Je Me Souviens

Remember that time, about two months ago, when I was talking all that shit about missing people and being lonely and needing to connect with everyone. Yeah... Fuck that nonsense.

It's all coming back to me; the reasons I hate humans: They're rude. They're greedy. They're wasteful. They're stupid. They lie. And, they can't drive.

Biscotti and Americano are all I need

Let's start with people and Romaine Lettuce. It has been linked to 22 cases of E. Coli illnesses in three provinces - only 4 cases in Ontario - and has not killed one person. To call this an "outbreak" is really pushing it in my opinion. But, because the fucking masses have spread their memes all over facebook, every moron who gets the tiniest piece of green on their plate has to call me over to make sure I'm not trying to kill them with my Devil's Lettuce. Meanwhile, there were 166 confirmed cases of salmonella from chicken in Ontario in the past year. But, I don't hear anyone questioning me about all the pounds and pounds of wings they order every Tuesday. 

Speaking of work, servers like myself form pretty close bonds while sharing common pet peeves in the workplace. In the service industry, it's us against them - ALL OF THEM. The kitchen, the managers, the guests and even the suppliers who want to deliver big boxes of stuff in the middle of lunch rush. However, sometimes, in the worst of establishments, there are servers who work against other servers. They refuse to be part of the team, won't run anyone else's food, or clean anyone else's tables. And then, there are are what we call the Table-stealers. 

Case in point, I arrive to work at 8 a.m. on Saturday to prepare for several large groups. One group of 35 people is in the section next to mine and takes up two of my tables in a five table section. (This is starting to sound alot like a math equation. Please try to keep up.) To make up for it, I've taken a "4 Top" from another section. The most action I can have for the next hour and a half is 16 people. Which is fine. The server next to me gets 35 guaranteed sales and I get half of that if I'm lucky.

This isn't fair. It just isn't. So, I filed my grievance with the United Service Workers of No One Gives a Shit About Your Problems and was promptly told that I should suck it up. In response, I grumble under my breath, "I'll just go over here and fuck myself, I guess."

To be fair, the service gods giveth and the service gods taketh away. I would probably end up making good money anyway. Regardless, as soon as the table of 35 people had food in front of them, didn't that sneaky little so-and-so grab a family at my borrowed 4 Top before I knew they were even sitting down! Meet the Table-stealer! I can't actually call her anything worse because, TBH, I think she's pretty cool... when she's not stealing tables. Meanwhile, half of my section is taken up with her party and she doesn't have to care if they camp out there all day. 

I'm fairly communist in my service industry beliefs. My dad calls me a "Fucking Lefty" all the time, actually - "From each according to his abilities, Dad!" I just think, if I can help you and you can help me, the restaurant runs smoothly and the kitchen doesn't see the hot food getting cold, then the guests aren't suffering from low blood sugar and they think the place is great so they keep coming back. Win fucking win. Everyone is happy.

Which brings me to today and how unhappy I am. Granted, I'm passive aggressive as fuck. I know this. I (usually) try to keep my opinions and my disappointment inside because I know the effect of harsh words (unless they're written online and that doesn't count). I know my anger is usually the result of being tired and hungry. Sometimes, tired of being broke and hungry for peace of mind. Instead of calmly asking for what I want, I try to practice patience and humility. Well, that never works and I end up wanting to pull down my pants and shit in a coffee shop so I can throw fecal matter at my sworn enemies. Lol. Did you see that video?! It wasn't me, but it very well could have been.

So, today, I wanted to go see a Swedish Film at the local Art Gallery. I like artsy shit like that, as I've clearly displayed in my #fluteandshoot twerking video. When I got downtown, I discovered my cell phone car charger was pooched and my phone was dead. No problem. Quick charge at the mall and I was back in business with minutes to spare at the art gallery. 

I arrived at the "box office", which was a table with one clerk, some pamphlets, and a cash box. One woman was purchasing a ticket and asking all kinds of bullshit questions. Another was waiting to buy her ticket and prepping to ask more of the same bullshit questions. Like the polite Canadian I am, I stood well back from the transaction to allow for personal space and waited to pay my admission. Meanwhile, the elevator doors open behind me and a throng of pushy, brassy, obnoxious women herd right past me and start asking bullshit questions and demanding admission. 

I said what I always say, somewhat under my breath, as I try to find some zen and humility: "I'll just go over here and fuck myself, I guess."

Can't throw it if I can't make it

I tried waiting patiently for my turn. But, more and more people were showing up and I realized, with every new arrival, I was getting more and more anxious and uncomfortable. I just wanted to NOT have to interact with anyone. I would much rather eat popcorn in a basement with Netflix.

So, I went to the Cannabis Convention instead. I'm not interested in Cannabis. I don't have any significant body pain, I don't like the way it makes me feel, I don't mind the smell, but it just isn't for me. I just thought it would be interesting and I assumed there would be good food there. You know, for when everyone gets the munchies? Once again, I was disappointed. Not so much as a bag of Doritos. Thankfully, I didn't pay the $15 admission because they were basically shutting the place down by 4:20 p.m. 

Phone still dead, I ended up getting the new Google Pixel at the mall. While transferring my data, the salesperson noticed my screensaver said, "I Hate Everyone". She laughed and then she said, "That really just made my day." We bonded over stories of mutual hatred for our species, heightened by the Black Friday experience and maybe even the full moon, and I wished her the best of luck for the rest of the season. Then, I grabbed a Beaver Tail from across the street, repeatedly said "No" to four panhandlers asking for change as I walked to my car, and drove back to the solace of my basement room where I will spend the rest of the night in blissful solitude.

I don't really hate everyone. Naomi from Telus is on my list of people to save during the apocalypse.

Sherla the Logophile Trains for a New Career

     Here I am in Ottawa! It's the 5th time in my adult life that I've moved in with Jodi because she's one of the few people in the world I can stand for more than a couple of days. So far, so good. 

Welcome Home

     My housemates are all actors, so there is alot of creative energy. Someone is learning a new song on the piano, someone is making Youtube videos, someone is baking pie, someone is doing flips in the living room... the point is, I'm in heaven. Anything I want to do is not only encouraged, it's supported. Including my childhood dream of becoming a voice actor. 

     Side note: I didn't know I wanted to be a voice actor as a child. I just remember reading all of my books out loud using different voices. I also made myself read each sentence perfectly, without tripping over a word and enunciating every syllable. I would try to get through every paragraph in one breath. Sometimes, I would even read the words backwards so I could pretend I spoke a different language.

     Within hours of arriving in O-Town, I somehow mentioned this obsession with words to Jodi. I won't call it an unusual obsession. One thing I've discovered in my 40s: you only THINK it's unusual because no one has talked to you about it. Let your freak flags fly and you will find your tribe! Anyway, she immediately found me a voice acting class that just happened to be starting the following Monday. 

     I got my first assignment via e-mail before I even attended a class. We had to memorize a poem that has since been etched into my brain forever. I have recited it fast, slow, quiet, loud, high-pitched and Barry White-esque. Oh, and I've had to say it while sticking out my tongue. https://youtu.be/nE9HhSxlzvk

     Also, we were to practice beatboxing, or making your mouth become a drum machine. AKA: A thing there is no fucking way I am going to be able to do. You know how you sign yourself up for something, or you agree to go to an event that you're kind of excited about, and then you realize you were very, very wrong to do so? Yeah, that's happened to me a couple of times.

     I'll give you a link to the tutorial, but the basic premise of my beatboxing experience is getting your mouth to do two different things while your nose and throat are doing something different. Something they really don't want to do. Like humming and kissing and spitting at the same damn time. In the end I found it fascinating, but I could have choked to death. 

     I arrived at my first class the way I used to arrive at Bible Study - verses memorized and looking forward to the food afterward. But, my first impressions were very positive and I left feeling determined and inspired, albeit, a little hungry.

     There is a good mix of people at my Power of Voice class; people of different ages, ethnicities, heights and weights. But, they all seem like good people... except for one. She used to be a teacher. I know this because she mentions it every half hour at least. She's a know it all, a grammar Nazi, she hates millennials (or anyone born after 1980), her husband, the fact that she is old, and that no one appreciates an Oxford comma. She likes to recite lines from obscure plays and then acts surprised when no one knows what she's talking about. Then, she reminds herself, out loud, how unrefined the rest of us are. She takes every opportunity to tell the young people in the class that they are inferior because none of them can put together a sentence properly and they frustrate her with their pop culture nonsense. She told the one adult male in our class that he could only ever get parts for old wizards and dwarves. 

     Let it be known, this woman ran in front of my car as we were leaving our final class last night, and I resisted the urge to run her over. 

     We did a recap of the things we've learned in the last month and I will tell you all you need to know about becoming a voice actor (IMHO). 

Let your freak flag fly and you'll find your tribe

1. Practice your consonants. Say them all loudly and proudly. Sing Selena Gomez' song "Love You Like A Love Song" and try to enunciate every L, every P, every V... I swear she uses all the digraphs in there, too. (Digraph: Proof that I learn new shit every day.)
2. Practice your breathing. Conserve your breath. Make plans where you're going to take your breaths in sentences. Sing Adele songs. "Someone Like You" is a real bitch to plan your breathing around, but so is "Water Under the Bridge". 
3. Exercise your tongue. Yeah, you thirsty bitches out there know what I'm talking about ;) Tongue Twisters are great. Let your tongue know who's boss. Touch every one of your teeth as quickly as you can. Then, try to spit some simplistic pimp shit. Channel your inner Cardi B.
4. English is fuct. You can actually start fights over how something is pronounced. For fun, invite a room full of people to recite The Chaos Poem by Gerard Nolste Trenite. More drama than playing Monopoly. 
5. Expect to be spit on while working as an actor. I am not going to practice this. I am just going to hope it never happens. There are few things in the world I like less than spit, except maybe middle aged, narcissistic teachers with a penchant for insults and being right all the time.
   

Desperado, I Ain't Gettin' No Younger

Yet another selfie in Yoho

One of the biggest surprises on this journey from Ontario to BC is that I'm not as comfortable being alone with myself as I once was, or as I thought I was. I believe I can link this to an incident in July.

I was racing to Elora to rent a tube to float down the Grand River through the Gorge. I've done it before, it was no big deal. A very leisurely float. I even assured the ladies heading out before me that it was completely safe. They couldn't possibly injure themselves. But, the attendant did warn them to get into their tubes after the rapids, which are a little further upstream. As I was walking to the river, I saw a couple of emergency vehicles which I assumed were doing routine practice runs for extracting people from the gorge (I was wrong. A man had broken his leg and needed to be lifted out by ropes!)

Anywhhhay, I watched a family go over the rapids we had been warned to stay away from and, although the mom was freaking out (as mom's do), everyone came out the other side unscathed. So, I decided I was gonna give it a go. On closer inspection, this was not just some rapids. It was a drop over a ridge of about two feet. I'm gonna call it a two foot waterfall. So, when I went over the chute, I lost my tube and I was pushed down to the bottom of the fairly shallow river and was unable to get back up to the surface.

Eventually, I was spat out from the grip of the current and bounced along the various boulders on the river bottom for about 50 meters before I could catch my breath and find my feet underneath me. My legs were shaking so badly and I was in so much pain, particularly in my tailbone, that I could barely make it to the river's edge. It was hard to stand, it was even harder to sit... and it was even harder to holler to the two young ladies taking selfies across the river that I needed them to call 911. My pride was hurt, but I had to admit there was no way I was gonna walk out of there.

Smart, capable, interesting young people... and some mountains

The emergency extraction was comical and I'm damn glad I wasn't dying. The regular emergency crew must have been busy with broken-leg-guy because my team (although they looked good enough to eat in their fancy, red, water-gear, uniforms) were unable to get me out of the gorge without significant help from myself. They also had trouble finding whatever attachments were supposed to keep me from falling off the stretcher. When I finally got to the ambulance, after being jostled, tossed, rolled and flipped, the RMTs had the nerve to put a neck brace on me. Bitch, if my neck wasn't broken by now, after all the hell I've just been through, a brace is sure as hell not going to help me on the ride to the hospital. When I did arrive, the nurses asked me how much pain I was in, left me in wet clothes on a bed and rolled me into a utility closet for almost 2 hours. Clearly, I was not at risk of dying in their opinion. So, I got my legs working and signed my broken ass out of there.

My point is, while I was sitting there at the side of the river, with my legs spread out, crotch all pubey, snot dripping down my face because I needed both hands to support my weight and couldn't spare a hand to wipe my tears away, the Park Ranger asked if there was anyone he could call on my behalf. I had to say, "no". And while this isn't necessarily true, I felt at the time that my family and friends were all too far away to be bothered to see me though this trauma. 

Dogs are the best

Fast forward to this amazing cross-country trip where every other road sign explains what might kill me next - bears, falling rocks, runaway trucks, avalanches - and I've realized I don't really feel comfortable being alone anymore. What could be worse than a misanthrope who doesn't want to be alone? Not only is it extremely boring taking selfies in front of every landmark from UFO landing pads to Giant Pierogies, it is also hard to pass the time driving ten hours a day with no radio stations and intermittent cell service during pee breaks. 

But, I still like hiking, right? Well, here's the thing. I chose a difficult, seven-hour hike straight up Whistler's Peak outside Jasper this week. I love a challenge! However, the hikes in the Rocky Mountains aren't necessarily just about strength, stamina and determination. I had my water bottle and my cell phone and my shitty Asshole-o hiking boots, but everyone passing me or coming back down was in full MEC gear, complete with bear bells, back packs and poles. This made me second guess myself. Then, I started to get on the fear train. You know the one, I'm sure. The one that starts out "You didn't bring enough water" "This trail is awfully slippery and/or rocky" "I think I hear a bear" "Is my arm tingling? Am I having a heart attack?" "I'm going to fall head first onto one of these rocks and they won't find my body until spring." CHOO CHOO!! I arrived at Panic Station and was just about to turn around when...

I backed into a gawdamn tree, ripped my moulding off

The motherfucking air raid siren from the metropolis of Jasper starts to whirr, followed by what sounds like forty emergency vehicle sirens. Immediately, I think there's an avalanche and we're all going to die. Well, you have never seen a chubby girl race down some switchbacks as fast as I did that day. Slippery rocks be damned, I was getting the fuck out of mountain country and if I never see another gawdamn view from above the tree line, I'll be okay with that!

It would appear that this trip has forced me to re-evaluate who I am or who I am becoming. Some of my best experiences have been, not quietly contemplating the beauty of my country on my own, but rather sharing knowledge with the people I've met along the way; Swapping life stories over breakfast, jive-dancing with men who have no right to be that limber in their 80s, learning funny Japanese phrases about helpful cats, proudly reflecting on a job well done with a co-worker, and  trying to say "squirrel" in German.

Yes, I'm having the time of my life out here on the road with no one to answer to but myself. However, most of the time I'm thinking about how nice it will be to get back to Ontario and see all my people. 

You can check out any time you like...

        I think I might be to blame for Burt Reynolds death. I was watching Smokey and the Bandit II on the dish last week and I had to give him a Google to see what he was up to. It didn't occur to me that the Bandit would have aged. So, when I saw a recent picture, I thought, "Shit, he's not long for this world!" Sure enough, he was not.

        What bothers me is, I was prophetic in another way, as well. Case in point, while celebrating my father's birthday with a family dinner, I told my step-mom that I was going to pay for some of the meal because I was probably going to need to ask for much more money in a couple of months; and I quote, "I don't need your stinking $20 for dinner, Cheryl. You and I both know I'm going to be calling you from Alberta, crying because I need to be airlifted off a mountain and the bill is $2000."

        Fortunately, I don't need to be airlifted, but I haven't even made it to Saskatchewan yet. My car has a slow leak in the radiator causing it to overheat and my wheel bearing needs to be replaced because it sounds like the screeching brakes of a Go Train through Union Station. It's only going to cost $1300, so my fortune telling is somewhat exaggerated. 

... or the temperature is set to
Holyshityourcarisfuct

    I was panicked today when I saw the temperature gauge of my little Kia creeping up to the H (H for HolyShitYourCarIsFuct). This happened to me just last Christmas, dammit. But, this time, I'm 2500 km from home and CAA does not cover that. So the first thing I did was call my dad. 

        Next, I Googled the address of a local mechanic, who told me to bring it right in. Unfortunately, Google said the Auto Repair shop was in Russell, MB, when in fact it was in Roblin, MB... 40 minutes north of Russell. 

        Now, I'm quite enjoying my stay here on the western border of Manitoba. The people here are never angry. They don't care if you go the 90 km speed limit (on gravel roads, no less!!!) because there's always room to drive around. They always have time to answer your questions or give you a wave and a friendly smile... or a hug. I even had someone stop to see if I was alright within seconds of pulling over to check under my hood.  But, I'll tell you what... Google doesn't know shit about this area. No one has reviewed ANYTHING. This place has two provincial parks, a national park, a ski hill, a huuuuuge lake and half a dozen golf courses, but as far as Google is concerned, "Ain't nothing to see here."

        Anyway, as long as I turned the heat and the fan on, my car remained steady in between the C and the H. I was able to drive to the repair shop without having to turn my car off every 80 seconds, where I received the bad news. But, I did get a hug from a woman getting an oil change who seemed genuinely concerned for my wellbeing.

Me, being terrified of this huge bull

        So, here's the other crazy thing. I'm staying here in Inglis with the most amazing couple. Real go-getters. They work all day at their various day jobs and side hustles, all while inviting strangers to stay in their home (with an excellent WiFi connection, I might add). Rick and Karen have hosted quite a few people from all over the world, including the girl from Poland who fell in love and decided to stay here. I was also introduced to the Australian lad who came last year and just never left. Another young woman came for a month from some other European country and she decided to stay, too. A guy walking the Trans-Canada Trail stayed for a week even though he intended to just pass through.

        I'm not saying Inglis isn't great. I love it. It's beautiful, peaceful, has great, inspiring people and lots of gainful employment opportunities. They have wing night Wednesdays at the bar, the occasional barn dance and beautiful night sky views. But, I can't understand why so many people arrive and just don't leave.

        Then it hit me... they don't have a choice. Suddenly, their car starts to overheat and they can't afford to get it fixed so they're stuck here and they have to hook up with some young farmboy who drives a Dodge and the next thing you know, they are harvesting canola every fall and spreading manure in the spring. 

        Cue the banjoes from Deliverance (another Burt Reynolds link!)

 "Sometimes you have to
 lose yourself 'fore you can
find anything" - Lewis Medlock
 (Burt Reynolds) in Deliverance, 1972.

      As it stands, I'm getting the part shipped from Winnipeg and I should be heading out from here by tomorrow afternoon. I've thoroughly enjoyed my experiences, which include: driving a golf cart, beautiful river valleys, riding in a combine, watching hawks hunt in cut fields of wheat, unlimited access to a well-stocked fridge, driving a Jetta onto a ski hill, seeing a grain of wheat fresh out of the field and seeing five sunrises and five sunsets. 

        I haven't quite decided if I will continue west after Saskatchewan.

PS. Deliverance was a movie about 4 men travelling down the Cahulawasee River before the natural wilderness area of Georgia was to be flooded by a dam. The inspiration for this fictional waterway was the Coosawattee River, which was flooded in the early 70s. The Lake of Prairies that I visited just west of Inglis, was also flooded in 1972, after the 8 year construction of a dam to prevent flooding in Winnipeg. Creepy.

Sherla's Big Cross-Country Adventure

        Some of you who have known me for a long time, or have read my book, will have a hard time believing this, but I had the most amazing childhood. For whatever reason, I strongly feel that providence has brought me to exactly the place that I need to be in the last 45 years and alot of that has to do with the people who have journeyed with me.

        Let's start with my sister, because she's the first one I remember. A girl only nine years older than me. Hard to imagine because I always thought of her as light years beyond me at every stage. My sister was the first person I ever remember feeling love from. Real love. The unconditional kind. The kind of love that means you will ALWAYS have a soft place to land. A true "ride or die" in modern terms. I could never be as strong as my sister, who has given up her own life for so many others. And, when I say she gave up her life, I mean that literally. It horrifies me to know that my sister doesn't even really know who she is because she's so busy being what everyone else needs her to be. We, as humans, often sacrifice ourselves to try to make others happy, losing our identities in the process. I want my sister to know, I remember who she is. I remember the girl who laid down in meadows with the sun on her face, feeling the peace of living in the moment. I remember the teenager who was "high on life". I remember the adventurous one, who tried to find her wings by hitchhiking to Toronto. Your true self is still there - it's just underneath a mountain of responsibility, pain and abuse. You are an angel, as your name suggests.

        Then there's my mom. This woman... she's a firecracker! Nothing will hold her down. I think she's lived in Quinte West for a few years now and that's probably the longest she's ever been in one spot. Haha. She's been called crazy a few times and I wouldn't dispute that. But, my mother encouraged me to question things and experiment. Mix things up and see what happens. Manipulate in some cases. And, no matter what, love like you've never loved anyone or anything else. Every time my mom falls in love, it's like no one else has ever existed before. Love does change, though. It becomes a burden, the noose tightens, and it's on to the next one. It's not like this for everyone, but it is for mom and I. That may sound harsh; it isn't intended to be. What's wrong with loving passionately for short periods of time? Sharing your heart and soul with a person who lights a fire in you and then finding another person, who maybe quenches a thirst? Or, maybe teaches you to fly? Maybe brings you back to earth? Some of us are not wired for monogamy. If that's shameful, well, I'm tired of being shamed for it. No time for self-righteous bullshit and judgement here. I've got a life to live.

        I'll take a brief moment here to shout out all the men who have enriched my life. 

       Jeff, you're a dick, but I know that's not your only attribute. I'm not mad cos you left, but I was at the time. I'm angry because you blame me for how things turned out when I'm the only reason things turned out at all. Now, I'm even more angry because you're abandoning again and I told you not to do that. I'd give anything to get back the person with the other half of my brain (circa 1984). That ship has sailed, I fear. It's been almost 30 years and I still have to consider you. I don't like that much. Thanks for giving me my magic baby. I still hate your guts, you fucking piece of shit. 

      Rod, I wish you had the same dreams for retirement that I have. You don't. But, if you change your mind, you have my number. Bring your own car though. I ain't no wifey.

      The rest of you (and the list is relatively short), you were probably alot of fun at the time. I have good memories and bad. I like that.  It means I have lived.

       Bluh, feelings. This shit is toxic.

       Back to my family now. 

      My dad gave me my adventurous spirit. He teaches me to speak to trees and listen to the wind. To follow my heart and check out every dead end road (there's actually no such thing). I think Dad and I have maps etched on our brains. A desire to photograph and catalogue every species, every vista, every memory. Even though neither of us is very good at remembering why we came into a particular room at any given time. 

     My brother, Gord, who has been gone for 26 years now, is the poet in my head. He still speaks to me through music and words. I don't care if that makes me sound crazy; my dead brother still speaks to me, usually while I'm driving along the highway. He tells me everything is going to be alright and I need to hear that every once in a while.

     Gramma Suzie makes me a good Christian, even though I'm not even remotely Christian. But, I know my bible and I know what Jesus taught through the Good Word. Faith, Hope and Charity, motherfuckers. That's all you gotta know.

    Probably the biggest contributor to the modern day Sherla writing this blog is Bonnie, my step mother. That was a tough relationship because I did not fit her mould. That's my side of the story anyway. Regardless, if it weren't for Bonnie, I would not know how to appreciate art. I would not be interested in culture. I would never have eaten anything but cereal and dry pasta. My life would have been very black and white. She showed me many ways to see the world and to appreciate all the colours of the spectrum.

     My children... I hope I have inspired you to live an authentic life. It doesn't have to be the kind of life I enjoy, it just has to be what's right for you. Osprey, your ability to be happy with so little is so awe inspiring. You are my anchor and my solace and my comic relief. Juniper, gawdammit, too much love for you. You are my saviour, my muse and the best, worst co-pilot. I wish you were coming with me.

     With that, I would like to announce that I'm taking this mess on the road! Looking for a place to happen making stops along the way. I'm going to be homeless for a little while, which is making me very nervous. I'm so far out of my comfort zone, I can't even. The next series of blogs will focus on my adventures with living as a hobo as I travel west, trading physical labour for food and shelter. Tune in next week, when I have come to my senses and realize this is a very, very bad idea.

Don't kill my Vibe, Don't Touch my Weave

Camping in My Car

Let me tell you about my needs. They're quite simple, actually, and they do not include your penis.

It's an odd, one-sided conversation we're about to have, but (apparently) it must be said because I get this question almost daily. "Don't you have, you know, ..... NEEDS?"

Some background: I work behind a bar and I love trying to make connections with people. It's one of my needs, actually. Listening to stories from all walks of life helps me to feel less detached from the world since I chose to move away from my lifelong friends and family. I CHOSE to move away for a reason. My current situation is by design.

Let me explain further: Like everyone else on the planet, I'm dealing with some shit. Some deep shit. Aging. Confidence. Self-Worth. Aches and pains. Matters of the heart. Matters of fact. Matters of alternative facts. Properties of matter. Black lives matter. Plant matter. Christ, I could really write a whole blog about things that matter. The thing is, I feel like a bear who has gone deep into the woods to lick some wounds and, hopefully, come out in the spring with a few scars and a slight limp, but alive nonetheless.

So, part of my job is to talk to people. Find out what they do, what they know, what they think about their lives and if there's anything they are interested in that I might be interested in, as well. We talk about books and politics. Movies and science. Baseball, Hockey, Jazz, Blues, Food and, of course, "What are you up to this weekend?" I learn at least twenty new things every damn day and I LOVE that. Sidenote: Thank goodness for Google, the great equalizer; solving bar room debates since 2016.

Inevitably, we discuss love and what it means to love another human. Love is a many splendored thing. Love lifts us up where we belong. All you need is love. (Moulin Rouge!) The most common thing I hear, though, is that Love is a Battlefield (Pat Benetar), Love Hurts (Nazareth) and Stinks (J. Geils Band) and Bites (Def Leppard). But, not for me. I loved a man for 26 years and continue to love him. It's just a different kind of love now. It's not a passionate, eager, ownership kind of love. It's a fondness, a sad reminiscing, a wish for good things to happen for him... with just a hint of "Fuck that Guy" What? I'm not human? Gawdamn right, I'm bitter. Happy as a tick on a fat dog, though, and that's what counts.

Unfortunately, I can't say this to anyone, because the idea that I am an independent woman, loving her life and not looking to be re-branded anytime soon, opens the door for the most dreaded four words I will ever hear someone ask: "Don't you have needs?"

The answer is, "Hell yaaaassss, I have needs! I need to eat. I need chocolate mostly. And I need to try new foods. Fruits I've never seen before. Spices that I associate with a country on the other side of the world. Delicacies and comfort foods. An amuse bouche and a shit ton of gravy and cheese.

I need intellectual conversation. I need to be cerebrally stimulated. Challenge me. Change my mind. Tell me about numbers, codes, underground movements, the dark web, easter eggs! Teach me how to duggy. Expand my horizons. Open all the fucking doors to the universe.

I need to move. I need to run and jump and dance. I need to feel the wind in my hair and the sun on my face. I need to ride horses and swim in white water. I need to see the four corners of the world in all the seasons. I need Greased Lightning. I don't even know what I mean by that, but it sounds fast.

Finally, I need comfort. This one is tough because I don't want pity. I don't want to be coddled and cuddled. I want to know that someone has my best interests in mind. I want someone to have my six. I want to be able to call someone when I've had a shitty day or when I've accidentally killed someone on purpose and I can't figure out what to do with the body."

Do I need an orgasm? Maybe. Can you give me one? Prolly not. My vagina is inextricably connected to my stomach and my brain and the brick wall surrounding my heart. Regardless, I don't want anyone getting in my way right now. When I'm ready to jump back on that horse, and ride it like the dirty stallion that it is, I'll post it on social media. Until then, let me be free.

My Daughter the Life Coach

Gift from my landlord

My daughter texted me tonight. She was happy about a random event; just an old song on the radio being played at the right time is enough for her, I guess - and she wanted to share it with me. I get that way too, sometimes. Especially when food and/or beer is involved.

In response to her exuberance for a good Adele song, I said that life was shit because I have no heat, I have no hot water, I haven't showered in two days and I have to work in the morning. The landlord gave me an electric heater and basically told me to hunker down until Monday.

So Alex says to me, "You don't play alot of video games, mom, so maybe you don't know: If you're fighting enemies, you can tell you're going the right way." How fucking profound is that!!?? It has completely changed my state of mind. To put it another way, "Kites rise highest against the wind."

It has NOT been a great couple of months for me. I'm pretty lonely here in Cambridge, ON, with no friends, no family... just long hours reading underwhelming library books and checking facebook. I've had three different employers in three months and about seven interviews, including the one wherein I stared at the interviewers crotch the entire time. Who leans back in their seat during a business interview, wearing tight slacks with their legs spread and some serious moose knuckle going on? Needless to say, they did not hire me and it's just as well because I would never get any work done with that kind of distraction.

My crooked pottery

At least my financial situation is such that I can (now) afford a couple of outings during the week. I've taken some pottery courses, I've heard some good live bands and I've even taken a dancing class. Men Without Hats told me, "We can dance if we want to. We've Got all your life and mine. As long as we abuse it, never gonna lose it. Everything will work out right." But they lied. Everything did not work out right.

In fact, someone touched me with clammy hands. Someone smelled like Aqua Velva. Someone, who was an amateur expert in ballroom dancing AND being a douche, said my arms were too limp and my frame was bad. And, quite frankly, I will never be comfortable doing a body roll with someone I have just met. I still had a good time and smiled alot. They were playing salsa music, but I was singing Cardi B in my head, "I don't gotta dance, I make moooney moves."

While we're on the subject people that are douches and being uncomfortable, let me tell you a little about server life. A  couple of months ago, a young friend told me about a man who regularly comes into the restaurant where she works. He makes comments about her beauty, nothing lewd, and then he hands her $20. Keep in mind, she is not serving him food or getting him drinks or performing any sexual acts. He is essentially paying her for brightening his day with her smile.

Now, I've been waiting tables for three decades and I don't ever remember being so pretty that someone would throw money at me. However, in recent weeks, a man comes in to the restaurant where I work and gives me a twoonie with a certain amount of pomp and ceremony... just for being me, I guess. I do NOT take this as a compliment. It is not even remotely the same. The way in which this coin is slid into my hand, makes me want to use sanitizer. There's a well-defined line between respecting me as a person who provides a service by rewarding me with a gratuity versus straight up handing me chump change 'cos you think I'm a charity case who is easily flattered and wants a sugar daddy.

Life repeatedly throws shit at you like this - lonely times, negativity, disappointment, broke ass days, bad poutine, self-righteous pricks and slumlords. All indicators that you are heading in the right direction!

My mother didn't raise no Barbie doll. She brought out the candles when the power went out. She made us bundle up and turn on the oven when the heat got shut off. We had to boil water on Kerosene heaters for a sponge bath on more than one occasion. So, I have all the tools to keep me warm and clean as I sit here spewing out my nonsense... and rising against the wind.