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.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
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!!!!
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
two lesbians and three pussies
As previously mentioned, we have three cats. THREE. Our cats not only out-number us, but also our bedrooms, bathrooms, litter boxes and laps. They even outnumber us in the pussy department!
Before going any further, I really must take complete responsibility for the cat indulgence. In order to prevent the inevitable (my gf's family giving her an orange cat, which just wouldn't go with my mostly black wardrobe), I thought I would take preventative methods and suggest we pick out A cat together (black - to match my clothes). Let's call my gf The Red Carpet (RC). I had RC in the human society and walking out the door with two cardboard boxes within hours of deciding to get a cat. This rash decision was followed by such a quick Canadian Tire run, that I'm still not certain if we paid for the plethora of highly necessary cat related items.
These were the rules for reluctant cat ownership in my home:
And it wasn't enough. Either something biological was going on, or I was making up for lost lesbian time and REALLY settling into the role. Somehow, I convinced RC that we needed a third cat. Within a week, we had our third. Ahhhhh......I finally felt satisfied.
Or do I? The question is: will three remain enough or am I just going to have to admit that I'm ready for soft lights, Barry White, satin sheets, my woman in a baby doll and a turkey baster?
Before going any further, I really must take complete responsibility for the cat indulgence. In order to prevent the inevitable (my gf's family giving her an orange cat, which just wouldn't go with my mostly black wardrobe), I thought I would take preventative methods and suggest we pick out A cat together (black - to match my clothes). Let's call my gf The Red Carpet (RC). I had RC in the human society and walking out the door with two cardboard boxes within hours of deciding to get a cat. This rash decision was followed by such a quick Canadian Tire run, that I'm still not certain if we paid for the plethora of highly necessary cat related items.
These were the rules for reluctant cat ownership in my home:
- no cats in the bed
- no cats on my clean/work clothes
- no cats in the bathroom or spare room
- no cats on the table
And it wasn't enough. Either something biological was going on, or I was making up for lost lesbian time and REALLY settling into the role. Somehow, I convinced RC that we needed a third cat. Within a week, we had our third. Ahhhhh......I finally felt satisfied.
Or do I? The question is: will three remain enough or am I just going to have to admit that I'm ready for soft lights, Barry White, satin sheets, my woman in a baby doll and a turkey baster?
Monday, May 17, 2010
Things I have learned as a new lesbian....
1. Not all vaginas look alike. While sharing the same parts, said parts may be different size, texture, shape. Apparently, there is some sort of vagina hierarchy - those which belong in magazines, and those which are often referred to as deli meat or something about curtains. While surprised to learn that not all look like mine (yes, I'm a recovering prude), I was pleased to discover that options exist. I do not subscribe to this idea of vagina superiority.
2. Sex redefined. Growing up as a prudish Catholic girl, sex was penetration. Well, clearly, that defination needed to change if I ever hoped to get laid again. Yes, sex can still exist in those terms when using toys, but what about good ol' missionary lesbian sex? I was so naive, I had to ask my new girlfriend when we are having sex and when we are making out. My understanding is that some lesbians define it has when you cum. If that were the case, we all popped our own cherries.
3. Patience really is a virtue. Women don't orgasm as quickly as men. Who knew?? It takes far more talent, patience and determination, however, the reward is just that.....rewarding! Oh my America!!!
4. There isn't always a man in a lesbian relationship. It's true, both girls can be girls. We can both be emotional, we can both be sucks, we can both wear make up. There doesn't always have to be a dyke and a lipstick. There are different types of girls....and each one can be the girl in very different ways.
5. Sometimes, I like to be the man in the relationship. Or what I perceive "the man" is in a relationship.
6. I look like my girlfriend. So much so, apparently, that when out and about, people can only explain our relationship as twins/sisters (unless showing affection - topic for seperate blog - do gay people show more affection in public than heterosexual couples?). Upon learning that we are most definately NOT related, they continue to insist that we must be lying. C'est tres amusant.
7. Lesbians really do like cats. All my life, I was a dog person. 6 months into my lesbian relationship, we have two cats and I'm holding them and talking to them like they're my unborn children that my womb is screaming for. We now have three cats.
8. I know where the local Home Depot and U-haul rental is. All jokes aside about lesbians bringing their u-haul trucks on their second date, I did throw all previous beliefs about moving too quickly aside and started living with my gf after a few months. We then proceeded to reno and paint our apartment. We had to upsize our toolbox.
9. Guys think it's all for them. Let me set the stage: bistro turn club/bar at night in Peterborough. Sitting at bar with girlfriend, having a drink, talking, laughing, enjoying ourselves. Men start to circle. After a while, we share a quick kiss. Apparently, we have sent the modern day signal for come hit on us.
unattractive dude in his 20s with arm around each of us and head between us: "Can I get in on this action?"
No, no you cannot.
10. Soft skin is much sexier. No hairy backs, no stubble on the face, no calloused hands, no gross toenails, no wrinkly nacho-cheese forskin, and boobs that are supposed to be boobs.
2. Sex redefined. Growing up as a prudish Catholic girl, sex was penetration. Well, clearly, that defination needed to change if I ever hoped to get laid again. Yes, sex can still exist in those terms when using toys, but what about good ol' missionary lesbian sex? I was so naive, I had to ask my new girlfriend when we are having sex and when we are making out. My understanding is that some lesbians define it has when you cum. If that were the case, we all popped our own cherries.
3. Patience really is a virtue. Women don't orgasm as quickly as men. Who knew?? It takes far more talent, patience and determination, however, the reward is just that.....rewarding! Oh my America!!!
4. There isn't always a man in a lesbian relationship. It's true, both girls can be girls. We can both be emotional, we can both be sucks, we can both wear make up. There doesn't always have to be a dyke and a lipstick. There are different types of girls....and each one can be the girl in very different ways.
5. Sometimes, I like to be the man in the relationship. Or what I perceive "the man" is in a relationship.
6. I look like my girlfriend. So much so, apparently, that when out and about, people can only explain our relationship as twins/sisters (unless showing affection - topic for seperate blog - do gay people show more affection in public than heterosexual couples?). Upon learning that we are most definately NOT related, they continue to insist that we must be lying. C'est tres amusant.
7. Lesbians really do like cats. All my life, I was a dog person. 6 months into my lesbian relationship, we have two cats and I'm holding them and talking to them like they're my unborn children that my womb is screaming for. We now have three cats.
8. I know where the local Home Depot and U-haul rental is. All jokes aside about lesbians bringing their u-haul trucks on their second date, I did throw all previous beliefs about moving too quickly aside and started living with my gf after a few months. We then proceeded to reno and paint our apartment. We had to upsize our toolbox.
9. Guys think it's all for them. Let me set the stage: bistro turn club/bar at night in Peterborough. Sitting at bar with girlfriend, having a drink, talking, laughing, enjoying ourselves. Men start to circle. After a while, we share a quick kiss. Apparently, we have sent the modern day signal for come hit on us.
unattractive dude in his 20s with arm around each of us and head between us: "Can I get in on this action?"
No, no you cannot.
10. Soft skin is much sexier. No hairy backs, no stubble on the face, no calloused hands, no gross toenails, no wrinkly nacho-cheese forskin, and boobs that are supposed to be boobs.
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