When you meet someone new and they reference their partner, what do you assume? Do you assume anything? A few years ago, the word partner had a definite connotation - it meant gay partner - life partner if you will. It was an easy way for people to lightly alert people to their sexuality and for other people to be brought up to speed - all without overtly saying "my gay lova." I've noticed over the past few years that the hetero world has co-opted the term. Or perhaps its as I age and people are less apt to call someone their boyfriend of girlfriend - which I can certainly understand. Sort of brings up images of necking in the back of a car. A couple years ago, I heard someone at work refer to their partner and I assumed they meant they were gay. Given this persons persona, it wasn't a stretch. Anyhow, apparently they weren't. At the time, I was put off. This word was the word I used to be able to tell people about RC without having to drop the big L. They'd taken my civilized and subtle and comfortable language away. Another gay around me thought it was cool that this word was losing meaning. Increasingly over time, I began to think the same way. You didn't need a way to give people the heads up anymore. People didn't care anymore. There wasn't a typical looking or acting gay anymore. People weren't worried about other people thinking they have a "partner.". There is still a group of people however, who do associate this word with gay. However, they're also the sort that say fag, make girl on girl jokes and say retard. Or those who try to brag that they have a gay friend - you know, because it ups their culture factor. Basically, the people that I try to avoid. So how do I feel about the straights using partner? I think they can afford to - they don't have to worry about outcomes. BUT I also think it does help with normalization. It does tell those f-word using and f-hags that same-same isn't a societal divide, that really, ones partner is just that, a partner in life, regardless of inny or outty. So ya straighties!! Call your buddies your partner!
But sigh, really, I wish I still had my easy way to drop the lesbo bomb without making people (including myself) feel awkward.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Friday, March 11, 2011
Outstanding!
Words confound me. One word, multiple meanings. Two words, same meaning. One spelling, two pronunciations. Did the inventors of modern English got bored, lack creativity or were all possible letter/sound combinations used? Either way, homonyms, synonyms, homographs, homophones, heteronyms etc etc can be incredibly frustrating for those learning English as a second language, those TEACHING English as a second language, young people learning English period, or for people who just have a hard time learning the difference between ‘do’ and ‘due,’ or ‘polish’ and ‘Polish,’ or ‘outstanding’ and ‘OUTSTANDING!’. (Apparently I have difficulty with run-on sentences too……).
We all know so many words, it’s impossible to remember exactly when and where we learned them. I’m going to share a little anecdote about when I learned that ‘outstanding’ was not always referencing a job well done.
Grade 9. End of first term. I was in the tuck shop at school. I’d just received my first report card and I ran into my Biology teacher. Me, awkward, feeling the need to talk to her since there’s no one else around and I can’t pretend not to see her, “Thank you so much for saying I had an outstanding assignment!” My teacher, confused, unsure how to respond finally stammers “Outstanding means you never handed it in.”
Eye was totally phased. Awl eye I know, is eye gnawded in ascent and woked away. It was the WURST! What would ewe due???
We all know so many words, it’s impossible to remember exactly when and where we learned them. I’m going to share a little anecdote about when I learned that ‘outstanding’ was not always referencing a job well done.
Grade 9. End of first term. I was in the tuck shop at school. I’d just received my first report card and I ran into my Biology teacher. Me, awkward, feeling the need to talk to her since there’s no one else around and I can’t pretend not to see her, “Thank you so much for saying I had an outstanding assignment!” My teacher, confused, unsure how to respond finally stammers “Outstanding means you never handed it in.”
Eye was totally phased. Awl eye I know, is eye gnawded in ascent and woked away. It was the WURST! What would ewe due???
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
The Commute.
Well, do all you die hard followers (ha!), I’m back! I’m committed. For real.
As you know (since you’re all my friends and I’m generally a sharer), RC and I have purchased a home. Our love-mobile (aka U-Haul), swept us away beyond the great boundaries…past the DVP, past Pickering and Ajax … heck, past Bowmanville (where?) and the 401. Yup, we’ve purchased in the booming CITY of Peterborough. We saw the developing trend and got in at the ground floor. I am overwhelmed with the number of things I could talk about regarding the move, the hellish summer filled with spreadsheets, budgeting, re-budgeting and adjusting, the family visits to our new home … it goes on. But I choose to describe what I must go through each day to sustain home ownership.
I work right downtown Toronto – a 10 minute walk from Bay and King. To my front door, that’s 143 kms. I have been ushered into the world of commuting. I’m not complaining; I chose this life. I also choose (most days!) to see the humour in my 4 hour daily slog. Let me first outline exactly how my day unfolds (it’s down to a precise schedule).
4:45am – phone alarm – do do do do do deet do, do do do do do deet do – snooze about 5x
5:00 – radio alarm – if we’re lucky, we will hear The Wolf loud and clear. Often it’s fuzzy, despite it being clear as a bell when we set it
5:10-5:15 – get up, turn all lights on, try and wake RC up
5:15-5:25 – shower
5:25 – yell upstairs for RC to get, feel like a bitch
5:25 – 5:50 – run around getting ready (RC makes my coffee, breakfast, lunch, feeds cats – more on current cat situation later)
5:50-5:55 – must pull out of driveway no later than 5:55
5:55 – 6:42 – work on my relationship with my two besties – Matt Galloway and Wei Chan
6:43 – 6:46 – run to get on optimal car of GO Train
6:47 – 7:38 –avoid eye contact with girl I sit across from each morning, do Metro crossword, nap from Pickering to Union
7:38 – 7:50 – give myself shin splints walking to office in the underground and avoid temptation to shop - hope I don’t see co-worker who can attest that I was not in at 7:45
7:45 – 3:45 – work
3:47 – 4:00 – continue to master way to avoid Do Not Walk lights, collect Metro Play and T.O.Night, get to track 13 (I now know where my train will be each day without having to stand around looking at track schedule)
4:00 – get my prime seat near the door of the first car (sometimes forced to stand), and start crosswords and Sudoku’s
4:10 – 5:01 – do 3 crosswords and two Sudoku’s, lament my Train 48 life as I listen to the same 5-7 “adults” flirt with each other, make fart jokes, make lesbian jokes, make the most obvious crass sex jokes
5:01 – 5:03 – run, set alarm for car so I know where I’m running, jump in car and start it and pull out without putting on seatbelt or taking purse off – avoid parking lot congestion! (don’t worry, I put my seatbelt on once I’m underway)
5:03 – 5:45 – work on my relationship with Laura DiBattista and pretend I’m Mario Andretti (I literally time myself every 10kms – 5min per 10kms – god save anyone who holds me up and make me miss my mark)
5:47 – Honey, I’m home!!!
There ya have it folks, from 4:45am to 5:45pm. My Commute. Otherwise known as “How Forcing Myself to Become a Positive Person and Seeing Humour in the Most Frustrating and Inane People has Saved me from Slitting my Wrists”. (which I can’t do for two years or else RC won’t be able to collect insurance).
As you know (since you’re all my friends and I’m generally a sharer), RC and I have purchased a home. Our love-mobile (aka U-Haul), swept us away beyond the great boundaries…past the DVP, past Pickering and Ajax … heck, past Bowmanville (where?) and the 401. Yup, we’ve purchased in the booming CITY of Peterborough. We saw the developing trend and got in at the ground floor. I am overwhelmed with the number of things I could talk about regarding the move, the hellish summer filled with spreadsheets, budgeting, re-budgeting and adjusting, the family visits to our new home … it goes on. But I choose to describe what I must go through each day to sustain home ownership.
I work right downtown Toronto – a 10 minute walk from Bay and King. To my front door, that’s 143 kms. I have been ushered into the world of commuting. I’m not complaining; I chose this life. I also choose (most days!) to see the humour in my 4 hour daily slog. Let me first outline exactly how my day unfolds (it’s down to a precise schedule).
4:45am – phone alarm – do do do do do deet do, do do do do do deet do – snooze about 5x
5:00 – radio alarm – if we’re lucky, we will hear The Wolf loud and clear. Often it’s fuzzy, despite it being clear as a bell when we set it
5:10-5:15 – get up, turn all lights on, try and wake RC up
5:15-5:25 – shower
5:25 – yell upstairs for RC to get, feel like a bitch
5:25 – 5:50 – run around getting ready (RC makes my coffee, breakfast, lunch, feeds cats – more on current cat situation later)
5:50-5:55 – must pull out of driveway no later than 5:55
5:55 – 6:42 – work on my relationship with my two besties – Matt Galloway and Wei Chan
6:43 – 6:46 – run to get on optimal car of GO Train
6:47 – 7:38 –avoid eye contact with girl I sit across from each morning, do Metro crossword, nap from Pickering to Union
7:38 – 7:50 – give myself shin splints walking to office in the underground and avoid temptation to shop - hope I don’t see co-worker who can attest that I was not in at 7:45
7:45 – 3:45 – work
3:47 – 4:00 – continue to master way to avoid Do Not Walk lights, collect Metro Play and T.O.Night, get to track 13 (I now know where my train will be each day without having to stand around looking at track schedule)
4:00 – get my prime seat near the door of the first car (sometimes forced to stand), and start crosswords and Sudoku’s
4:10 – 5:01 – do 3 crosswords and two Sudoku’s, lament my Train 48 life as I listen to the same 5-7 “adults” flirt with each other, make fart jokes, make lesbian jokes, make the most obvious crass sex jokes
5:01 – 5:03 – run, set alarm for car so I know where I’m running, jump in car and start it and pull out without putting on seatbelt or taking purse off – avoid parking lot congestion! (don’t worry, I put my seatbelt on once I’m underway)
5:03 – 5:45 – work on my relationship with Laura DiBattista and pretend I’m Mario Andretti (I literally time myself every 10kms – 5min per 10kms – god save anyone who holds me up and make me miss my mark)
5:47 – Honey, I’m home!!!
There ya have it folks, from 4:45am to 5:45pm. My Commute. Otherwise known as “How Forcing Myself to Become a Positive Person and Seeing Humour in the Most Frustrating and Inane People has Saved me from Slitting my Wrists”. (which I can’t do for two years or else RC won’t be able to collect insurance).
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Neighbourhood Watch: Part One
Living at the apex of a multitude of Neighbourhoods with different socio-economic characteristics, brings together a myriad of interesting people. Each house, each person deserves their own chapter. These people illicit a glut of reactions as varied as they themselves are.
We live in a house that has been converted into three apartments: basement, main floor and top floor/loft. I would like to start with The Girl in the Basement.....aka MaryJane.
MaryJane sits outside in the driveway with her ganja and rap,
She chats on the phone and watches while her dog takes a crap.
Shit into full bag hanging on fence,
Her dope wards off the stench,
But not the sound of dog sat dogs - yap YAPPITY YAPPITY YAP.
Somehow, MaryJane is able to miss the garbage and green bin containers every time she throws anything away. On her dog-sitting allowance, MaryJane can only afford two clothing items: a bathrobe and bar star clothes. Despite her economic distress, she is generous, however, leaving random items (dog brushes, three legged tables, empty bread bags) in sodden boxes on the edge of the yard for people peruse. Her burly CAA tow truck driving man often visits, letting toxic fumes from his idling truck waft up to our apartment. That's when we're lucky - if we aren't home when he is over, he himself parks in our dog-shit surrounded parking spot. Although, come to think of it, at least THEN I can take out my frustration and anger on the horn! Once, we perched like cats peering out the loft window while they had a domestic in the street. It was punctuated by crushing plastic and crashing glass as he angrily drove off down the narrow ally. I'm not sure what was sadder - the domestic in the street or the fact that our frisky time screeched to a halt so that we could bear witness.
Oh MaryJane, I love to hate you.
We live in a house that has been converted into three apartments: basement, main floor and top floor/loft. I would like to start with The Girl in the Basement.....aka MaryJane.
MaryJane sits outside in the driveway with her ganja and rap,
She chats on the phone and watches while her dog takes a crap.
Shit into full bag hanging on fence,
Her dope wards off the stench,
But not the sound of dog sat dogs - yap YAPPITY YAPPITY YAP.
Somehow, MaryJane is able to miss the garbage and green bin containers every time she throws anything away. On her dog-sitting allowance, MaryJane can only afford two clothing items: a bathrobe and bar star clothes. Despite her economic distress, she is generous, however, leaving random items (dog brushes, three legged tables, empty bread bags) in sodden boxes on the edge of the yard for people peruse. Her burly CAA tow truck driving man often visits, letting toxic fumes from his idling truck waft up to our apartment. That's when we're lucky - if we aren't home when he is over, he himself parks in our dog-shit surrounded parking spot. Although, come to think of it, at least THEN I can take out my frustration and anger on the horn! Once, we perched like cats peering out the loft window while they had a domestic in the street. It was punctuated by crushing plastic and crashing glass as he angrily drove off down the narrow ally. I'm not sure what was sadder - the domestic in the street or the fact that our frisky time screeched to a halt so that we could bear witness.
Oh MaryJane, I love to hate you.
Friday, May 21, 2010
Why it would benefit work financially to provide me with a personal bathroom:
The long-term financial benefits to my place of work by providing with a personal bathroom are potentially astronomical. Let me explain.
Our current washroom set-up is as follows: a girls bathroom with 4 stalls and a separate single bathroom with a shower and no lock. The girls room is closer than the separate bathroom, which is at the end of a dead end hallway.
Now, I am completely comfortable with urinating in a stall and running into coworkers in the washroom and striking up light conversation while we stand and wash our hands for five minutes. I am comfortable with hearing other people use the washroom and even using the washroom at the same time as each other. I am NOT comfortable with any other sort of evacuation that takes place in a washroom stall. I suffer from shit-breakitis. I must be at home, the conditions must be right..... I basically have to light candles and set mood music.
This would all be fine if I didn't have the fortune of a speedy and thorough digestive system and misfortune of an incredibly sensitive stomach. Which means that most work days, I have 'to go.' Clearly, my shit-breakitis rules out the women's washroom. People understand up until this point of my issue. So they then suggest that I use the single washroom. Here is where the shit-breakitis solidifies.
If I walk to the single bathroom, people can/will see that I've bypassed the women's washroom. The only other place to go after the women's washroom, IS the single washroom. Since I work with intelligent people, they will surmise that I'm going to use the single washroom. Since I often see people in the women's washroom when I need to urinate, they know I don't have issue with urinating in the women's washroom. Again, smart people, they will figure out what I'm about to do. So, I cannot go in the single washroom either.
My physical digestive issues coupled with my personal hang-ups mean that I cramp, hold and bloat for a good portion of many days at work. Staying in any position for a prolonged amount of time only intensifies these feelings. So I'm up and down up and down from my seat. I can't concentrate on any task for a decent amount of time. I can't stay late and avoid end of day meetings because I have to rush home to my personal eradication retreat. My work productivity pretty much goes down the toilet (yuck yuck yuck).
The only solution to this draining problem is by having a personal bathroom at work. This way, people will not ever know what I'm doing in there at any given time. I will have the luxury of relieving myself and returning to my desk to buckle down. It's a no-brainer - my productivity would increase significantly. Therefore, it would be in my organizations best interest to provide me with my own personal bathroom.
Our current washroom set-up is as follows: a girls bathroom with 4 stalls and a separate single bathroom with a shower and no lock. The girls room is closer than the separate bathroom, which is at the end of a dead end hallway.
Now, I am completely comfortable with urinating in a stall and running into coworkers in the washroom and striking up light conversation while we stand and wash our hands for five minutes. I am comfortable with hearing other people use the washroom and even using the washroom at the same time as each other. I am NOT comfortable with any other sort of evacuation that takes place in a washroom stall. I suffer from shit-breakitis. I must be at home, the conditions must be right..... I basically have to light candles and set mood music.
This would all be fine if I didn't have the fortune of a speedy and thorough digestive system and misfortune of an incredibly sensitive stomach. Which means that most work days, I have 'to go.' Clearly, my shit-breakitis rules out the women's washroom. People understand up until this point of my issue. So they then suggest that I use the single washroom. Here is where the shit-breakitis solidifies.
If I walk to the single bathroom, people can/will see that I've bypassed the women's washroom. The only other place to go after the women's washroom, IS the single washroom. Since I work with intelligent people, they will surmise that I'm going to use the single washroom. Since I often see people in the women's washroom when I need to urinate, they know I don't have issue with urinating in the women's washroom. Again, smart people, they will figure out what I'm about to do. So, I cannot go in the single washroom either.
My physical digestive issues coupled with my personal hang-ups mean that I cramp, hold and bloat for a good portion of many days at work. Staying in any position for a prolonged amount of time only intensifies these feelings. So I'm up and down up and down from my seat. I can't concentrate on any task for a decent amount of time. I can't stay late and avoid end of day meetings because I have to rush home to my personal eradication retreat. My work productivity pretty much goes down the toilet (yuck yuck yuck).
The only solution to this draining problem is by having a personal bathroom at work. This way, people will not ever know what I'm doing in there at any given time. I will have the luxury of relieving myself and returning to my desk to buckle down. It's a no-brainer - my productivity would increase significantly. Therefore, it would be in my organizations best interest to provide me with my own personal bathroom.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
I had a cocky dream last night.....
As I was collating sticks and cattails while singing for my boss, my union rep pulled me aside. He seemed uncomfortable and his gaze kept shifting. Apparently, another one of our coworkers (we shall call them Goulash - epic epic lunches every day!) was making sexual remarks about me - wanting to tap me and the like. My union rep advised me that perhaps I shouldn't dress as well as I do and stop wearing skirts and actually, maybe even change my work hours so I don't bait Goulash anymore. I was so incredibly attractive and captivating, that I was expected to accommodate Goulash rather than expect Goulash to contain himself.
Taking my rep up on his suggestion, I went into work early. I stopped at a Tim's where a male friend of mine worked. Again, my beauty, charisma and sex appeal was far too much for anyone to ignore. My beguiling self permeated the Tim Horton's. One by one, they sauntered up to the counter just to be near me. After ordering, all the men insisted that I take their change. While that sounds like they thought I was a homeless skid rather than a sexy beast, in my dream, it was a BIG deal that I was getting their change.... Megan Fox wouldn't have received anything more - it was the highest echelon of modern day flirtation. I had to leave to avoid my friend facing more hatred, death stares and threats. In fact, I left amidst a slew of jealous ridden slurs and the promise of a fight.
As always, Reality Bites. I woke up with a rolly, bloated ice cream belly from the night before and a sore, fresh, below the surface pimple. It's no wonder RC couldn't get me out of bed this morning!
Taking my rep up on his suggestion, I went into work early. I stopped at a Tim's where a male friend of mine worked. Again, my beauty, charisma and sex appeal was far too much for anyone to ignore. My beguiling self permeated the Tim Horton's. One by one, they sauntered up to the counter just to be near me. After ordering, all the men insisted that I take their change. While that sounds like they thought I was a homeless skid rather than a sexy beast, in my dream, it was a BIG deal that I was getting their change.... Megan Fox wouldn't have received anything more - it was the highest echelon of modern day flirtation. I had to leave to avoid my friend facing more hatred, death stares and threats. In fact, I left amidst a slew of jealous ridden slurs and the promise of a fight.
As always, Reality Bites. I woke up with a rolly, bloated ice cream belly from the night before and a sore, fresh, below the surface pimple. It's no wonder RC couldn't get me out of bed this morning!
Things I Overhear on the TTC: Part 1
7 year old kid, excitedly tells his mother:
"Hey mom, you know Tim? His mother is a NURSE!"
bleached growing out perm mother with one ear listening to iPod:
"What's your point?"
awwww.....little boy......I will listen to your stories!!!!
"Hey mom, you know Tim? His mother is a NURSE!"
bleached growing out perm mother with one ear listening to iPod:
"What's your point?"
awwww.....little boy......I will listen to your stories!!!!
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