Been Dumped

Been Dumped 

Last week, I was dumped. Not by a boyfriend…no, by a friend. Essentially, I was fr-umped. And you know what? It hurt just as much. 

I was friends with Steve for a few years. We shared a common bond and interests and were always a good support system for each other. But we live very far apart so our contact was infrequent but fun. Then he met Tracey….

The dumping came via email. The body of the email read something like this (roughly paraphrased):

Dear Maggie,

Joyous news, joyous news (engaged!), joyous news, interesting gossip, whoa too much information, joyous news.

Final paragraph: So I hope you will understand that we can no longer be friends. Please do not contact me and I will not contact you in the future.

Sincerely,

Steve.

Flash to Maggie with jaw on floor, hole in heart and ego profoundly pierced. Whoa!!!  Whaaaat??? What do you mean you are terminating our friendship? I had no idea you could do that.

You see, I have always held onto friends and I never think of ending relationships… unless, of course, they produce a restraining order. I mean, sure, I have let friendships slide….you know….take longer and longer to return calls, deny a friendship on Twitter or remove their name from the Christmas card list….but I have never outright told someone that I no longer wanted to be their friend. Hmmm….does that make me a coward? Don't answer that!

I find close friendships are so much harder to come by these days. It is tricky to make new friends – perhaps that is why I hold onto the ones I have so dearly. I liked how you made friends in the past. They were kind of created for you by your teachers, your parents, your brownie leader – sort of like the same random system they use in prisons to create cell mates - and yet somehow it worked..... we never questioned why we were friends – we just did stuff together and had fun.

Cheryl became my childhood best friend simply because her last name came right after mine alphabetically in the roll call in grade one. This meant we were paired up for every science project, reading project and field trip from age 6 to age 18. Cheryl and I grew so much together. It was great to have a buddy through the awkward times that come with young life. Short list of awkward times:

• cute boys (eg. Shaun Henderson) who didn’t know we existed
• white pants and our first period
• denting the family car on our very first outing to the mall after assuring our parents that we were good enough drivers to take the car out on our own

It was all good Beverly Hills 90210 style stuff…..but only if Beverly Hills 90210 was set in Burns Lake and it starred two heavier, much nerdier girls.

After we started working, Cheryl and I drifted apart. Cheryl got married, moved far away (to Maple Ridge), had kids and we lost touch. But I still think of her….fondly. The friendship never ended….it just fell into the ebe and flow of life. I think that is what I will miss with this frumping. With the finality, it will be harder to look back at the friendship with nostalgia. There will always be a sting to it. That makes me sad.

I know in this case it can be hard to be friends with the opposite gender. I saw When Harry Met Sally. (Was I the only one that found the scene in the diner with Meg Ryan to be a tad uncomfortable?) If a friend's partner is the jealous type, it is game over. That is fine. I understand.  I wish Steve only good things.

With my frumping, of course, I went through the classic seven stages of grieving in order to heal.  These stages happen in this order:

• grape popsicles
• chunky monkey ice cream
• pizza
• salt and vinegar chips
• pancakes
• Aero bar
• and, finally, cake

It made me feel better (about the situation) and worse (about the potential weight gain). And it reminded me to actively appreciate the friends that I have in my life …..I love ‘em…..I am going to send them a Christmas card right now. Hugs.

Leg Glare

Leg Glare

Last week, I inadvertently blinded a teacher and her kindergarten class. You see, I have uncontrollable leg glare. And so, last Thursday, when I was forced to wear a dress without enough warning to buy nylons, I took my legs out of their protective wrappers (called pants) and exposed them to the world. The teacher and her students, who were out for a nature walk, couldn’t possibly have seen it coming when I glared on by. I can still hear their screams. “Mrs. Gomez. Is that a…..AAAAAHHHHHH…..my eyes….AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!” I feel badly.

What exactly do I mean by “leg glare”?  Well, let’s just say that people staring directly at my pale legs suffer symptoms similar to snow blindness. It didn’t use to be that way. I remember when I was younger, I practically lived in the sun. If, we kids weren’t getting enough sun, my parents would yell at us to go outside. Granted, these were the same people who drove long trips with the car windows closed while chain smoking, drinking beer and ensuring we weren’t wearing our seat belts. I don’t think healthy choices were at the top of their list for us.

When I was a teenager, I remember hanging out in the back yard with the tunes cranked (sorry neighbours!) and a bottle of baby oil by my side. If I wasn’t tanning fast enough, I kept the hose close by to douse myself with water to encourage “the burn”. Pretty much the only thing I didn’t do to guarantee skin cancer was tanning on tin foil.

Then, things changed and the world began embracing sunglasses, SPF 90 and hibernation. Now, given my Swedish genetics and my Al Gore inspired fear of the sun, my legs have gotten so white that Benjamin Moore uses them as a colour sample for Colour #FFFFFFFFFFF known as You Can’t Get Any Whiter than This.

Two days ago, I vowed to change things. I went to Shopper’s Drug Mart and picked up a tube of Fake 'N Bake Self Tanning Cream. Actually, the real Fake 'N Bake cream was quite pricy, so I picked up the generic brand – it was much cheaper; I got two times the amount; and there’s a recession on for Heaven’s sake! I read the propaganda insert closely. Apparently, fake tanning is the secret that Hollywood stars like Angelina Jolie use to give them that healthy all over glow. I suspect her glow stems from the fact she is married to Brad Pitt but who am I to judge.

I began picturing myself on Kits Beach with my new found bronze-ness – of course, the cream would not only provide me with a darker glow but legs that were 8 inches longer and a butt that was 4 sizes smaller. Yes, I would be a real kitsgal golden goddess.  From this point on, people would watch me with adoration as I run in slow motion on Kits beach, my corn rows bouncing in the wind, my bikini hugging my curves without jiggling off and my Dudley Moore George Clooney waiting for me on the sand…….

I raced home, eager to start my life as Bo Derek’s body double. I tried to read the instructions but, seriously, the type was soooo tiny and hard to read. I also couldn’t find my magnifying glass.  Yes, I sometimes use a magnifying glass to read instructions. Doesn’t everybody?  Anyway, I went ahead and rubbed the cream on my legs. It wasn’t too long before I realized something had gone horribly wrong. After a standard freak out and a trip to Wikipedia, I realized I had made two fatal errors in my quest for gold. 1) I had gotten a colour too dark for my pale skin (apparently Jamaican Beauty was way out of my league) and 2) I had not put it everywhere on my legs. In fact, I missed a spot….mostly, over the entire backside of my legs.

So, at present, I have a nice healthy orangey brown glow on the front part of my legs. If you squint, it looks like I am wearing chaps. Or it looks like I have the start of leprosy. Still, even with this chemical blemish, I look so much better than the “Hey, I’m an extra on Twilight” glare I was going for earlier. It may even be okay to look in my direction when my legs are out in public.  But, just to be safe, I wouldn’t stare directly at them!

Superhuman Hearing

Superhuman Hearing

I have superhuman hearing. No. I do not have a bionic ear or fly around town in spandex. Although, that would be cool! In my world, superhuman hearing means that I have freakishly amazing hearing skills. When I was seven, I complained to my mom about a weird ringing in my ears. Since we lived in Burns Lake, we had to travel to Vancouver to see a specialist, given our one town doctor was not able to see patients for a month because of “the incident”. One twelve hour road trip later and my parents and I were in Vancouver to meet an “ear doctor” named Dr. Stanley.

After a series of tests that involved dog whistles, air movement and feather bouncing, Dr. Stanley pronounced to my mom that I had superus humaneous hearingous or in layman’s language superhuman hearing. My mom argued with Dr. Stanley, stating that this was impossible given that she felt I hadn't ever heard a word she had said. After listening to my mom for twenty minutes, Dr. Stanley explained to her the concept of selective listening and told her that he had been using it for the past 19 minutes. The ringing in my ears turned out to be the sound of my own blood flowing through my veins. Strange and mind blowing. It is best not to think about it too much.

To be honest, finding out that I had superhuman hearing was okay, but I would have preferred to have the usual female super power of invisibility, good hair or big boobs. Back in Burns Lake, my newfound super skill did nothing to endear me to my classmates. When my grade four teacher, Mrs. Carlton, demanded to know what Robert and Alex were whispering during class, I perhaps should not have answered, “Mrs. Carlton, Robert says that your pants make you look like a hippopotamus and Alex whispered back that you looked more like a saggy bottomed hippopotamus”  It was during my time in detention (Robert and Alex got in trouble for being disrespectful and I got in trouble for being disrespectful by proxy) that I learned the importance of listening rather than talking. That is when it all began. From grade four on, I began to use my power for evil and not for good.  I became an eavesdropper.

My eavesdropping habit took hold quickly.  I found myself dropping in and out of other people’s lives on a regular basis…on streets, in coffee shops, in stores – anywhere people were chatting, I was listening. And, boy, did I listen. Some juicy overheard snippets:

Come on! I don’t think he is cheating on you. He loves you. I am sure of it. He just vacations alone in Mexico so he can appreciate you more when he gets back. Did I tell you I just got back from Mexico?

So, I told the guy %&#@ you and your %&#@ing dog. I don’t %&#@ing come over and crap on your%&#@ing lawn. Don’t %&#@ing crap on mine you %&#@piece of %&#@.

Today, I had the best waxing.

Honestly, have you seen Cheryl’s baby. No. Seriously. It is the ugliest baby I have ever seen. I didn’t want to say anything but it must have had a rough journey out of the birth canal. The face looks like it was hit with a frying pan.

Oh my God. Steve came in and saw me going through his desk and he totally freaked out. He called me a sneak and a thief. Can you believe it? Who the hell does he think he is anyway? I told him how dare he accuse me of such a thing. I went straight to HR and told them that I thought Steve was manipulative and a trouble maker. For that, I got a letter of reprimand in my file. I hate that guy.

I’ve got a buddy that can totally hook you up. Putting a grow op in your house isn’t that hard. I am not sure what you can say to your parents though. Maybe you can tell them it is a big science experiment.

So, I was eating the nutella waffle and bit into something. I thought it was a bad nut or something. But it was a ring! Then he got down on his knees in the middle of IHOP and asked me to marry him. Can you believe it?

Lately, however, my ears have not been bringing me the joy that they once have. Perhaps, I am growing tired of listening and not talking. Perhaps it is because people are spending more time talking to each other on computers rather than in person. Perhaps it is because conversations are seemingly more serious in public than they used to be. The latter is especially hard - it can be difficult to focus on a movie, a dinner out or a baptism when hearing sad news or a mean spirited exchange. It seems like the world has turned from snippets of Entertainment Tonight to snippets of CBC’s W5. Sigh. As of late, I am trying to block out other people’s gossip, afraid of recreating a Miss Brill moment in my life….but it’s hard. If only people weren’t so interesting…..and so entertaining…and if only I didn’t listen so well. So remember….when you are having a conversation in Blenz and you think no one can hear you, check to see if I am there. If I am, make it juicy.

Finding Tenants

Finding Tenants

The houses in Kitsilano are lovely – many are old heritage homes that have been beautifully repaired and updated. They are also expensive. This means that in order to pay the mortgage, most Kitsgals have at least one basement suite/ attic unit/ crawl space that they rent out.

I am no exception. I have a cute, updated two bedroom suite in my basement. Honestly, my rental suite is much nicer than where I live upstairs - this is mainly due to the fact that the suite lacks the large the amount of cat hair, dirty laundry and cookie wrappers which are permanently piled on the main floor.

I have been lucky and always had nice tenants. But finding nice tenants can be tricky. My hypersensitivity about renting to people who will be living in my basement is coloured heavily by my rampant paranoia….and my obsession with the TV shows CSI: Everywhere, Cops and the Sopranos.

So, last month, when my awesome tenant gave notice that she would be moving out to live in Australia (she is a hot, smart, young gal who wanted to work at a surf camp with equally hot Aussie surf boys….really, who could argue with that life plan for a 23 year old?) I began the search for another tenant to share my space.

I started the search by posting a description of my suite on Craigslist. I like to be honest in my ad and give as many details as possible. Here is a copy of what I wrote:

Available first of the month, newer cute two bedroom legal basement suite in great Kits location. The suite is completely self-contained with its own separate entrance. It has its own washer and dryer, a complete bathroom (with tub), electric baseboard heating (that you control) and laminate flooring. The rent includes heat, hydro and hot water. Tenants pay their own cable and internet if required. I (the owner) live upstairs. The unit would best suit one or two people who are quiet, non-smokers and non-partiers. A well mannered pet may be considered. Thanks so much and enjoy your house search.

I asked people to drop me a note to tell me a bit about themselves if they were interested in viewing the suite. I found that I really didn’t have to screen people – they screened themselves. Below, please find a sample of responses:

I READ YOUR AD WITH INTEREST. IT SOUNDS GREAT. MY GIRLFRIEND AND I ARE VERY VERY VERY QUIET. WE WOULD LOVE TO SEE THE PLACE AS SOON AS POSSIBLE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 Hi. My name is Ted. I would like to see your place. I work in construction near that area. One quick question. Can I bring a dog?  Also, I have a satellite dish. Since I don’t like cable, would it be okay if I installed it to your roof?  Also, how many people can crash with me at one time? I have lots of friends. Also, do you mind if I have fish?

Dearest Landlord. I saw your ad and it seems to be the answers to my prayers. Perhaps you could call our crossing fate?  I have been looking for a place with the exact specifications that you describe. I am one person but am looking for a nice lady to marry. Since I don’t believe in living together before marriage, it would only be me living in the suite. Unless I get married and then I will have my wife live with me. I know you would like to know more about me. That is natural!  We should get to know each other better!!  I have attached a copy of my resume and access to my flickr page so you can see what I look like. Also, if you look me up on face book, you will find me under my alias name: Wife Seeker 42. Thank you so much for your time. I look forward to meeting you. Also, if you know anyone who is single, feel free to pass along my resume, flickr page and facebook ID. Thanks!  PS: Are you single?

Hey. I need to find a new place. I hate my current landlord. I think it is because he is an immigrant. Are you an immigrant?

Hello! My name is Terry. I am interested in your basement suite. I would be a very quiet tenant. One question. The back bedroom looks quite dark. Would it be okay if I put some tin foil on the window to make it a bit darker? I like to sleep in. Also, what is the electrical voltage in that room? How many outlets does it have?  Also, I like gardening so if you need any help with the outside of your place, I would be happy to help. Cheers.

Hi! LOL! My name is Tiffany. I just broke up with my BF. I h8 him. He makes me feel :-(. We have brkn up be4 and always gt bk 2gether. Not now. I lk another boy. X-BF will B mad. :-) We lk lots of drama. Thx. G2G. LOL!

Hi! I saw that you allow pets!! That’s great!! We pet lovers should stick together!  I have a dog. He is the cutest dog ever. His name is Bowser. My last landlord is asking me to leave because I have a dog. That is horrible!!  Bowser is like my family and I can’t stand to part with him. He is my best friend. I am not sure why the landlord has turned so mean. He liked Bowser when I first moved in. About two weeks ago, his feelings towards Bowser seemed to change for some reason.  It may have stemmed from the fact that Bowser tried to mate with his cat but honestly, what pit bull/ Rottweiler/ Great Dane cross doesn’t do that? It is natural!!  Looking forward to seeing the place. By the way….do you have a cat?

Hello. My name is Chris. I have been working for the Department of Corrections for the past eight years. Next month, I get parole and need a place to rent. If my parole officer approves your residence, I can assure you that I will be a quiet homebody. A 24 hour curfew is part of my parole plan. Also, if the media contacts you regarding my release, just tell them to @#$% off.  Thanks!

This was just a few of the responses I received. Fortunately, for each insane response, I got a sane one as well….one for one!!!! Yeah!! I now have two nice, quiet, non-married, non-paroled tenants with a non-cat mating dog. Life is normal once again.

Coldus Horribleous

Coldus Horribleous

Yesterday, I woke up with a horrible cold. It started with a faint tickle in my throat and a wave of denial in my brain. By lunch, I had gone through all of Kubler-Ross’ stages of grief – denial, anger, bargaining and depression - before acceptance hit with the fact that I was indeed going to be sick. And not a normal sick. No, this was an end of the world and the start of the Apocalypse kind of sick.

When I was growing up, I loved being sick. My mom, being a rampant hypochondriac, would research every symptom my sister and I would have and come to some pretty far reaching conclusions. She never went to the doctor – no, she looked everything up in her Reader’s Digest Medical At Home Symptom Guide. The fact that it was published in 1958 really didn’t faze my mom. She felt that there were so many illnesses in the world that doctors could not possibly be trained in them all so she like to help out by doing her own diagnosing. When I was thriteen, she kept me at home because the red spots on my face were obviously a symptom of dengue fever and not acne.  My sister missed two weeks of school in grade seven because of an onset of yellow tailed monkey disease/ polio.

Still, it was fun being sick. First of all, my sister and I got to lie on the couch with our feet up smothered in quilts, hot water bottles and poultices. Secondly, we got total control of the TV remote control with viewing rights to any program that might make us feel better. Third, we got to eat Lipton’s chicken noodle soup in a tin foil package – you know, the kind that you boil in water for five minutes and it tastes like Oxo cubes with cut up bits of spaghetti in it. Finally, and this was the best, you got apple juice in a glass with a bendy straw. Even today, I still melt for a bendy straw.

Today’s sickness was very different. I went home to my house and lay in my bed. No one brought me soup. No one told me I had Asian pneumonic septicemic streptisemic flu. And worst of all, no one brought me juice. In fact, I began to realize that if I died from this cold, no one would even know until the smell hit the outside of the house. Yes, creepy thinking for sure but when you have a fever and no poultice a gal’s thoughts go to the macabre.

So here I am typing on my computer and realizing that the best cure for the common cold is a gal’s mom. And a bendy straw.