Read This: The Little Prince

I just finished reading Le Petit Prince. How amazing is this book? I will tell you. It is quite amazing. I just loved it. I just love it. I read it in its original French, of course. But deeper than just the innate beauty of the language, the story is so profound with its clear, simple snapshots of humans in all their blind stupidity, and all their beautiful fragility.

My top nineteen favourite quotes from ze book follow here. I tried to limit it to a cool ten, but like life, and all things good, it didn’t turn out to be that neat and perfect, did it?

UN (Chapitre X)

“Les grandes personnes sont étranges.” Grown-ups are strange.

Yes. They are! They forget that at their core they are just children who grew in size. They completely leave behind their childhood and become Such Adults. That is only one side of who they are. What a shame to leave that wide-eyed, fun and silly child behind!

DEUX (Chapitre X)

How about this statement from the king whom the little prince finds on the first planet he visits:

“Si j’ordonnais à un général de se changer en oiseau de mer, et si le général n’obéissait pas, ce ne serait pas la faute du général. Ce serait ma faute.” If I ordered a general to change himself into a sea bird, and if the general did not obey, it would not be his fault. It would be my fault.

And if you did not understand the king’s meaning, he later clarifies:

“Il faut exiger de chacun ce que chacun peut donner.” We must demand of others what they can give.

I just love this.

TROIS (Chapitre XIII)

Or, when the little prince met the streetlamp lighter on the fifth planet he visits, he says of him:

“…c’est le seul qui ne me paraisse ridicule. C’est, peut-être, parce qu’il s’occupe d’autre chose que de soi-même. » He is the only one that does not seem ridiculous to me. Maybe it’s because he concerns himself with things other than himself.

Exactly. The best way to forget, minimize, even solve our own problems, or to find deep satisfaction from life, is to concern ourselves with the problems of others!

QUATRE (Chapitre XVII)

How about this exchange between the little prince after he lands on the seventh planet, Earth:

- Où sont les hommes? reprit enfin le petit prince. On est seul dans le désert.
- On est seul aussi chez les hommes, dit le serpent.

- Where are the people? The little prince begins again. One is so alone in the desert.
- Even when one is among men, one is still alone. The snake responds.

Ah, yes. We are all alone. There is both sadness and salvation in this knowledge, n’est-ce pas?

CINQ (Chapitre XXI)

The fox says to the little prince:

“Mais comme il n’existe point de marchands d’amis, les hommes n’ont plus d’amis.” And as there is no market for friends, man no longer has them.

We have chosen money over each other. In the worst case, Man’s true motivations lie in what we can gain for ourselves. In the least case, we are so busy chasing the mighty dollar that we do not see our fellow Man. We have forgotten to be kind.

SIX (Chapitre XXI)

And on the same page, this:

“Le langage est source de malentendus.” Language is the source of misunderstanding.

Perhaps actions would serve as a better option. Brilliant.

SEPT (Chapitre XXI)

It was a treasure of a page, because there was also this :

“Il eût mieux valu revenir à la même heure, dit le renard. Si tu viens, par exemple, à quatre heures je commencerai d’être heureux. Plus l’heure avancera, plus je me sentirai heureux. À quatre heures, déjà, je m’agiterai et m’inquiétera : je découvrirai le prix du bonheur! Mais si tu viens n’importe quand, je ne saurai jamais à quelle heure m’habiller le cœur…Il faut des rites.” It would have been better if you’d come back at the same time, the fox said. If you come, for example, at four o’clock, then close to then I begin to be happy. The closer the hour advances, the happier I feel. At four o’clock, I am both excited but then also worried: in this way I discover the price of happiness! But if you come at any time, I never know when to prepare my heart. Certain rites are necessary.

A gift anticipated is well-appreciated. A love you can count on does the heart well. A “sometimes love” does quite the opposite.

HUIT (Chapitre XXI)

The little prince speaks of his rose, back on his planet:

“Mais j’en fait mon ami, et il est maintenant unique au monde.” But I made it my friend, and now it is the most unique rose in the world.

Love begins in that moment when you can suddenly see how that one person is different from the rest, stands out in the crowd, is special; the most special person in the entire world, in fact. The entire world, incredibly. Ah…l’amour!

He continues :

“Bien sûr, ma rose à moi, un passant ordinaire croirait qu’elle vous ressemble. Mais à elle seule elle est plus importante que vous toutes, puisque c’est elle que j’ai arrosée. Puisque c’est elle que j’ai mise sous globe. Puisque c’est elle que j’ai abritée par le paravent. Puisque c’est elle dont j’ai tué les chenilles (sauf les deux ou trois pour les papillons). Puisque c’est elle que j’ai écoutée se plaindre, ou se vanter, ou même quelquefois se taire. Puisque c’est ma rose.” Of course my rose would seem no different than any other rose to the average passer-by. But she and only she is the most important of all roses, because it is her that I water. It is her that I place under a globe. It is her that I shelter with the screen. It is for her that I kill the caterpillars (except two or three so that we may have butterflies). It is to her that I listen complain; or brag; or sometimes even be quiet. She is unique because she is mine.

How beautiful. I love her because I care for her. Or, I love her because she loves me. Or, I love her because she allows me. This is the most innocent and selfless and virtuous love. A love of love itself? Oh, where is my little prince?

NEUF (Chapitre XXI)

“On ne voit bien qu’avec le cœur. L’essentiel est invisible pour les yeux.” We can only see with our hearts. What is essential is invisible to the eye.

This sentiment echos in chapter twenty-five when the little prince says :

“Mais les yeux sont aveugles. Il faut chercher avec le cœur.” The eyes are blind. We must search with our hearts.

What truer words were spoken? This book is my bible.

DIX (Chapitre XXII)

The traffic controller to the little prince:

“On n’est jamais content là où l’on est.” We are never happy where we are.

We are always searching for more. Bigger! BETTER! We are always striving for a goal, and not enjoying what we have now. The grass is always greener…, as the saying goes. True, to the core, unbridled happiness, is the opposite of this.

ONZE (Chapitre XXII)

The traffic controller again to the little prince, about the train full of people, kids and, what I like to call Such Adults, passing by :

“Ils ne poursuivent rien du tout. Ils dorment là-dedans, ou biens ils bâillent. Les enfants seuls écrasent leur nez contre les vitres.” They aren’t pursuing anything at all. They are sleeping in there, or they are yawning, at least. It is only the children that squish their noses against the glass to peer out the windows.

Oh how I love the profound truth in this little quote of the aiguilleur, translated as traffic controller or pointsman. What a terrific analogy. There is Man, bustling along, rushing about, but where is he really going, hey? Into that bigger house, perhaps? And what waits for him there? Contentment, finally? The simple, stress-free, joy of childhood that will grant them the time, both in length of life and in the moment, to see it, appreciate it, and enjoy it all? Yes, this is another way of saying “The grass is always greener…,” of course. But it bears repeating.

And the little prince agrees : “Les enfants seuls savent ce qu’ils cherchent.” Only children truly know what they are looking for.

This sentiment is not much different than quote UN at the beginning of the book, is it? We never really grow up, The Ex said (see my very first post: The Poster Girl For Getting Over It), in a rare moment of lucidity. We just think we do. True. So stop thinking and start living already, would you!?

DOUZE (Chapitre XXIII)

The little prince, after learning about a pill invented by man that, taken once a day, allows you to circumvent the need to drink water, thus saving you fifty-three minutes a week:

“Moi, si j’avais cinquante-trois minutes à dépenser, je marcherais tout doucement vers une fontaine…” Myself, if I had fifty-three extra minutes to spend, I would quietly walk over to a fountain…

C’mon. This is funny. And brilliant. It is the little things in life. “The best things in life are free,” as they say.

This sentiment is later repeated in chapter XXV when the little prince says :

“…ce qu’ils cherchent pourrait être trouvé dans une seule rose ou un peu d’eau…” What we look for can be found in a single rose, or a drop of water.

God I love this book!

TREIZE (Chapitre XXIIII)

The pilot is moved by the fragility of the little prince in his love for and fidelity to his rose, back on his planet. A love that he says shines in him like the flame of a lamp.

“Et je le devinai plus fragile encore. Il faut bien protéger les lampes : un coup de vent peut les éteindre.” And I guessed him even more fragile still. It is necessary to protect lamps: a simple gust of wind can extinguish them.

A flame, like love, is both very powerful and very vulnerable. The temperature of one candle can mean the difference between life and death. It either burns or it doesn’t; there is no in between. That is how The Ex was. Immensely and deeply in love with me. Or gone. Inexplicably. Feast or famine.

In the end, I starved; though humiliation and bewilderment kept me company.

QUATORZE (Chapitre XXV)

The pilot asks the little prince some questions to which he does not respond, but simply blushes. The pilot notes:

“…quand on rougit, ça signifie “oui,” n’est-ce pas?”

It’s funny. And true.

QUINZE (Chapitre XXVI)

The pilot, reflecting on never again seeing the little prince:

“…je ne supportais pas l’idée de ne plus jamais entendre ce rire. C’était pour moi comme une fontaine dans le désert.” I could not stand the idea of never again hearing his laughter. For me, it is like a fountain of water in the middle of the desert.

Laughing with Darren. That is my fountain of water in the middle of a desert. A little memory to share. I remember long ago, while at work, still in my first career as, get this mouthful: marketing coordinator of an industrial auction company. I was having a very bad day because of something I can no longer recall. I remember feeling that if anyone dared give me advice or tried to understand, or even worse, gave nauseating words of encouragement, I might off them. The only, only, person I knew would make me feel better was my dear friend Darren. Friends since highschool, he would always say the most shocking, wrong things that would crack me up like nothing or nobody else. That was what I needed. A dose of him. He had me in stitches instantly, problem temporarily forgotten (and always minimized when later returned to). We share that wild, childish beyond words laugh that hurts physically. It has been a long, long time since Darren and I have laughed like that. Darren! One day we will laugh again!

SEIZE (Chapitre XXVI)

This passage is the saddest and the most beautiful of the book. On the verge of leaving Earth and him forever, the little prince says to the pilot:

“Tu regarderas, la nuit, les étoiles. C’est trop petit chez moi pour que je te montre où se trouve la mienne. C’est mieux comme ça. Mon étoile, ça sera pour toi une des étoiles. Alors, toutes les étoiles, tu aimeras les regarder…Elles seront toutes tes amies.” You will look at the night, the stars. My planet is too small to show you where it is. It’s better like this. My star, for you, will be simply one of all the stars. And so, all the stars you will love to look at. They will all be your friends.

When it’s over, it is over, and it is best to break all ties. In this way, the memories of your time together will be all that lives. If only it were that easy!

DIX-SEPT (Chapitre XXVI)

The little prince to the pilot :

“Et quand tu seras console (on se console toujours) tu seras content de m’avoir connu. Tu seras toujours mon ami.” And when you have healed (we always heal) you will be happy to have known me. You will always be my friend.

Um, my heart did not just break, it shattered into a million pieces and each piece was steamrolled over and over and over again. A most poetic way of saying “‘Tis better to have loved and lost…” So painful, so true. The surprising gift of this passage is the sidebar comment, stated without question, that we always heal. Oh, thank heavens for this mercy. The mercy not granted? The ability to forget!

DIX-HUIT (Chapitre XXVII)

The pilot realizes that he forgot to draw the strap onto the muzzle for the sheep so that it would not eat the flower on the little prince’s planet. And he asks us to ask ourselves:

“Le mouton oui ou non a-t-il mange la fleur?”

Despite the many profound and provocative analogies and questions that arise throughout the course of this masterpiece, the pilot states that this is the most important question of all. I understood immediately. My answer?

Nah!

The power of positive thinking, people! Life is what you make it.

DIX-NEUF (Chaptire XXVI et XXVII)

Three times in chapter twenty-six and once yet again in the last chapter, chapter twenty-seven, in the very last sentences of this great book, the simple, beautiful, last thought to leave you with:

Regardez le ciel.

When I found the tag all over Paris “regarde le ciel…” during the summer of 2012 and then had it tattooed onto my arm before I left, I loved it for its simple, beautiful message. Look at the sky! Yes. Look at it. It’s immense, profound, and incomparably beautiful. Ever since finding this tag, and being reminded of it every time I see it on my arm, you know what? I do. I look at the sky a lot more often than I ever did before. And I am so much more fortunate for it.

Shortly after returning from Paris that summer, I met three Parisian men in Toronto, visiting for the film festival. One of these men told me that this tag was an anti-advertising message. “Don’t look at the ads, look at the sky!” This made me love the tag and my tattoo and all the more. I am very anti-corporate, anti-capitalistic, you see. I accepted this monsieur’s story without question. Being from Paris, he probably knew something that I did not.

Now that I have read Le Petit Prince, I second-guess this version of events. Could “regarde le ciel…” have been inspired from this beautiful novel from Antoine Saint-Exupéry? Somehow, perhaps wishful thinking is involved, I find this new hypothesis on its origin more plausible. Either way, it was such a joy to find These Three Words repeated over and over, so unexpectedly, jumping off the page, like a private fireworks display for the open arms of my mind which is my heart.

In so, so many amazing ways, this book was an absolute gift and is a bible to me.

Gushing over it to my sister, she asked if they publish it in English. Yes! I bought her a copy and gave it to her today. I hope she loves it as much as I do!

Le Petit Prince. Though it’s clear, simple wisdoms require no explanation or justification, at times I gave my connection nonetheless. Either way, their truth simply resonates. Merci beaucoup, Antoine, merci beaucoup.

Strange Girl Seeks Strange Boy

It’s Easter Monday, and here I sit in my neighbourhood Starbucks. I hate myself for it. I was at the bookstore once and picked up a book and in the foreword she thanked the Starbucks staff at her local Starbucks where she had sat and written the whole book. Disgusted, I immediately flung it back onto the shelf. I could never read a book written at generic, corporate, soulless Starbucks! I need to ask myself: Why? And who exactly do I think I am anyway?

It’s Easter Monday, eight something in the morning, and I am an Emotional Mess. It all started yesterday when I got my period. Suddenly I was mousey, unconfident, quiet. That progressed into moody and frustrated. Finally, this morning, I was sad, lonely, self-badgering and fully, fully lost in this world.

You know when you get your eyes checked and they put that big upside down triangle machine thing in front of your face and you rest your chin on it and before you the doctor starts sliding this lens then that lens then another then another until he or she deduces that you do need glasses or you don’t? That’s life! And the eye doctor is God or The Universe or Fate or whatever name you use for It. And you, sitting there behind the view of all those different lenses, some blurry, some crystal clear, and all the shades in between, that’s the Human Condition.

And it’s ups and downs are not going to change. ‘Tis life. So then, is there a point to try and figure out why one day you see crystal clear and one day you don’t? Why one day you are secure, confident, proud of who you are, then one day you wonder why everyone else has their shit together so well and you are such a disaster? Or do you just wait it out, because no matter how good things are or how bad you are feeling, eventually things and your perspective will change again. Life is not static.

Despite how terrible the lows can be, I am still thankful for this. But this is no time for being positive!

“You’re a strange girl,” my friend Pedro told me. I know, and I’ve always known this. I am the girl in grade four that got the side of her head shaved into a checkerboard and died her hair orange. I am the girl who moved out at sixteen because I wanted to do things My Way. I am the girl who moved to Toronto all by herself at eighteen and never looked back. I am the girl who doesn’t let the lack of a travel partner or much money hold her back from taking off and spending the summers in Paris and weeks in New York and Boston and Montreal and Vancouver. I’m the girl with a will and a way. Usually I really like myself.

But this morning, it seems like it’s all been a farce! What was I thinking!? I should be saving and buying a condo. How will I ever find a mate when I always have the Benetton Brigade tramping in and out of my tiny appartment all the time leaving me no privacy whatsoever? If I keep taking off all the time, how will I ever find a stable partner? Are you a teacher or a singer or a writer or what? What are you??? If you’re thirty-eight and you still don’t know, how do you ever expect someone else to jump on board for the ride? You will always be alone.

Wow. With internal dialogue like that who needs enemies??

“You’re so dramatic,” my father and many others have often told me. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, they are right. “Depression is a North American luxury.” That’s me quoting myself. I said that. I say that. And now I say it to myself. Good Gawd. I think I talked myself out of my morning’s Emotional Messiness. How me of me. I jumped from behind the upside down triangle machine thing and changed the lens my damn self, didn’t I?

What can I do? I am me. I lead a good life, I am a good person. I have a great job, amazing friends, I travel, I have rich, rich life experiences daily. I am healthy, not bad looking. But yes, yes, I am different; marching to the beat of my own drum.

In writing this post I have realized that at times like these, that is my Big Insecurity. Not that I don’t have my shit together, but that I have it together differently; that I am a bit strange. But ”normal” is so boring! I don’t want to be normal! 

This morning The Eye Doctor slid a funny, fuzzy lens before me and I couldn’t see,
I felt sad and lost and I couldn’t hear the beat.
Then the beat came back and you know what? It’s pretty sweet, but I wonder.
Will anyone ever march to this beat with me?

Highschool Friend Paul

“Happy Good Friday!” He said. Then in the next breath: “Fuck the Catholics!” “Fuck everyone.” I said. “Why just the Catholics?” He was chopping a Spanish onion, but turned around to smirk. “You’re right.” He said.

Well I’ve heard that one before, haven’t I?

Beer bottles beside fresh basil beside a tambourine beside knives.
These are the best days of our lives.
The lesser things.
We needed to get it out of the way.
So that was yesterday.
And now?

Now we feast.

“He” is Highschool Friend Paul. The kid’s a musical genius. The Rolling Stones’ 1978 album “Some Girls” is cranking out of two speakers on five foot professional stands in his living room here in Bobcaygeon. There’s something magical about this room. You walk in and you know just a few drinks into the future you’re going to be a part of something bigger than yourself. A living room musically decked right out and fit for The King of Rock himself. Speaking of which, there is a large Jailhouse Rock portrait of The King hanging on the wall, as well as a mirror with his image, citing his short life, 1935 to 1977, laying on the kitchen table. It served us well last night whilst in the throes of lesser things.

But as I said.

Now we feast.

Suddenly Paul stops chopping garlic to pick up the tambourine and sing and play along to the Stones’ song “Far Away Eyes.” Is this still The Stones?” I ask. It is. Wow. I never would have guessed, save for Mick’s unmistakable vocals. The album finishes and then he puts on Muddy Waters. My goodness. Thank heavens for Highschool Friend Paul. Hank Williams. Hank Williams Junior. Hank Williams The Third. Steve Earle. Emmy Lou Harris. Blue Rodeo. All incredible stuff I wouldn’t have had a clue about and would have been much poorer for if it weren’t for Highschool Friend Paul. Waking up in Bobcaygeon, drinking vodka for breakfast and wallowing in the human condition. Not only appropriate, it just seems…right.

And it feels damn good.

We lost touch after highschool. Then along came Facebook. Anyone who thinks they’re above Facebook is an asshole. Or afraid of something. We reconnected. Then he showed up drunk at the bar where I waitressed in the summers. That was about four years ago now.

Highschool Friend Paul.

It’s Easter weekend. We came up here to jam. That’s what we do. And we do it right, goddamnit. I’m sitting here at the kitchen table, and on the counter I can see five bottles of red, two enormous bottles of vodka, two magnums of white wine, all amidst a civilized sprinkling of beer bottles. It’s only been twenty-four hours but more than half of the bottles are empty.

His musical genius is closely followed by his culinary skill. Before me sits a Pot Proper of clams, scallops, shrimp, and talapia in a gorgeous, gorgeous, heavenly broth of clam juice, tomato, nearly an entire bottle of white wine, olive oil, garlic, fresh cilantro, fresh oregano, and dried basil from his own backyard. Day old baguette, the only accoutrement, ripe to be ripped and dipped. Not even a five-star restaurant could boast a feast such as this.

I sat here as he cooked up this storm simulataneously guzzling vodka like water. He called his friend Robin Newinsky to reassure himself he had done everything properly. Yeah. Robin Newinsky. I asked: “Didn’t he suck the president’s dick?”

It was funny.

It’s two in the afternoon, and now Paul sleeps in his full-bellied drunken stuper. I sit here, still sipping wine, relishing each moment of this…portal…this ethereal musical portal of Highschool Friend Paul’s house in Bobcaygeon that I have entered. “Fuck off!” I suddenly hear. That was Paul. Talking in his sleep. I can’t help but smile.

We have written five songs together now. We don’t often do other people’s stuff, but last night we did “Lost Together” by Blue Rodeo, too. I suppose if we should do one cover, it’s the one that would be most appropriate. And oh, that…magical living room! From about two in the afternoon until at least two in the morning. We drank, we sang, we played, we wrote; we jammed, got drunk, drew lines in the snow. And in those hours, we were the youngest and the strongest that we would ever be.

It would feel contrived to count how many guitars are there. One bass, much bigger than me. Mikes. A mike stand. An organ. Harmonica. Drums. Speakers a plenty. A banjo. And of course that tambourine I mentioned. I wonder if there are more guitars or bottles of vodka.

The kitchen is an absolute mess! Garlic and cilantro on the floor, sauce splatters all over the stove, dirty dishes on the table, counter filled with empty bottles, beer bottle caps, can openers, wine openers, and dirty dish clothes strewn amidst shopping bags of garbage. Paul is snoring, I am red wine buzzing, singing “I don’t know what’s wrong with you, But I still want to be with you, Oh yeah…!”

This.

This is living.

Beer bottles beside fresh basil beside a tambourine beside knives.

These are the best days of our lives.

A Mediocre Post. Sorry.

The shitty thing about long pauses between posts is that too many noteworthy things happen and how on Earth am I to decide which of them to write about if I am uncharacteristically fortunate enough to remember them all? So what ends up happening is that when life is so kind as to fuck off and leave me alone for a moment and I have the chance to write, I write about the most recent thing that has happened, even though it may be the most trivial. Like the Blathering Breasties in the changeroom at the gym last weekend.

Sadly, I didn’t get a moment last week to tell you about the latest wonderful Airbnb guests I had and the beautiful bouquet of flowers they left for me as a thank you in my appartment. Yet another incredible testament of that wonderful side of humans we so rarely get to hear about. Or how I finally FINALLY had the courage to go through my closet and donate to Goodwill every single piece of clothing I have not worn in the past year (more than half of what I owned) and how really scary that was to do and incredibly good it felt afterward. Or how I started reading the book I had bought when I was still with the ex and bought specifically because of the uncanny parallels between the ex and I which now that we have broken up has markedly less appeal but which I started to read anyway and in a maybe-there’s-a-God-after-all kind of way the husband (my ex) DIES in the very first chapter.

Absolutely fucking brilliant.

And many, many other lovely little slices of life.

Instead I am going to share the amusing conversation I just had via the world wide web.

* * *

Me:
Hey, Sailor (he listed his occupation as “sailor.” Clearly he takes this site as seriously as I do). What’s cooking? (Seriously, what are you making in that photo?)

Him:
Oh that ol’ thing?
I was making gingerbread for a gingerbread house.
I am really good at baking, but bad at making houses, it turns out.

Me:
You’re really good at baking, huh? Who says? Baking what? I’m just running out to grab a coffee before recess ends…brb…

Him:
People…people say.
People talk about my baking…
I haven’t done it in a while.
Cookies, banana bread and butter tarts are my area of expertise.

I don’t remember the last time I heard the word ‘recess’

Me:
Haha. What about the word “duty?” As in yard duty. The kids always say: You said duty! It also means poo. I agree with them. It’s funny.

Well I messaged you because it’s Passover and there are no kids here today so I am perusing this site which, as I have been saying as of late, is akin to the train wreck you can’t pull your eyes from. Generally. But I loved the expression on your face of your profile photo (I cringe at the word “pic”). It sums up how I generally feel about this site. Yet here I am.

P.S. Tell people I say “Hello…and I’ll be the judge of that, thanks.”

P.P.S. “Undisclosed body type” Just saw that. Fucking love it, excuse my English (I find it offensive when people swear and then say “Excuse my French.” It’s fucking English, excuse my English).

Him:
You should tell them they are right.
Yard duty does mean poop.
Cause you have to watch little shits on recess.
BAM!
High five?

Passover, huh?
I wonder what that’s all about.
Goat sacrifices, I bet.

This site is ridiculous.
I don’t think its a healthy way to meet people, but here we are. Haha.

If you’re judging my baking, you have to literally dress like a judge.

P.S. I don’t even have a body. I’m just a head sitting on a platter.

Me:
Easy for tossing out an oops-by-fluke open window when, inevitably, something stupid is said. Perfect. Must be a challenge when baking, though.

I’ve explained Mine Self, but how does Thine Self have so much time for train wreck gazing today?

They are little shits, yes. Most are cute and hilarious. But to some I want to say: You will always be an ashhole.

Him:
Punting someones head out the window would be pretty invigorating after a boring conversation. I’ve been out with a few people I would have payed to toss their heads out a window.

Thine self? Haha
Did you LARP last weekend?
Well, I don’t work your traditional hours. Whereas you were home all weekend nursing hangovers no doubt, I was at work. So today is my day off. Its kinda ok outside today. Yard duty would have been alright, I bet.

Me:
Dear, -,

How are you? Things here at school are good. Yard duty was nice; the sun shining on my face, the wind blowing in my hair. Furthermore, there were only forty kids instead of four hundred to ruin the bliss.

I’m not sure if I am embarassed or proud to tell you I don’t know what LARP is. Laugh at random people? If yes, then yes, I did do this last weekend. Lick a red pencil? If yes, then no. I am open to new experiences, however.

Well. Your turn, I guess.

Send money for candy.

Him:
Well heck, thats a lot of Jewish kids at that school.
I would have said I was Jewish just to get out of school today.
Those 40 kids must be the slow ones.

It’s probably best you don’t know what larping is. And nice that your guesses weren’t disgusting. Thank you for that.

I’m not sure if you can watch and listen to this…
but here’s some LARP background…
and yes I picture you doing this…

Ummm
What kind of candy? I love Gummi things.

Me:
Question.
How on Earth do you know about this larping business?
I watched the video.
Short story for you.
I once met someone at a Sex Pistols concert.
He proceeded to mail me a letter, inviting me to an all-night Bean-a-thon.
As in Mr. Bean.
Like you, he seemed pretty cool at first.
Please tell me that video wasn’t a lead-up/feel-out for an invite to a sexy match of larping one evening.
(crosses fingers)

* * *

Like with the super funny email from Good Friend John I included in the post “I need a favour. Bitch,” I did have to go back and fix up a few spelling mistakes, as well as some improper uses of the word “of” instead of “have,” before secretly publishing our little conversation without this person’s knowlege or permission. But unlike with the super funny email from Good Friend John, I am clearly the wittier person in the exchange this time. Ha! Still, overall, I enjoyed it. But I shall stop there. And. I will let you know what. If anything. Transpires.

The funny thing is, as I was saying to a friend earlier this week, I don’t know if it is due to my age, or the fact that I know I am going away to Paris for the summer shortly, but now when I meet people, I no longer evaluate them/us for the long-term, or prematurely dream of our future, or really take it terribly serious at all. I just think: is this fun or not fun? If fun, maybe we’ll do it again. If not fun, we shouldn’t. If I get one good conversation, one pleasant hour out of it, then…mission accomplished. If it is painful, I really have a hard time covering up the fact.

Anyhoo.

It’s a gorgeous, sunshiney day. I am going to run and do The Baldwin Steps.

I apologize for the mediocrity of this post.

Hairdryers Are Awesome

Thank goodness for the loud hum of the hairdryer to block out the Incessant Blathering of these two women, one short and fat, one tall and slim, in the changeroom at the gym this morning. It was like they had just met and had Entire Worlds of information to share and learn of each other. On and on. And on. Some of the useless information now forcibly ingrained in my brain, and I must stress this is a very small samplingall sampling, includes:

One of the two has a fabulous new skin cream and please try it and wow this great and where did you get it and they don’t sell it anymore and my husband felt so bad so he sent me some really expensive stuff but it’s just not the  same, not as LIGHT, and besides I don’t like the scented stuff and on and on.

One has a kid graduatng from grade eight this year and they are taking a trip to Montréal as a graduation present and you should have seen her face when I said “shopping” and there’s a den in the condo so we’ll just bring inflatable mattresses and I’m going the same weekend as you and why don’t we all go together and on and on.

One has a kid in some sport and it’s just “block and jab” and she is a level one at the cusp of level two and the tournament is only level two so we’ll find out if she will be allowed to participate and you should have seen her blocking I have never seen such a bluff and you must be so proud and on and on.

HUMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

Like shut the fuck up already. Take your long, floppy breasts and your small, perky breasts (quite nice, actually, and considering she’s had two kids) and go chat over a coffee.

At your house.

I saw an episode of Kenny Vs. Spenny once and they were having a contest to see who would stop singing first so they just sang and sang, anything and everything that popped into their head, every nursery rhyme they’d ever learned.

It was like that.

Moving on.

I go to exit the underground parking at the gym and realize I have forgotten to validate my ticket. So I go back upstairs, do so, and look at the clock. I am now one minute over my two free hours. So I have to pay. So I go downstairs to the machine to pay. They only accept credit cards. I don’t use the evil things. So now I was going to have to walk out to the nearest bank to withdraw twenty dollars and walk back to pay this lovely machine the three dollar fee I now owe due to me forgetting to validate my ticket. Thankfully I was in no rush and found the ridiculous chain of events hilarious. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I said, laughing, to the machine, who was all ears, of course. I turned around and saw there was a security guard there. He asked what the problem was, and I proceed to detail the whole ordeal to him, finding it all very funny as well as mildly frustrating. When I finished my little soliloquy, he stepped forward and said solemnly: “I’m going to open the gate for you.”

What!?!?!?

I didn’t even realize he had the power to do this. I just told him the whole story because I thought it was funny. And the way he said it to me in a secretive, sly way, was just too precious. “Thank you sooooooooooooooo much!” I exclaimed.

Yet again, more proof: people are awesome.

And so are hairdryers.

These Melancholy Moments

Finally home from New York. That Sweet, Baby-faced Intimate Encounter Who Won’t Go Away picked me up from the airport and dropped me off. Like I said, he’s sweet. Eleven years too young for me, but sweet. And when I say “Who Won’t Go Away,” I don’t mean it to be insulting. Quite the opposite, in fact. It’s just so ironic that a naughty, one-time intimate encounter has turned into an unlikely but lovely little friendship. 

Coincidentally, he read my previous post and did not love being referred to as That Sweet, Baby-faced Intimate Encounter Who Won’t Go Away. When asked what he would prefer to be referred to, he said, bless his young-even-for-twenty-seven-year-old heart, and I quote: “Mister Big Dick.”

Needless to say, I shall continue to refer to him as That Sweet, Baby-faced Intimate Encounter Who Won’t Go Away.

So.

Finally home in my appartment. Alone at last. I cleaned. Did the laundry. Went grocery shopping. Made dinner. Made my lunches for the week. Unpacked. Made sure that each pair of pants was hanging with two shirts in the closet. Put away my new books, organized by theme on the shelf. Noticed that it was 7:27pm and still light out.

It was just beginning to get dark, when completely unexpectedly, I burst into tears.

Who knows why. Perhaps it was the solitude I so rarely have because of all my airbnb and couchsurfing guests. Perhaps it was the calm setting in as I now begin the pause between my last adventure (New York) and my next (Montréal). Or maybe, bubbling to the surface, despite how good and right I know my decision was, it was pain and anger surrounding the recent and abrupt ending of my two-and-a-half-year relationship.

I just don’t know.

I do know that everyone always says how strong and independent I am. And they’re right. I am. But that’s not the whole picture. Sometimes I am fragile. Afraid. Full of self-doubt. Sometimes…once in awhile…I guess I, too, feel lonely.

At moments like these, when I am not strong, I close my eyes and you know what I long for? A big. Strong. Hug. Can you imagine? A hug! A hug would absolutely save the day. The arms of a loved one, wrapped around little me! What a silly girl I am after all, hey, world? Yes, a hug. Right now, a hug would be…

…magical.

An Unlikely Afterword on New York City

You know, I think I actually thought I was going to write daily posts about all the lovely things I was doing each day during my trip to New York this past week. A typical today-I-did-blah-blah-blah type of thing. It’s like I don’t know myself at all. That type of posting would be somewhat akin to those tacky, cheesey, embarassing-for-them photos people get taken of themselves in front of typical tourist attractions like the Eiffel Tower whilst they give a wide ass smile and the peace sign.

I would rather die.

During my trip to Paris last summer, when I found the time, I posted a photo or two of some of the incredible graffiti and street art I came across. Someone left a comment: Did you take photos of anything pretty? What the hell do they mean…like the aforementioned Eiffel Tower? Sure. I took a few photos of the regular touristy places. But why would I post those? If you want to see the Eiffel Tower or the Empire State Building, excuse my English, but fucking google it already. It’s like that friend doesn’t “know myself at all” either.

Well that’s Facebook for you.

Instead of said mundane play-by-play, what I am prepared to offer you is this: but three precious moments from my fourth and latest trip to New York City.

Here we go.

One.

At the zombie shoot, the director, another zombie and I stopped at Duane Reade to pick up a few things. The other zombie waited in the car and said she wanted an “iced tea.” So the director brought her one and said, “I wasn’t sure what kind you wanted.”

And then. You know what she said?

“Oh, it doesn’t matter. Any kind would have been fine. Nestea. Lipton. Arizona. Snapple. Sweet Leaf. TaZo. SoBe. Gold Peak. Brisk.” And on. And on. And on. AND ON. She must have listed twenty different kinds of iced tea. WOW. I was both fascinated and freaked out by her vast, vast knowledge of iced tea manufacturers. In fact I had to research “iced tea brands” just to quote her. And there I had been living life in terrible ignorance, thinking only Nestea and Lipton made iced tea.

Remind me NOT to go into the iced tea making business because the market is fucking saturated.

Two.

Every morning Ruben would drive me to the train station. He and I have been friends for three years now. We met on my first trip to New York. Combine my four trips here, his two to Toronto and one meet-up in Montreal (all of which we spent most of the time in group settings and intoxicated), along with casual Facebook contact, and you have the extent of us really getting to know each other. So not much. And so, terrible as this may sound, all this time, I didn’t realize how incredibly driven, articulate, intelligent, and aware he is; what clear, well-thought out views and opinions he has; what innovative and creative ideas he comes up with. Before this trip, I hadn’t really had the opportunity to learn so much about my friend Ruben. But on this trip, each morning, he on his way to work, me on my way to explore the city, I did. And my respect and admiration for him skyrocketed.

Man with brain. Me like.

This precious half hour ride became one of my absolute favourite moments of each day.

Three.

Dear, Diary.

Today I took the F train twenty-four stops to the New York Aquarium in Brooklyn only to find it closed due to damages incurred from Hurricane Sandy. Apparently the F train is the Fuck You train. I’m over it. Got back on the train and got off here at the Hamilton Parkway stop, still in Brooklyn, and found a nauseatingly trendy coffee shop called Steeplechase where I now find myself seated beside this mother and her ugly baby. This mother is going on and ON about her marriage which I have to agree is NOT going well. Poor thing. Good coffee, though.

This fake diary entry is based on true events. It was Friday, my last full day in the big city. I had decided I would hop on any train going to Brooklyn, since I always spend all my time in Manhattan, and hop off at a non-pre-determined stop and just explore. The first train to arrive was the F train. Got on it. There was a stop named “New York Aquarium.” Not something I would normally do. Perfect. I’ll do it. But alas, it was closed. I just wanted to explain why I would have travelled all the way there without having found out already that it was closed.

And there you have it. Three precious moments. Ciao for now.