Uh…Huh

Well it is the first time. The first time I’ve ever taken a car to a repair shop. This is my first car. Yes, I’m a little late in life with having my first vehicle at the age of 33 but I was gallavanting on another continent for a while. I didn’t require a motorized vehicle until I returned to this town which until recently didn’t even have Sunday bus service.

So it feels like it’s the front brakes that are going. They are grinding but in a muted, muffled, way not a sharp, harsh sounds like metal on metal way, and the actual pedal is still relatively fine.  It’s a 2006 Ford Escape, and we’ve packed on a lot of kilometres on it. Bought  it when it had 72,000km and we now have 94,000km on it after one full year. My bf and the “experts” keep telling me that brake jobs are common, but I’m the type of person that really needs to know for myself. I’ve always been able to do the basics, check fluids, tire pressure etc.  But I’ve never had a clear idea of how the vehicle actually operates on the inside, how all the components fit together. So  I’ve now borrowed books on understanding how cars work and car maintenance…because really I have to have a strong visual to understand. Kind of like a new hobby I guess; I want to be able to talk to mechanics and know my goods. Hahah wish me luck.

Has anyone had any ridiculous auto repair shop stories? Am curious about the women, because unfortunately I think there is still that double standard of girls being taken advantage of by the mechanics because we “don’t know anything”.

So I headed out today after work to grab myself a copy of Say Anything’s new disc. Self-titled and awesome. Max Bemis is extremely self-indulgent and that’s just the way I like it. I have this thing about buying every CD from an artist if I had purchased their debut. This has held true and I have solid sets of Elliot Smith, The Dears, DCFC, Brand New, and older artists like Morrissey, Pulp..you get the idea. My music collection is almost as large as my ridiculous book collection. But this is nothing new as many many people also have large collections which could easily add up in value to that of a brand new car purchase. Anyway, let’s get to the stereotyping  of how you ”must” look a certain way in order to be recognized as a possible listener.

I wasn’t sure of the release date of the new Say Anything but thought it had come out last week, so I enter the shop, head to the rack and it’s not there. I make my way to the cash and ask the 20 year old guy if they have a copy of it. He’s like ” great band, you’re the first one to ask me for that…is it for yourself or your kids?”

KIDS??? WHAT??? I…I….I…really? Do I look old enough to be buying for teenage kids? WOW!

So I nervously let out a ridiculously shrill laugh…a little too loudly and stammer…” uhh it’s for me…kids? um..no ”

Now granted I was in my work clothes, a black turtleneck and pinstriped dress pants, hair pulled back…but really people.

Anyway, release date is a couple weeks away…he asked if I wanted to order it. I said no thanks and left.

Yes my ego is bruised…I’m no longer the hipster I once was. That is the only point to this story-I’m older and although I’d like to think I’m still hip and cool with a weave of eccentricities and a nonchalant edginess…I’m not…at least aesthetically.  But I still love music and will still stay true to my artists. Except R.E.M. gave up on them about 15 years ago-heehee.

I’ve always had a very interesting sleeping life. When I was a little girl I used to sleepwalk a lot. My mother woke up one evening to find me unlocking the front door with my snow boots  and  night gown on. She asked me what I was doing up in the middle of the night and I said “I’m going out to play.” That was as serious as it ever got, I had never hurt myself and my mum found that by talking to me she could bring me out my sleep walking and would put me back to bed. I snapped out of the sleepwalking as I grew older but in my teens and early twenties I was lucid dreaming several times a week. This was fantastic. I was flying, I had superhero powers-I was controlling where I went in my dreams and once took a flying trip around my town looking down at all the roofs and streets below. Very fun.

When I moved back from Japan and lived with my mum my lucid dreaming wasn’t  happening (still hasn’t been) and my sleeping time became unfriendly. I would often (once or twice a month) feel like I was awake in bed but that some evil presence was holding me down and crushing me.  Yes, yes giggle away-perhaps re-watching the X-files one too many times? But seriously these were terrifying incidents. I would feel completely conscious, yet unable to move, and I would feel like I was looking around my room as I was lying in my own bed-yet I wasn’t awake. It would take extreme will for me to force myself out of this state and wake up. I would have to tell myself,  “you think you’re eyes are open and that you are awake but you’re not-try again”. After a couple attempts I would ultimately wake up and there would be no sign of me having struggled or the bed sheets being moved or anything. I never talked to anyone about this and just chalked it up to some weird phenomena, plus I didn’t want people to not understand the severity of my disturbance and minimize it by saying it was “just a nightmare”. For I fully knew I was feeling completely awake (even though I wasn’t). These occurrences happen quite frequently and I just haven’t told anyone, even my live-in partner of two years. I typically wake myself up and then have to get up and watch TV or something before I try to go back to bed.

Last night was different. I experienced the paralysis again, but this time instead of a presence holding me down I felt as though I was having a seizure (or what I think a seizure may feel like). My body became completely taut; all of my muscles tensed. My legs began to rhythmically shake slamming against the bed and I have a very clear recollection of my jaw and face and tongue muscles seizing up without me being able to control any of it. I was scared and I had to try several times to consciously wake myself up. Again, on my first attempt I thought I had opened my eyes and was looking at my ceiling, but I wasn’t. Finally I snapped out of it and discovered that my body hadn’t moved at all. I was lying in my same relaxed position with no signs of thrashing. I got out of bed because I now know I have to stay awake for a bit after these incidents,  if I go to sleep right away they recur immediately.

Anyway, today I decided to see if I could figure out what the hell is going on. When I wake up from these incidents I have no physical symptoms, so I was pretty sure I wasn’t actually experiencing any severe medical conditions but on the flip-side these are not just nightmares. So after much digging on the net I finally discovered a sleep disorder called “Sleep Paralysis” which encompasses all of my symptoms and is more common than I realized. I know perhaps some readers are thinking “duh-could’ve told you that”. However, like I said this has been something I’ve never discussed with my family, bf, or friends for I feared they’d think I was exaggerating the severity of these incidents when they feel all so completely real and terrifying.

I feel better knowing that it’s pretty common and  has no serious medical ties. Maybe I’ll even tell my bf about it today.  For anyone else experiencing sleep disorders there is some excellent info out there, although you really have to weed through the rubbish to get to the facts.

When I was in highschool I had my first and only true stalker.  Looking back his actions were harmless but for a 16-yr-old girl creepy and unsettling. Let’s call my stalker Ray. Ray was a year older than me, went to the same highschool as me, worked for my parents briefly as well as working for the movie theatre in the mall.  I never talked to him at school as he was older and hung out with different people but he started popping into my job (I worked at the mall too) when he was working evening shifts at the theatre. At first I was friendly, I knew who he was and that he worked for my dad-I couldn’t be cold to one of the family employees. His visits were seemingly very innocent.  Conversations usually just covered the mundane things “How’s your night?” “How long is your shift?” etc.  He always smelled of soap too. Not bad but certainly not good. Wafts of Ivory would just float off of his skin when you stood near him.  Then he started calling me at home. I was polite but not overenthusiastic, I remember always finding a way to get off the phone with him in the hopes that he’d get the hint and not call back.  Of course my mother thought it was cute, and thought he was “nice”, but I quickly set her straight.

One evening at work he came in (as he was still not getting the hint) carrying a bunch of movie posters. He said they had an attic of sorts at the theatre and that they just had boxes and boxes of old movie posters. I was a little impressed, because I was teenager and didn’t we all love movie posters then? Ok I still do. After I accepted the posters, I then tried to set him straight in a polite but firm manner (yes that’s right I took the gift greedily then shot him down). I told him bluntly that I wasn’t interested in him that way but thanks for the gift. He seemed to understand.

Two nights later I finished work around 10pm and head out to the parking lot. There’s a figure leaning against my car, as I get closer I realize it’s him. I was scared, because I hadn’t seen him in the mall all night-who does that? who just goes out to a parking lot and leans on someone’s car waiting for them? What did my smart 16-yr-old brain do? Of course I offered him a ride home.  I think in the car we talked about “us” again and I tried to be clear in my explanation of “why” I didn’t like him/want to date him. Truth be told, I was madly in love with one guy for about 3 years of highschool. We were together, we broke up, but I still obsessed over him. Jerk.

So Ray left me alone for a couple of weeks.

I’m at work one Saturday afternoon and my mum calls,

“Honey you’ve got a dozen red roses.”

“WHAT?” My heart was racing because I was sure that they were from my ex. My one true love. The guy who I had the longest relationship with, 6 WHOLE months. The only guy who had seem my breasts.  WHAT!  Hold on!  Too much information. Sorry.

“Mum, who are they from?”

“Hold on…lemme open the card…. they’re from Ray!”

I was furious. When I got home that night. I called him. No more trying to spare his feelings. I unleashed on him and told him never to call me, never to speak to me, I wasn’t interested, never will be. That’s it.

I don’t think we ever did speak again. 

I received a dozen roses from ex the following year, but that’s another post for another time.

Along with Ray’s roses that year the posters he gave me were real gems. He gave me the original movie posters that hung in the theatre for “Sixteen Candles” and “Pretty in Pink”.  16 years later I still have them.

I’ll say it again like so many have…thank you John Hughes.  And I guess….thank you Ray.

I know there have been many posts about age, but it just seems to be slapping me in the face recently. I’m only 33.

I absolutely knew I was getting older as I found myself looking forward to watching America’s Funniest Home Videos one evening. I never used to watch this show…ever. I found the videos contrived and well, stupid. I always needed something more stimulating, more substantial. Now, I’m snorting milk out of my nose as I watch endless clips of cats climbing screen doors. This was my first clue that I’ve aged, as I used to tease my mum for watching that silliness and now I’ve become my mum.

The second thing that tipped me off was today I started telling a co-worker about how my boyfriend and I watched “Big Trouble in Little China” yesterday. The boy and I had a hankering for this film, so we found it and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. That Jack Burton is one tough guy *wink*. The boy and I then mused about John Carpenter and his love of Kurt Russell. Anyway, the coworker says to me “Big Trouble where? WHAT is that?’ Yes. True. It then sunk in that my coworker was born about 7 years after that movie was made. How can he not have experienced this??

We also watched “The Goonies” with two children of the family about a month ago. Here’s the real generational kick in the ass. My brother and I love this movie…as I know many many folks do.  I decided that it was a rite of passage for these two children of the family to watch it. They are aged 10 and 8, a girl and a boy respectively. In the scene where Chunk throws Sloth the Baby Ruth and then he rips his chains from the wall and then he grabs Chunk and picks him up and kisses him….the 8 year old boy says to me very sincerely yet really shocked “Are they gay???”

Now, when I remember my thoughts and feelings on Chunk and Sloth I thought they just loved each other, understood each other. As a child, that never occured to me. But is it a generational thing? Was I even aware of homosexuality when I was 8 years old. I have no idea.

My brother (who’s 29) wanted to know if the kids loved “The Goonies”, so I asked them…..

Their response was:

“It was weird”

Now I find that weird.

This post will talk about poo, regularity and what you have to do when the urge strikes. If any of these matters are offensive I would strongly advise reading no further.

The weather has been so gorgeous the past few days and I was fortunate to have a day off yesterday. When Ali and I lived together in uni one of our favourtie things to do was to pack some snacks and go find some trails for some hiking. Okinawa was all beachy and ocean with not a lot of trail hiking on the main island (damn those beaches-Arggghh!), so I haven’t really done any hiking in almost ten years. When I moved back here I knew of one location to go hiking, but no more. Recently my wonderful bf introduced me to a very large conservation area just outside of town, that I had never been to. Weird that you can grow up in an area, think you know every sidestreet, field and creek yet still find new areas to explore. Yesterday we decided we were going to go and explore this conservation area that I had never been to….I bought brand new hiking shoes just for the occasion *wink*.

We get up, have some brekky and as I’m lacing up my shoes I’m starting to feel the morning urge. My bf and I are quite open about our bodily functions. So I tell him I’ll be out to the car in a moment as I have to go to the washroom. I go, I try, I try some more and it’s just not ready to come out yet. So I have a choice-do I wait around the house for another 1/2 hour or do I take my chances and go knowing full well that the hiking trails are about 40 min. out of town. I decide to take my chances.

The park is beautiful with 3 well-marked trails of varying length. We end up exploring the little paved road that runs alongside the river first. We walk a couple of kilometeres and there’s no sign of this little paved road ending so we decide we’ll walk back, then drive  the car down to explore (I know-aren’t we extreme hikers?). I’m very glad at this suggestion as my urge is back and getting stronger and slightly uncomfortable. As we are walking back a huge white sewage truck comes down the road with a painted sign advertising portable toilets. Funny I think, I have to go, there’s the truck and yet we haven’t seen one portable toilet. Where is that truck going?? I start to walk a little faster while mentally keeping track of my inner pace and trying to deduce in what amount of time am I going to absolutely need a toilet. I calculate that if I have to I can hold it for another 45min, although it will be a little painful.

We get back to the car and the bf is all ready to drive down the road we just walked down to see if we can get to the end of it. I haven’t told him yet about my urge. Why? I’m really not sure. I just nod my head and off we go. We do make it all the way to end of the road. Along the way, there are little dirt driveways that lead to various picnic areas with firepits and picnic tables. We pull into the last one and there it is. YES! THERE IT IS! Dropped from the stars above, sent just for me.

A shining, sparkling light blue portable toilet. I look at my bf, he asks if I need it, I say “oh yes please”.  We then have to search the car for tissue. NOTE: EVERY VEHICLE SHOULD CONTAIN ONE ROLL OF EMERGENCY TOILET PAPER. I grab my tissue and start to run over to the outdoor potty. As I’m approaching I start to smell flowers and disinfectant. I open up the door and it’s gorgeous.  Everything inside is glistening with cleanliness as it had just been completely sprayed down with some sort of flowery soapy mixture. It felt as clean as using my own washroom at home, which is quite a feat as I have a bit of an issue with overcleaning, and my own washroom is typically scrubbed down a minimum of twice a week.  It was the best portable toilet I’ve ever went in and I was so excited to be the first to use it after it’s recent sanitization. My urge was alleviated in seconds.

Hopped back in the car and continued to explore nature.

Why can’t we control our urges and only poo when it’s convenient?

Cheers to the freshest, loveliest portable toilet I’ve ever encountered. I may even go out of my way to use it again.

I don’t know my blood type. I never really had any desire to know my blood type except when I saw all those diet and self-help books, that made me think that knowing my blood type is the key to unlocking my eternal happiness. According to these books, if I know my type I will magically unlock all my complicated emotions and health problems and live in a state of pure joy. I poke fun at  these books now but don’t be surprised if I start blogging about them …hahah.

Ok so I’ve been having major stomach issues. I go to the doctor (who is my new doctor-first visit) and after taking a very quick assessment he asks “What’s your blood type?”  My answer “Human.”  He didn’t find this very funny and was visibly shocked that I had no idea. Am I the only adult female who doesn’t know her blood type? So he decides to send me for some routine blood work. I took my lab order and was out of there. Upon closer scrutiny of the lab form while sitting in my car I noticed he had me down for urinanalysis? Did he think I may be on something as well?

Yesterday I finally convinced myself to go and get this blood work business over with.  I haven’t had any blood taken in 17 years. I don’t like it-not that many people do but I get queasy just thinking about it. The sharp little needle going under my skin sucking out my vital life force. Queasy again.

I arrive at the lab and it’s a waiting room of VERY elderly people. 6 in total all with some sort of contraption to assist them in walking and standing up etc. I wonder if I’m in the right place, so I ask the receptionist and she tells me to take a number and sit down. Yup..guess I’m in the right place.  So I sit. I can feel the old folks peering at me. “So young….yet getting blood work already….it’s such a shame…..what do you think is wrong with her?….must be terminal.” Thankfully the wait is only about half an hour and then I’m sent marching into the back  with a lady who looks like she just came from a Whitesnake concert….in Florida.

She’s very nice and I hardly feel the prick and my blood is taken very quickly. She then hands me my pee cup and says there’s a washroom around the corner.

I find it and am thinking “just pee…just pee and you’re out of here”. The stream comes effortlessly. I screw the lid on tight, pull up my pants and scrub my hands…making sure to dry them VERY well so when I hand her the cup she doesn’t think the water on my hands is actually pee. I unlock the door and head back to the room and she’s with another patient.

I look in. Her patient, a man, looks at me standing there with my pee cup, I feel awkward and duck back. But what am I supposed to do with my pee cup? I glance down the hall at the receptionist. She looks at me but offers no help nor an expression of caring. I look back in the room, the man is still staring at me-but the Whitesnake bloodsucker hasn’t noticed me yet.

I stand in the hall alone, with my warm pee cup wondering what the hell  I do with it. I don’t want to bring it to the receptionist for she’s situated in front of a full waiting room. I stand in the doorway again and mumble to the kind bloodtaker, “What do I…Do I …Should I just…?” She cuts me off and says “IT GOES IN THE SAMPLE DOOR in the washroom”

Sample door? Seriously, I was just in there and it’s a small washroom, surely I would’ve seen a door. And who know they even had sample doors? This is all news to me. I go into the washroom again and sure enough beside the toilet is a “SAMPLE DOOR”. A stainless steel little door with a sign that says “Please put your samples in here”. I open it up, place my pee cup inside while wondering who’ll pick it up and when. That was it.

Someone really should’ve told me about the sample door. This is why I’m telling you. If it’s been 15 years since you’ve had blood work, look for the sample doors-our Canadian medical technology has blossomed.

Yet another embarassing medical experience.

Sounds thrilling doesn’t it?   There are a special set of rules when visiting the laundromat, however, it seems that in more recent times those rules are no longer adhered too.  Do you remember the Friends episode where Rachel goes to a laundromat  for the very first time and how a regular patron takes complete advantage of her naivety by stealing her washer and dryer and rolling laundry bin?  Although meant to garner laughs in a 22-minute sitcom, it is a weekly battle I face. The irritation has grown so much that I now have to write about it.

Let’s set down some basic laundromat manners, that will surely help to make everyone’s laundry experience pleasant and efficient.

1. It is first come, first serve. I don’t care if your basket has been ‘saving’ a machine, if you’ve stepped out for a lengthy snack and coffee break and haven’t been seen for the last while, that machine is up for grabs.

2. Going along with number 1, I’d like to point out that it is NOT ok to move someone’s basket if they have turned their back for a second. The polite thing to do would be to ask. Yes, we can verbally communicate as human beings, yet another beautiful advantage of language and speech and tongues and lips.

 STORY: Girl A pulls up to the laundromat door as she has two baskets to unload from the trunk.  Family A pulls up in a mini-van behind her (4 people). Girl A takes the first basket into the laundromat and sets it in front of an empty maxi-load machine (there are only 3 available). Girl A goes back to the trunk as she passes Family A coming in with oodles of garbage bags full of clothes. Girl A comes back in with her second basket, only to find that Family A have staked out their land in front of all 3 maxi-load machines and have pushed her first basket out of the way.  Girl A is stunned. Puts down second basket and looks at Family A with a shocked expression. They ignore her. Hence, rule #2 is VERY important.

 Let’s talk about dryers. It’s a Saturday morning, the laundromat is busy. We all have to share the space people so let’s revisit that word called CONSIDERATION. 

3. It is not nice to take up 8 dryers and only throw 5 or 6 items in each. Yes, I do understand that your clothes will dry faster. But that’s still 10 minutes that the rest of us to wait before we can even get 1 dryer. Suck it up, use 4 dryers instead for 15-20 minutes and we will all be happier.

4. This is not your basement. These are not your machines. This is not your own personal washing station. Be considerate with counter space. There are only 3 counters to fold clothes, do you really have to take up all of 1 so that the other five us are crammed onto 1 counter, where we each only get 1 square foot of space to fold everything?

5. Hey do you see that lone sock on the floor? Maybe you should speak up and ask the other patrons if it’s theirs. That would be very kind of you instead of stepping over it or kicking it out of the way so that it’s forever lost in the Dimension of Forgot-About-Clothes. I truly believe that it’s not the machines that eat our missing socks and underwear, it’s mean laundromat people that don’t take the time to help others.

In summary, be nice. We alll want to have clean clothes. And more importantly don’t you want to have a clean conscience?

Well time to get this one up and running-my idea being that if I keep starting new blogs maybe I’ll be writing more. Like always buying the sporting gear, thinking I’ll be more active. haha we’ll see.