

I noticed that the coat check girl just happened to be studying Ancient Chinese Medicine. I asked her about it, and she said she was studying shiatsu massage. So, OF COURSE I asked for a sample! It was very cool. I mean, what more could you ask for: great beats, martinis, and a free 20 minute massage! I don't think I've been more relaxed in a long, long time! So if anyone is looking for a great massage, check out Sarah at the Shiatsu School of Canada. She also does a fine, fine job of checking your coats. Beware of the crazy busboy though. I think he thinks he's in a martial arts film.

After tiring of the club scene, ma "boyz" decided to introduce me to a little tradition called "Fairbanks". "What is Fairbanks?" you may ask? Well, it is this little stripclub in north-west Toronto that is known for its Asian dancers. Unfortunately, being a woman, I am but a second-class citizen there. I was only allowed to sit near the bar, and not allowed a lap-dance! What's up with that! My money is worth just as much as my male companions'! I deserve to be in "pervert's row" along with the rest of the deviants!

Anyhow, watching my friend get a lap-dance, and watching the girls on the floor, it only reminded me that it's been a long, long, long while since I had my needs filled. Yes, I'm a dog. Just cause I'm a woman, doesn't mean I can't be a dog. Yes, I support equal-opportunity offensiveness! Also, it reminded me that just cause you're a stripper doesn't mean that you can't afford to have good taste. Some of those girls need better shoes! Damn, they were bad. It really distracted from the show. I kept noticing just how awful their clothes/shoes/hair/lingerie was. I suppose I'm just pickier than my guy friends.

So here I am at home at 3:30am, a little tipsy, and wondering what lays ahead for me (no pun intended) in 2004. I think one of my year-long goals will be to find a place that will do a lap-dance for women. Just cause I wanna have that experience for once! That, or be in a burlesque show just for fun! Even though Toronto is a big city, I highly doubt that this will happen. But a girl can dream can't she?

Soon... it will be my turn. Soon.

The Distraction

Okay, so today I attempt to stay focused and go through the 10 months of paperwork, invoices and such that has been accumulating on my desk. True to form, I get a phone call from a friend, and presto-chango! I find myself getting ready to go out and have fun. I suck at sticking to my resolve. I am easily suggestible and coerced to do things spontaneously. Twisting my rubber arm is too much fun!

I love how good I am at justifying these things to myself. I say, "But it's so beautiful out, with the snow falling in big, white, cottony flakes!". (Hmmm, that sounds like either a flavourless breakfast cereal, or someone with really bad dandruff!) And yes, it was beautiful. Until I got dressed and went outside. It had stopped snowing. My big spontaneous idea to go and take gorgeous "Edward Scissorhands"-snowfall-type photos was killed by Mother Nature. She's sooo fickle. Definitely a woman. I went out anyway. And froze my ass off.

The photos were fun. I have some great pictures of me finally! Being a photographer means never being in front of the camera. And even when you are, you are harshly critical of all the shots because they are not technically-perfect and you think your ass looks huge. Thankfully, my friend heard my plight and took lots of pics of me playing in the snow.

I will post my photos once I figure out how to do so... and where to put them. I will call the series... "Huge Ass in Snow".

The Resolution

Yup. It's that time of year. Time for resolutions. Personally I detest that word. I like to think of them as proactive life strategies. Okay, yes. That's bull****.

So here is the realization of one of my 'proactive life strategies'. I am finally starting my blog. [That's web log to you neophytes.] I still have to redesign this sucker since these templates leave much to be desired, but other than that, my goal is to have regular content spewing daily from yours truly's brain.

I never thought that writing an online version of my journal would be of any interest to anyone. And you know what? I am right. No one in their right minds would read these blatherings. Then again, most of the people who have encouraged my writing in any form haven't been of right mind. What does that say about me? That I surround myself with insane people? Heh. It just makes me look good.

Well, these same people seemed to enjoy my SARS Quarantine blog, so here I am writing a non-thematic one. Hopefully I will write on one topic each day, depending on my mood. We'll see. I have no structure, no plan, no ultimate goal.

Looking forward to seeing how this little project turns out....