Tales of travel.

I just got back from another fabulous weekend in Calgary.

Well. I suppose I didn't just get back and it wasn't altogether fabuloso, but, you know. Details.

I won't get into the how or why, but somehow fate fixed it so that I took the Greyhound to Calgary and back with my parents. Oh God. I am clearly the only person left on this entire planet that still manages to get into situations like these, so for that reason alone I actively consider myself unique. (Pollyanna, anyone?) Anyway, I really do make the best of things to the best of my ability, consistently, and I have at least a few people that can vouch for me on this. The way over actually went considerably well. A midnight hot chocolate and fries (wasted calories, anyone?) with my mother and father at McDonald's in Kamloops? A rare treat.

Did I mention that both of my delinquent parents had covert plans to consume alcohol whilst aboard? Oh yes. Adri, the boozatron, had to explain to them that this was wrong. I knew they'd hate it and they did. Luckily, my mother readily provided me with a tranquilizer so I slept through most of the chaos.

Anyhow, the ride back, however, was torture in its purest form. It started out all right, and I rested in peace all the way from Calgary until we hit Golden, at which time a trashbag couple delivered straight from a remote mountain locale (or perhaps pits of hell) to my bus got on board. As luck would have it, I was forced to sit with the woman. (Her husband was seated directly across from her, also in the aisle seat, beside a young South African backpacker.) She was, in terms of Greyhound companions, quite unsatisfactory from second one. I felt a distinct air of unfriendliness emanating from every pore in her body from the moment she sat down. It was as though she'd just lost her dog, though I knew deep inside that nothing of the sort had occurred recently, and this was in all likelihood the norm for this fine specimen. (For the record, I ordinarily have no desire to form friendships with bus companions or even engage them in the least formal of conversations; I'm only talking about a little thing called civility. Respect for our fellow humans. The inkling that some of us complete wackos still have that prompts us to acknowledge another human being's existence.) After a few minutes, at which point I'd lost the will to participate in any activity other than attempting to sleep, though oddly void of fatigue, I piped up and asked her if she wanted the overhead light on. (It was on.) As though answering my question took all of the effort she had left in the world, she paused dramatically and shrugged. I couldn't help but take note of her deep scowl, complete with fresh acne plus scars. When she finally realized that I continued to sit there somewhat expectantly, as in, I asked a question and dared to expect an answer, she reluctantly muttered, without looking at me, "it doesn't matter." Fine. I lay my head back on my pillow, and after noticing five minutes later that the light was still on as she sat there sighing repeatedly, I switched it off.

Lights out. I managed to doze off a little as we rolled oln towards Revelstoke, but she shuffled relentlessly and even groaned a few times as she spoke with her husband in hushed yet remarkably unsavory tones and generally managed to make her presence known through every second. Meanwhile, I couldn't help but notice that she was also taking up a considerable portion of my seat as well. I could tell that she was unhappy about something, but I tried to pretend that it had nothing to do with me. It was only logical.

However, as soon as we hit the next rest stop, she roused me via shaking my arm ungently and said, "Do you think I could ask a favor?"

Okay, this is the thing: strangers shouldn't really be requesting permission to ask for favours, now should they. What favour? We may surely request things of our fellow planetmates, and we certainly do, but why bring our requests into favour territory? It's hard enough for me to get a favour from a loved one, let alone a friend, let alone an acquaintance or coworker, let alone a frigging stranger. So why, when a person that hasn't even been introduced has somehow managed to be notably rude and unaccomodating, would she expect that I should deliver her a favour, especially after she woke me up to ask for it? Anyway, moving right along:

"If you're not too comfortable, I'd really like it if you switched seats with my husband so that he could sit here with me."

Was she kidding? No. As I mentioned, her husband was in an aisle seat and this was the middle of the night. This was not a one hour flight from Vancouver to Calgary. It was a 16 hour busride, and I got there first. My window seat was the only thing I had going for me at that point. Not only this, but her tone showed me straight away that she felt that not only was this a perfectly legitimate request, but perhaps I should have actually taken the initiative to offer my seat to him in the first place. Hello?! No. However, I hate to disappoint people and I am a terminal people pleaser, so I waffled a bit over whether I'd be willing to agree to switch later on down the road or even right then and there, when suddenly I had a terrifying vision of what trying to sleep in the aisle seat would be like. Also, crazily, I had to work in the morning, just a few hours after we got off the bus. Therefore, I gathered up all my courage and meekly responded in the negative. Well. Boy did I pay for it. As soon as the final words and the beginnings of an apology were out of my mouth she got a look on her face as though I'd just slapped her, then she whipped her head around and refused to face frontwords for the rest of the trip. Seriously. The two of them got off in Coquitlam, so she really dedicated herself to her rejection of me. The sighing, groaning, and shuffling continued in full force, as it would.

But that's not it. There was also a young fellow seated behind me who openly admitted to recently losing his mind. Oh yes. He was a real talker, too. Apparently, he'd been travelling by bus all the way from fucking Ontario, (unbelievably, I have also accomplished this and nearly lost my mind in the process as well), and hadn't slept a wink in days. I soon found out that he was Whistler bound in an attempt to shrug a life spent massacring cows at a factory farm. How do I know this? Oh, only because he spent a great deal of time describing it in painstaking detail, (at one point he was crying, I think), to his seat mate in a high pitched near-scream. Why was I stuck listening to this life-shattering tale? Oh, because I inexplicably LOST THE EARPHONES TO MY IPOD. Remember me, the "so sensitive I need psychiatric help" cow-loving vegetarian? I know what factory farms are like because I've researched them, but listening involuntarily to a first hand account while locked in such a predicament was just way over the top.

Other than that, I didn't get to visit much of Calgary due to time contraints and the fact that we were stuck in a creepy suburb called Mackenzie Town the entire time. No big loss. I would have liked to visit U of C in order to stand around laughing at people but, you know, I just didn't get the chance.

Here's a scene from the wedding:

Birds

Do two weird experiences with birds in one day mean anything? Oh God, if it does mean something, please don't tell me. I'd rather not know.

Yeah, so, first of all, I have walked down the same street both today and yesterday, and both times I had to jerk my head away suddenly at the sight of this gruesome pigeon carcass on the side of the road. Ugh. Whose job is it to take care of these things, anyway? Goddamn. Dead birds are just so icky. I especially hate their feathers. Feathers just give me the creeps. That's part of the reason why I find chicken meat so particularly disgusting: I just imagine their grisly feathers floating around hither and thither at the factories where they kill billions of these creatures a year.

So, picture this: I am at work, just about to make a personal phone call, when I hear a thump.

I looked towards the direction of the door and I saw a grey thing twitching (I am near of sight). "Oh, fuck," I probably muttered. You know how I feel about dead things. I suffer through seeing enough dead birds strewn about town, thanks, I don't need one in the office. Well, the bird was just a bit stunned, and the next thing I knew it was flying around the sales office like mad, as birds do. I didn't know how the hell to get it back out the door or window before it died. I tried whistling but I'm hopeless - so I cooed, I coaxed, I waved my arms, I sang...at one point I found myself making kissing noises. Sometimes I do weird things like this, like blowing on tequila shots, as if that will make them any less vomitous. Anyway, after crashing into both a mirror and a window, (by which time I was in tears), the unfortunate creature finally hopped behind an enormous cabinet and tried to chill for a little while, but I wouldn't allow that. I was NOT having it dance its last dance back there. I called a woman over from next door and together we managed to pull back the cabinet. While I ran and hid, she picked the poor injured bird up and carried it outside to freedom. (Who the hell knows what happened next.)

Did I mention there's a beautiful pond out front, surrounded by an elaborate rock and flower garden?

Oh yeah, well, next thing I knew, out of nowhere, a fucking crow took a nosedive into the shallow end of it and totally killed itself. (Maybe it died midflight, I am not sure. It's a mystery.) Well, somehow, the dead crow managed to wedge its head into the rocks or something because seriously, only its upside down body and legs were sticking up out of the water. It looked terrible. Then, the same woman who got rid of the first bird asked me how I felt about getting rid of the crow so clients wouldn't see it.

I was like, "Uh...I'd rather get fired..." I was quite serious, too.

Yeah! That's what happened at work today. Also, I went and watched "Little Miss Sunshine" this evening and I must say that we are B.F.F. It made me realize just how bad a lot of movies really are, though, even independent movies, which is sad. I still love them. The problem with "quirky films" is that it takes a whole lot of something to make them work, and even when they don't we say they do because we want it so badly. (Also, a lot of times movies that don't really work may have other remarkable merits.) But this movie honestly worked like someone sprinkled magic dust over it. See it!

Meanwhile, special to birds: leave me alone!

The Master Cleanser

Sorry to those who hate this kind of crap (everyone, apparently). This will be short and sweet (literally, just like my cleanse!):

I really and truly and honestly and actually started the Lemonade Cleanse today. Wow. I've been saying this all summer, but the truth is that it's better to cleanse in the winter when there aren't as many organic fruits and vegetables available for daily consumption. We had so many veggies this year I couldn't bear to go 10 days without eating any.

Honest to God, that is the ONLY reason I didn't go through with my cleanse.

Yeah. Anyway, I'm only going on a 5 or 6 day cleanse because that's all the time I have. I am going to Calgary next weekend for a wedding; needless to say, not even in my wildest fantasies could I hope to cleanse through that. It's hard enough for me to not be the person that drinks the most out of everyone at a party. (Read that sentence again - I'm serious.)However, I figure it's better than nothing, even though the minimum is supposed to be 10 days.

Unfortunately, I got off to a bit of a rocky start because I didn't have my first glass of juice until around 3PM, so I'm starving right now. My mom is making tomato sauce and I would die for a plate of pasta right about now. Already. But I only ate fruit all day yesterday and then salmon and salad for dinner. Oh yeah, then I had two glasses of wine and two Spanish coffees. Whoops.

Anyhow, I am so excited to put my social life on hold. Now I have an excuse for not having to go out and spend every last penny of my savings having a bad time! Just kidding, I always have a good time, but I also always spend too much money. I'm saving up to own something.

Wish me luck. I'll need it.

Oh, by the way, I don't think I'm completely screwed in the job department. Not yet, anyway.

ARGHH!

Okay, remember that freak-out on the horizon? Well, it happened today. I tried my best. Honestly. I didn't really freak out, but I did speak out, (hey, that rhymes, that could be the vocals in some retarded song: "Don't freak out, speak out", uh never mind). Yeah, so I'm still employed...I may not have fucked everything up too badly...but I feel pretty devastated about everything.

Also, apparently I talk on the phone too much. Well that's a shocker. I already admitted that I'm a compulsive at work personal phone call maker. It's seriously part of my identity. Thankfully, I forgot my cell at home today so there weren't any concrete examples to work with. Thank God for small favours. Meanwhile, everything else is going insanely wrong for me. However, in my defense, the only people I talk with on the phone while I am at work are other people that are also at work. Duh. I'm not the only one! The only reason I bring this up is because it was brought to my attention that it's just "common sense" to know that personal phone calls at work are only to be made in emergencies. What-ever. No one told me not to make personal phone calls.

Good Lord, fine, I'll stop talking on the phone! As if it makes a difference to anyone anywhere seeing as I have basically no work to do, but I'll admit that it's bad form.

Cheerio, hopefully I don't lose my mind before this mess is cleared up! I have almost got one foot in job-hunting heaven!!

Mishmash.

Be warned: this is a hungover mishmash of weird complaints.

Also, I wrote it this morning but blogger wouldn't let me publish/save it. So I saved it to Word. I'm actually so pissed right now that I'm ready to write a whole new entry for today, but I was in a good mood this morning.

For the most part, I really don't understand other people and that aspect of our earthly lives has been a bit of a mystery to me since I became sentient, around the age of three. (I know that lots of people have these kinds of thoughts, but can't you shut up for just one second?) However, this doesn't stop me from trying, because I do care about my brothers and sisters and I'd like to get up or down or over to their level so as to be more helpful. Anyway, because I don't quite move along according to the same pattern as perhaps the norm, I have to do everything manually. And I do, for the most part, because I'm trying so hard to fit in here.

Like, I'm not living on the streets, am I? I don't run around screaming like a crazy person all the time, do I?

Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. But nevertheless.

It's like in the old days, when things weren't automatic. Likewise, I am not automatic. I also don't believe I am truly from this time, and I think that in terms of my potential for usefulness, I may have been better off in a society that makes all the important decisions for people, and doesn't let them choose things like their career path or husband. Who can handle those kinds of decisions (and their consequences) without completely losing it? And shut up, people lose it over that stuff all the time. Maybe not in an outward manner that's visible to everyone like an AIDS junkie strung out and muttering at you on Hastings Street, and maybe some people that lose it do get it back, but still. It doesn't take much to wreck a person's life, or at least to alter it permanently in a negative sort of way.

With the tiny bit of wisdom most of us acquire over a lifetime, we are able to make statements like "I don't regret anything that's happened to me" and feel like we mean it, at that moment, but I think that we're usually still talking bullshit. I try to believe the same thing, very much so, but it would take at least a remarkably stoical capacity for making connections between events and probably plenty more to back this up, and it's really not very profound. Do you honestly mean that it would not have been a lot better if that crap, whatever it was, did not happen? Why? Please. That was our best attempt at wisdom? It's a weak beginning. I'm not saying there isn't an answer, but this kind of stuff takes work. We need to stop acting so damn proud of ourselves over figuring out next to nothing. Real profundities don't just fly in off the wind. It's like praising a baby for learning how to walk. That is precisely what is supposed to happen given tools like legs, food, parents...Nothing against praising babies, though, of course. They need that kind of encouragement to grow properly, and yes, parents should take pride in every accomplishment their kids make, large or small. But does it really make sense to go out for coffee with your mommy friends and say, in all seriousness, "My baby can walk. Can you honestly believe it? It's a miracle." For hours. )Oh yeah, I also can't stand mawkishness, especially when it comes to having children.) Well it's the same thing with self-righteously patting each other on the back for unraveling the simplest of life's quasi-mysteries. I've decided I'm not going to do it anymore.

(That being said, I have a HUGE problem with the fact that wisdom isn't valued as a virtue in our society. When the fuck did that happen? Especially in godawful Vancouver - I've got to flee this particular corner of the world. We can't even say we're good prairie people. What are we? Who are we? No one is even from here. We have no identity, no history, no personality - really sad deal we've got going on. For instance, the other day I heard someone refer to a 25 year old apartment building as "really old". It's all Metrotown's fault. Go stand outside the T.G.I. Friday's in Metropolis on a Saturday. Do it. Nightmare. It could send a suicidal person over the brink, so if you're that person, don't do it. But otherwise, do it.)

Of course I know about human rights and individual freedom, and if someone or some group set me on a fixed path at this very second like in The Handmaid's Tale, of course I'd freak the fuck out, but does any of it really matter? Really. Are we really moving forward, or even backward? If someone asked me what I thought of the modern age, the first thing that comes to mind is "it's what one might expect given our numbers". Even Vancouver, a city I have grown to loathe, and it's not even very big. I understand it is what I mean. It wasn't always like this. Communities used to rise up organically (or so I choose to believe) without being "master planned".

Yes, we used to live off the land and all was dandy, but that was before we got to be so many people. Even thousands of years ago, we exhausted entire cities. Look at Easter Island...although I choose to believe that has something to do with aliens, so scratch that. We had all of the same characteristics. We are actually destroying the planet now, but it's only because we can. If we could have, we would have done it long ago. I think that people that make statements about morality or whatever having gone out the window or reminiscing about the past like the world was some kind of Shangri-La way back when are idiots. (I do this.) We were anatomically modern one hundred thousand years ago. We were the exact same as we are now. This particular society may be dead dull, certainly, and we are alarmingly and ever increasingly dependent on computers, AND we have no idea where our food comes from, but at least we don't put two humans in a ring and tell them to either kill or get killed in front of thousands of people. (Literally, I mean - figuratively, well, who knows?) Nevertheless. I'm just talking about a little thing called progress. We're still the same people.

Of all the dead people I could quote right now, and quote badly, I might add, I'm going to pull out something that Kurt Cobain said in a MM interview he gave during a period of what I can only assume was relative calm. He said something like this: with all the ensuing problems that occur as a result of corruption and ineptitude he sees even at low levels, some of them being of a huge magnitude, he is amazed that the world can continue to function. Well, you know what? I feel the same way.

But it's all about the numbers. The concentration of numbers, really. I read in a travel book once that despite our population being what it is and the fact that we've marched over every square foot of land available, the world is mostly deserted. And it's true! Think of Russia. Africa. Australia. Canada! (Don't think of central Europe or the U.S., though. For once in your life, just try not to think of these places.) Thank God for uninhabitable land. And thank God for our oceans because if worse comes to worst, I'm hooking up with a frigging raft and hoping for the best. Anyway, "the world is mostly deserted" has become a personal mantra for me, because urban settings and the dreaded "urban sprawl" (remember The Sprawl trilogy? Don't even get me started on what's winning awards these days, and don't ever get me started on The Sprawl trilogy or you'll wish you were never born) saddens and frightens me.

Well, I have to go to work now. By the way, the sun is shining, I'm cute as a button, and I'm cheerfully eating focaccia bread and brie cheese with Perrier water right now. Honest, I'm happy as a lark. I just had to get a few things off my chest.

work: it sucks!

OMG: my feelings keep getting tortured every single day from 12-6 except Fridays. It's amazing I am still going through with this job thingy. Here are my coping mechanisms in a nutshell - just a warning, it's not funny but all of this is true:

1. Pen detailed accounts of rude encounters in my journal whilst locked in the bathroom. I'll get these people back one day. (By the way, that also goes for you, regarding whatever you did to me five years ago, or this summer, or whenever. Friends, it's all stored in my files, and I'll pull that shit out when the time comes. Believe it.)

2. Write things like "i can't handle this" and "fuck you, fuckface!" on yellow post-its and then shove the notes in my right boot. Left-over habit from my days at another job. I pull out the notes when I take my boots off, read them, and bask in a strange satisfaction.

3. Leave traces of my mess in all areas, particularly crumbs.

4. Make mocking faces through the wall where no one can see me.

5. Fantasize about the moment I just freak out and just lose it. Practice what I'll say, out loud, but whispered, in the car on my way home. One thing that I'm actually quite good at is delivering a brutal tongue-lashing. (I've had lots of practice.) It's not a skill I'm particularly proud of; in fact, I'm trying to give it up. Also, in the past I haven't hesitated to get into a massive email brawl. I used to chat brawl and message board brawl like crazy when I was in my teens. How do people think I got so good at arguing? I've given that up, too, though.

6. Call people compulsively all day long, a lifelong habit richly cultivated during my many days shirking my work at the beloved OSF.

That's all for now as I just remembered something funny. I was on the Skytrain this morning, and I witnessed an unfortunate looking woman in her early thirties, deeply engrossed in a V.C. Andrews novel. Oh yes. I hate to say that she was obviously slow, but she was obviously slow, as she was (very softly, but audibly) mouthing the words out loud as went along. All of this is humorous enough if you ask me, but somehow, it gets better: when she got to the good parts, (I can only assume), her eyes would go wide and a couple of times she gasped and giggled, only to continue with enhanced zeal. I couldn't fucking believe it. I watched her off and on for upwards of fifteen minutes: this woman did not give a rat's ass who saw her. Nothing and no one could have come between her and this V.C. Andrews novel. If only my cell phone was capable, I might have made a short video out of part of this and thrown it on to the old blog. I mean, how often do opportunities like this arise? Also, I guarantee she would never have noticed.

Another funny thing is how I am broker than penniless yet I managed to shell out an astounding $180.00 last night, out on the town, a town I hate, when I all I really wanted to do was stay in bed and read a book by Greg Bear. I am so serious it hurts. How does one spend one hundred and eighty dollars in a single evening? It was almost effortless.

I must have been rich in another life.

One last crumb: a young lad of 19 or so works with me on occasion, and once we were discussing the pitfalls of life "in the office". (How he is eligible to lament such a predicament is beyond me. I myself only became qualified very recently.) He brought up the movie Office Space, as people do, and I couldn't help but attempt a quip from an early scene, as it is one of my favourite movie quotes of all time. (In fact, I've already used it in this blog.) I'm not the best with this sort of thing, but no matter: he knew exactly what I was talking about and was able to deadpan Peter Gibbons' line for me perfectly (along with several others, I might add). Nerd!

Anyhow, in light of the avenue I've taken a regretful turn down, here it is once again:

"So I was sitting in my cubicle today, and I realized, ever since I started working, every single day of my life has been worse than the day before it. So that means that every single day that you see me, that's on the worst day of my life."

"What about today? Is today the worst day of your life?"

"Yeah."

Dr. Swanson goes on to say "Wow, that's messed up", but that response doesn't really thrill me.

Damn. I should make that the ring on my cell phone.

Secrets. Feelings. Secret Feelings.

A couple of weeks ago, something terrible happened:

I couldn't find my journal.

My journal isn't like this crap. It's where I write all my secrets. Not secrets, like, about guys, or which friends I hate (all of them); rather, all the weird things that happen to me and all the intuition I gather when I go into a trance state - also, religious passages...stuff like that. So, understandably, I would say, I don't want anyone getting their filthy paws on it. They wouldn't understand. Also, I had a lot of things happen that I needed to record and now they're lost on the wind. I tried writing a few things down elsewhere but it didn't feel right.

Anyway, I found it! It was underneath the guest bed for some mind-boggling reason. I was just reading this morning when suddenly this sentence formed crystal clear in my mind:

It's underneath the guest bed.

To be honest, I wasn't that worried. I knew it had to be in this house because I remember that the last time I wrote in it was here, and then it went missing (like my car keys). However, I couldn't find it anywhere and I honestly looked. My own bed has 80 trillion objects under it and though I've sort of rifled around down there reluctantly a few times, I suppose the possibility of it being there still existed in my mind. I even looked for it again first thing this morning and I found an overdue library book.

What else?

My job is going all right. I just can't handle it when other employees, co-workers (colleagues, if you will) get all bitchy. It's like, "WTF bitch". Is that necessary? No. Never. Like I've mentioned in the past, I am hyper sensitive and could possibly burst into tears if someone looks at me funny. Anyway, someone was so rude to me the other day that I locked myself in the bathroom and fantasized about quitting and getting a job at a think tank or something. I know that when someone else is mean you're supposed to remind yourself that they are only hurting themselves and that their words can't hurt you because you're a good girl, but it's really hard. I'm not saying that I never act mean towards people because I do. However, I only act mean towards my loved ones, and I always make up for it. This may be the wrong attitude, but I think that's sometimes okay because you have to teach them a lesson, and they're being fucking stupid.

Anyway, people tend to tolerate rudeness, shortness, lack of courteousness and even plain old nastiness in the workplace (and elsewhere), but I have always had a hard time with it. Rudeness is all right by me when there is good reason. Under certain circumstances, I expect people to be rude and it's fine. But when there's no reason? How am I supposed to fix things? That's why I quit my last two jobs when it comes right down to it. I wasn't being treated properly. I quit for other reasons as well, but I would have stayed otherwise, most likely. My mom told me that you have to tough these things out so I guess I'll try my best.

STOP HURTING MY FEELINGS!!

Unless you're my friend, then go right ahead. Because I'll get you.

Pretty Much Anyone Could Do My Job.

Once upon a time, I hoped to have a job that actually required some skillz.

Now I take comfort in the fact that I can, oh, I don't know, drive, because not everyone can do that. At least little kids can't do it. Unfortunately, the same can't be said about my current job. It sounds kind of good...but it's nowhere near as difficult as waitressing. To be honest, I can say the same about every job I've done since. Gosh. Anyway, what can you do? I've resigned from caring. Whatever.

Yes I have an education. So what. I majored in philosophy. Check it out, I can even quote Aristotle. Here's a good one:





Take it from this guy, jobs are stupid.