I’ve been struggling with what to say now that I am back on familiar soil. In the last two days, I have not seen a single tiger, zero tall ships, dipped my foot in any lakes that are as blue as an ocean, or closed my eyes and raised my head as fresh raindrops fell from the sky, kissing my cheeks. All and all, it’s been a pretty uneventful few days.
I’ve been observant, though.
I’ve been watching people. Or rather noticing them. There are a lot of us, all with our own motivations for getting a point across.
I’ve encountered “the parent.” She wants to be happy for her child, she wants the best for them, but the only way she’s able to express that love is through anger.
There is “the lover.” He is lost without his other half; broken, if you will.
“The complainer” can’t keep her mouth shut—she always has an opinion, and it’s never a positive one. (And she has something to say about everything! Does it really matter that the logo on a box of Kraft Dinner used to be different? Does that really change the fact that the stuff is just over-processed noodle-shaped poison in a box, despite how tasty it still is?)
Then there’s my favourite so far—the “pace setter.” (I wanted to call him the pacemaker, but I know how that sounds—I’ve spent a lot of time in a senior’s home.) The pace setter knows what he wants, and he knows what he doesn’t want. He goes after what he deserves, he accomplishes his heart’s greatest desires, and he loves the whole time through.
And that’s who I want to be. Not an angry, complaining, can’t stand on my own two feet kind of gal, but someone who knows just what she wants and goes for it.
With or without a plan.
I was told the key to success in life is planning. And trust me, I love to plan. But sometimes, you just need to close your eyes, raise your head to falling rain, and take a step forward. (Preferably not into traffic of course, unless that was your plan. Hmm (insert *tsk, tsk* here).)
I know I will still complain about things (hopefully worthwhile things, and not trivial items like how awful a certain vampire book series is (seriously, just stop already! It doesn’t matter that you don’t like something, someone out there does, so stop professing to the world your pure hatred for all things Twilight and let them have it already!)), and I will of course continue to lose my temper (preferably only at haters—do you know how juvenile you sound? Oh, and also at winter. I really don’t like the cold, so expect some yelling come November/December.). Heck, I will even have days where it just seems impossible to move forward because I feel so lost without my other half. And if that means that I would rather stay in and spend the evening with the love of my life who I haven’t seen in a week than go to a concert that I never wanted to go to in the first place, well, deal with it. Because at the end of the day, like everyone else, I’m just me. Blind at times, angry at others, and always in love with something or someone (most of the time it’s my husband I’m in love with, but man, when I’m having a good hair day…look out mirrors!).
I’ll keep trying, keep searching, and keep making mistakes. But most of the time, I think I want to work on keeping my feet warm. Even in the summer, it’s very cold in my basement. But then, it was also cold in Chicago, so I can’t even say the basements are warmer across the border. They’re not. At least not that far North.
With this in mind, I could be the complainer. I could go on and on about my poor little feet, blame my parents for poor genes, yell at my husband for turning the heat off in May (really, who does that?), and cry over why people would insulate a basement with cement.
But I’d rather be the pace setter. I know I have cold feet; I’m going to go put socks on. Or better yet, cute slippers that make my short legs look long. Hoo boy, I know what’s coming—LOOK OUT, MIRRORS!
Today was a day for things to go wrong, but like Mike, I turned those lemons into lemonade--Hard Lemonade! (Not really, but I wrote an ad for it last week, it’s still kind of in my head.)
But in all seriousness, I am quite pleased with the way the day ended up turning out. Yes things went wrong, but I did what I could and I still had a great day.
Another one of the coupons or deals or whatever you’d like to call them from my Go Chicago Card is the Grey Line Hop On/Hop Off trolley—totally paid for. That’s just awesome. However, you can only buy tickets at one of two stops. One is close to my hotel (but they don’t open until 10am), the other is a good hike away (they open at 9am).
Naturally, I wanted to start my day as early as possible so I could fit in as much as possible. I didn’t want to wait around until 10—I wanted to take the first trolley at 9. So that meant a walk. No worries—I’ve been walking 30,000+ steps everyday for the last two days—what’s a little more? Plus, I decided to wear runners today, runners that have already been broken in.
So off I went.
I wanted to pick up a drink in the hotel first (they’re only $1.50, and way over-priced almost every other tourist location). Of course, the machines wouldn’t take my one dollar bills. No worries. That worked out for the best. It was during that time I realized I didn’t have my camera. Crap, that would have sucked!
So back up to the room. Grabbed my camera, everything’s good to go.
I began the long walk down to the Hilton Hotel. After all, that is apparently one of the places that they sell you tickets for my trolley ride—it’s the early location.
It’s pouring, mind you, but I’ve got my umbrella and I am going to enjoy this day.
And I do.
I walk and walk and walk. For over 40 minutes, I’m just enjoying the city. In fact, it even stops raining, the sun is coming out, I actually take off my sweater (to show off my already less red, more brown shoulders that could really use some definition—first thing I want to do when I get back home (after seeing my hubby, of course. And taking a nap. And maybe unpacking. And figuring out what to do about our car (It’s dead. It died the day before I left. I already miss him.).OK, so working out won’t be the first thing I do, but it’s in the top 10. Probably.)), and start snapping away with my camera.
The city is so beautiful! I can’t not share this place with others!
I get to the Hilton and can’t find the trolley stop anywhere. So I go inside. I barely get inside the door when I’m already greeted and assisted on my way. (Have I mentioned that everything seems to have a revolving door here? So I basically go all the way around—it’s just like a ride! (that I have to push myself...but still fun!)) The bellhop shows me where to catch it and is really friendly. I didn’t tip him. I don’t believe that you should tip everyone you ask a question to—that’s why people aren’t good for the sake of being good anymore, they’re kind because they expect something in return. Just call it me keeping people honest. And travelling on a budget.
So I go and wait by the stop. But there’s still no place for me to buy my ticket. I wait and wait. And still unsure, I look at the schedule and map I happened to pick up the day before (from another location I can’t buy a ticket). This isn’t the right stop. There are two stops with the name Hilton in it, and it’s waaaay back there—long passed! Crap. I can’t buy my ticket here. Which means I can’t ride the trolley. Super crap.
So what else to do? Easy—walk!
And so I do. I’m seeing amazing things, taking more pictures, and then I see it. The signs to Museum Campus. It’s just ahead. I’m so close.
Yay! I’ve made it at last.
I go into the Field Museum, buy my ticket (free with my Go Chicago Card), and head out to find the man-eaters from Tsavo.
And there they are. In all their glory. Kind of. They’re a bit smaller than I imagined, but still evil looking (just like the movie promised!). I turn my camera back on and...my battery is dead.
Hmm. What now?
I go to the gift store looking for a replacement. I don’t know what I’m thinking, considering it’s a rechargeable camera battery. So that’s it. I’ve come all this way, seeing the only thing I really wanted to see while I was here, and can’t even remember it. Not a chance I am going to miss this!
I leave and catch a cab back to the hotel. I’ll charge it quick (15 minutes, right?), then catch my trolley (the close location) and go back.
After 45 minutes, it’s finally ready.
I catch the trolley and have an amazing time, albeit freezing! It’s cold on the top of an open double-decker. I wish I had thought to bring mittens.
Nevertheless, my guide, Virgil, is really entertaining. I learn so much about the city, see so many neat things.
Finally, I get there.
Of course, I’m also right by the Shedd Aquarium. So why not do that first? Then I can spend as much time after as I want at the museum!
In I go, snapping more and more photos. I see the whales, dolphins, giant snapping turtles, and in under 90 minutes, I’m good to go.
Now across the way to the Field Museum!
Right away I am taking photo after photo. Only to have my battery die again.
Oops.
Well, at least I am prepared this time. I brought the charger along. And there just so happen to be outlets all over the place. Sweet.
So that’s what I do—charge my battery in like 6-minute increments about 4 or 5 times throughout the afternoon.
But it works. I get to see most of the museum, including an awesome section on bugs underground full of animatronics beetles and crayfish and ants. And of course the giant spider. Normally I wouldn’t be bothered by it, considering that was my first tattoo. But because it’s so huge and eating a maggot (also huge) and just all around hairy and creepy, I am feeling itchy all over. Still, it’s a great exhibit.
I’ve now seen an amazing section on ancient Egypt (that starts in a pyramid that you climb up, look down, and then take the stairs all the way to the basement level. It’s absolutely amazing! No wonder this is one of the most incredible museums in the world—it’s just plain old awesome!
They have a very impressive collection of dinosaur fossils, and a neat section on the South Pacific, including a specific section on New Zealand and the Maori. It’s perfect! Only I can’t get in—it’s closed.
But I still see as much of the museum I can in the time allotted. (which isn’t very much anymore.) It’s amazing. Probably one of my favourite things here so far. You really do need a whole day just to see that one site! It is so large, so extensive, and it even has a waaaaay over-priced McDonalds in the basement. (I looked, but I didn’t eat.)
And after buying an over-priced shot glass and a cool magnet, I made my way back to the bus stop and waited to be picked up again. And it just so happened to be by Virgil again (and his trusty driver, Andy). I think I really lucked out, too. Virgil is hilarious—and he’s named after an awesome wrestler, the Million Dollar Man Ted Dibiase’s number two guy.
OK, he’s probably not named after that Virgil. But still, it’s nice to think. Here I am in the hometown of CM Punk, the straight-edge superstar, and now I get to hang out with Virgil. Plus, St. Louis isn’t far, so maybe I’ll get to see Randy Orton or little Evan Bourne. It’s a long shot, I know, but a girl can dream, right?
Next, it’s off to Winnipeg where Chris Jericho just might visit. I know, probably not. But give it time. They always come back home, don’t they?
According to Illinois State Law, I might just be a child predator.
Obviously I'm not! (how could you even think that?)
Yesterday I tried to go to the Chicago Children's Museum at Navy Pier. My Go Chicago Card gave me free access, including a VIP chance to skip the line! (I went at 4pm, there was no line--I would have skipped it anyway.)
As I walked up to the two young men manning the pay desk, I suavely slipped them my card (OK, it was more like awkwardly; I'm still getting used to the thing!). The first guy asked me, "Are you meeting a family in there?"
What? Of course not--I have no family in Chicago, they're all at home and I miss them very much.
"No."
"Are you meeting friends in there? Friends with kids?"
"No."
"Then we're going to need a driver's licence or state I.D."
Uh oh. I don't have either on me. I rented a bike that morning and they needed either my credit card or licence. As if I'm going to give a stranger my credit card to hold on to, pu-leeze! So the bike shop has my licence. I'm not carrying my passport around with me.
Now what?
How about trying to explain to two unimpressed over-protective black men that you aren't a crazy with a thing for kids? I'm a mom! I love kids--just not that way; that's disgusting!
I said I might come back later. I didn't. They probably think I do like kids that way. Even though I don't! Ew!
But other than that, I had a great day.
I started off walking to the pier and renting a bike. It was a Cruiser. Very fun, very hard to get used to. The handle bars are sooo wide! But you sit up really straight. So that means that when you aren't bent over, your tummy rolls don't fold into one another, making you look bigger than you are. I like that a lot.
So I rode the several miles to the Lincoln Park Zoo. It was wonderful. That's zoo number 6 off my list. (My goal is to see 15 different ones.) It was quite similar to Winnipeg, only we don't have rhinos. Or penguins. Or giraffes. Awesome!
But we do have way more camels than they have! So ha!
There were two ladies looking at the camels as I came up to them. One was going on how they are dromedary camels, etc. etc. Yes, you're so smart. Except you're not! They were Bactrian! You know how I know? They have 2 humps. Two humps that make the letter 'B'. Dromedarys (dromedaries?) have 1 which looks like a 'D'.
I wanted to tell them, rub it in the "smart" lady's face, but that just would have been mean.
Also, I figured they would eventually see 1 of the 6 signs around the pen that said "Bactrian Camels".
After the zoo, I rode my bike over to Wriggly field. So big, so fun. It was closed, being a Thursday afternoon and all, but still, really neat. I rode all the way around it, then headed back to Lakeshore Dr., named such because it is right along the lake.
From there I went to the John Hancock building (or for you Family Guy fans, the John Footpenis building). I rode the elevator up 94 floors and spent some time with David Schwimmer. He took me on an audio tour of the city. It was very entertaining. (There were two--one for adults, one for kids. I'm not sure it would help my case if I were to say to I took the kid's tour. It's just that they had games! And again, I was alone. You have your own headphones and device, like a really thick blackberry, that plays the tour depending on what side of the city (or lake) you are looking at. Again, so not a pervert!)
After that, I rode back down to the Pier, tried to get into the children's museum, tried to convince people I don't like kids that way, then used my Go Chicago card to buy a ticket (free of course!) on the Tall Ship Windy.
The Windy was a pirate themed ship that sailed around the lake for 75 minutes, while we were entertained with real pirate stories from the area. Our guide, Zachary Daiquiri, was amazing! I'm sure part of the reason he was living it up and so on his game was because of the 16 or so guests on the ship, only two were male.
Nevertheless, we were entertained, we were cold, we laughed and ooed and ahed. It was wonderful.
To start the trip, we had to lift up the sail. So six of us young ladies went and hoisted up the sail. A truly amazing experience, despite my freezing cold fingers and the rope burn. Still, really, really cool.
After the cruise, I went to Forever 21. Sort of. First I got lost and walked about 14 blocks past where I needed to go. Then, when I finally realized I wasn't getting to where I wanted to be, I turned around and had to walk them all back. Let's just say my feet were killing me.
They sort of still are.
Today I will be wearing runners. Can't wait!
Today I will also be taking a bus tour (thundershowers and all kind of taking over the city) and spending the day inside. Afterall, I got my tan yesterday. Sort of. Right now it's still kind of red and tender and burny, but it will brown over. Ideally without peeling.
So now it's off to museums and aquariums, and anyone else who wants to entertain me for the day. And probably cheesecake, since the Cheesecake Factory is so close (although they don't dress anything like Penny on The Big Bang Theory.). I just know that I may or may not try to check out the kid's museum .
I mean, I have already paid for it. With money obviously, not prison time!
Wednesday started out well. I worked out, had a healthful breakfast (see Dr. Petty? I did learn the difference between healthy and healthful!), and prepared to face the day with my lovely dress and new shoes on.
But then I checked my Go Chicago Card.
I bought a 3-day pass. They only gave me a 1-day pass. Oops. So instead of just going straight to the Art Institute of Chicago, I would now have to walk several blocks in the opposite direction to (hopefully) have them change my card.
I left early and everything, which, of course, is too early. They weren't open. Yet. But in the meantime, I did chat with some nice ladies who are former Chicagoans and are now living in Florida and L.A. (not at the same time obviously).
The lady at the consierge desk was really helpful and even more apologetic. So now did I not only get a new pass, but I also got a "free gift." I love those. It's always nice when it's something you really need, like a set of knives. That was a great free gift. I can actually use them. But this time, it was luggage tags. But really nice ones. I mean, really nice ones. Red leather, fancy, pretty, just high class luggage tags. So I'm down with that. She gave me two. I only wanted my card! Sweet.
From there it was over to the Art Institute. You may recall Ferris Bueller's Day Off. The three of them go there, and they walk through this bright hall of sculptures holding hands with third graders. I spent more time looking for third graders to relive that moment than I did looking at the art. (Wow, that sounds really awful. I promise, I'm not that kind of person!) I didn't find any. But that was cool. I did find something better:
The "Dot Painting."
Cameron Fry stares at a painting for so long that he sees the dots it was made of. Not strokes, but dots. It was really big. I wanted to contemplate my life, but I was too excited pretending I was a teenage guy from the 80s with miserable parents. (Of couse, I really would have been like a 30-year-old Alan Ruck playing an 18-year-old. Just saying.)
It was fun.
There are a lot of cool pieces. Lots of penis photos and breast sculptures. I do have more maturity than a 14-year-old boy who just found his dad's hidden dirty magazines. I didn't hide in a corner and giggle. In fact, I was honoured--most of these women are, well, amply shaped--just like me! They have the belly, the over-sized rounded breasts that aren't as perky as an A-cup, the contemplative looks. Mind you, they don't have my black-coffee brown eyes, but even artists aren't perfect. (And also, most of them, OK all of them, are made out of a bright, white stone--dark, mysterious eyes would just look creepy.)
After enjoying the miniature rooms and coats of armor, pictures of Jesus being crucified and Picasso painting self-portaits, it was time to move on. Back to the hotel to get my portfolio and show it to the professionals at Critical Mass.
Or that was the plan.
My feet were hurting so much, I stopped in the room to have a sit (it was a quick one, but still). And also, wearing a dress (with no material between the thighs) and having, um, sculpture-worthy thighs, they rub together and man that burns!
But still, in pain, I headed out. Walked the long streets of Chicago in search of the agency.
I didn't find it.
So I came back. I changed into capris and went to Navy Pier. Awesome!
First stop, lunch. Second, a boat ride. Or rather a Lake Michigan sight-seeing cruise. It was lovely. And already paid for (thank you Go Chicago card!). I took a lot of photos of the skyline from the lake.
Then, back at the pier, I went on rides. Those wild-flying swings. (Apparently I don't have the stomach I used to. It just went warbly and round and round all over the place. And also I was dizzy getting off. It felt like I had Sea Legs. Even though I had been off the ship for some time.) And then the p, slow-moving Ferris Wheel. So nice. It's the kind that doesn't stop, you just get on and hope you make it. One revolution (almost 5 minutes!) and you're good to go.
With all that height, I was able to get more great photos.
Then I got a Haagen Dazs ice cream. I think it was free. It was a Dulce Split Sundae. Absolutely amazing. But it cost $8.50! Disgusting!
I thought I gave the guy a $10, but when I checked my wallet back at the hotel, I had change from a $20. Meaning, I made money. I think. I can't even check the receipt, because he said I paid $8.50. I thought it was $10.50. So if that's the case, free ice cream and $11.50. This is a pretty nice town to tourists. (I'm still deciding if I should go back and give them their money back--the only thing that's stopping me is if I actually did give him $20. I suppose I'll never know.)
But right now I am off to rent a bike. I'm headed to the zoo (on the sunny day--tomorrow it's supposed to rain) and possibly Wriggly Field.
Quite excited.
Oh, and in case you were wondering, $12,000 pants look just like $12 pants. They might even be a bit uglier. They just have a nicer name, if you have a thing for Italians, that is.
The drive into the city was exciting. I felt just like Ferris, Sloan, and Cameron as we drove toward the skyscrapered skyline.
Except I wasn't in a Ferarri; I was on a bus.
And the windows weren't open.
And also there is a top on the bus.
But otherwise, it was exactly the same feeling!
We stopped yesterday in Cheesetown, USA. It was really nice. Full of cheese. But no stamps. That was disappointing. But I did get two wrestling magazines! (I can't believe I just spent that much on Wrestling magazines! I don't even spend that much on haircuts...) Those were enjoyed with a small paper bag of gas station popcorn and Cherry Coke Zero. So good!
I did a fair bit of walking yesterday, although not as much as I would have hoped. (but then I was still on a bus for most of the day, so I guess that sort of cancels it out.) 13,000+ steps. But then I did have a lot of chocolate.
While walking down the Magnificent Mile, we (the sweet Bonnie, the lovable Ashlee, and myself, the "not quite sure what adjective to put here" me) found the Hershey shop. Naturally, we went in and were immediately greeted by the most wonderful man who offered us free samples! (Note to single men: want to get a gal? Give her free chocolate! (but not so much that she gets fat--then you're pretty much a dead man))
After being overwhelmed by the enticing scent of chocolate, we went to the little cafe inside where I ordered a hugely delicious Reese Peanut Butter cookie with a Hershey chocolate milk. Mmm mmm mmm!
That was followed with book shopping, a non-Chicago deepdish pizza party (still disappointed about that! Now I will have to seek out pizza and eat it again! Oh, the horror!), more book shopping, a stop in H & M where I realized that maybe I shouldn't have eaten pizza if I ever want to wear anything from there, a walk down to Lake Michigan, window shopping at Gucci, and more chocolate. I met Melanie and Kenton (our two instructor supervisors) and Jennifer, a sweet and hilarious underage first year, and we walked over to the Ghiradelli Chocolate Company. Here, Kenton treated us to more treats--chocolate!
Walking into the little bistro, we were immediately greeted with a sample! Mmm, heaven. After which, Kenton and Jennifer each had a cup of what looked like melted fudge (more like half each--it was just so rich they couldn't eat, or rather drink it all), Melanie enjoyed a milkshake, and I had most of a Hot Fudge Peanut Butter Ice Cream Sundae.
Wow.
It was amazing. But filling. And rich. And peanut buttery. And delicious. And it's just too early to be thinking about that now as I enjoy a good ol' strawberry yogurt. Mmm, un-chocolatey.
So far I partly met my goal: I got some sleep last night! That's also the goal for tonight. Catch up. And the 10 minutes I got on the bus ride yesterday don't really count toward it.
Today I would like to go inside of Gucci (because I am wearing a dress, chances are good that I won't get kicked out!). And Armani. And Tiffanys. I know Cartier is around here somewhere too, I just haven't seen it yet. I probably won't buy anything at any of these stores--OK, I know I won't buy anything--but I can finally see what a pair of $12,000 pants look like! Very excited.
It's just after six in the morning here in Minneapolis.
Back home in Winnipeg, it would be just after six in the morning, you know, with the timezone change and all.
Holy smack, that was a long bus ride yesterday. Typically when I go to the Twin Cities, I make a stop in Albertville and stop at a outlet store we don't have back home--like an Old Navy.
Yes, we have Old Navys, but we don't have them in Albertville!
That mid-way stop between Fargo and Minni is just enough to stretch my legs. I really needed that yesterday. I suppose today, when we head back on the road for the 6-hour trek (or so I've been told) to the Second City, I will have to make pretend trips to the bus restroom. For me, of course, it's the bus walkroom. My goal today is to sleep.
I had little sleep Sunday night (we left Monday a.m.), no sleep on the bus, and even less last night.
I don't mind. Every girl needs to have late-night gigglefests and heart-to-heart talks about Nathan Fillion. It's just part of growing up.
This morning, I have welcomed the day with a glass of pink lemonade (holy sweet mother of sugar, Batman!) that's still warm (is that an American thing?), a banana, a yogurt, and two little blueberry muffins.
Mmm. Delish.
I ended my day on a high note yesterday with a really good swim in the pool (I've missed doing my laps!) and a long walk-about through the Mall of America. I bought two pairs of shoes and some XBOX games.
All in all, money well spent.
The scary/negative/worst-part-of-the-trip-so-far thing, though?
Portion distortion!
I ordered a medium drink yesterday with lunch--I got a Big Gulp slurpee!
The sizes of food and their portions are insane. No wonder America has an obesity problem. So my other goal is to not gain weight. I just need to maintain--that's all. I can worry about losing weight when I get home. I weighed myself Sunday morning, so I know where I stand. And yes, I did spend about 30 billion hours too many on the bus yesterday, but I still got my 10,000 steps in (quite a lot more actually. Plus about 50 or so laps at the pool...but then it was a short pool...).
So goals for today: Sleep! Goal for the week: Don't get fatter!
And on a side note, I'd like to send out a warm thank you to my new mini shampoo bottle--thanks for making my hair smell so nice!
But also, please hotels, stop using down feathers in your pillows. Super swollen eyes isn't very becoming!
WARNING: The following is gross in nature and may cause you to throw up in your mouth. I know I wanted to. I still want to.
I have decided to document my bus ride this morning.
It starts out as usual, walking to the stop, waiting, getting on—all the normal boring stuff. The only difference is my outfit. Typical work-wear consists of something casual. Nice, but casual and comfortable. But today, ah, today is different. Today I am meeting clients for a seminar and am dressed up in a slimming navy and white dress, pearls, and red kitten heels. I look good.
Perhaps a little too good. Maybe I should have put less effort in.
As I make my way to the back, a woman comments on my outfit. “Wow, I just have to say, I love your dress. It’s beautiful! Your whole outfit, you look so…elegant!”
I’m flattered, as I should be. I thank her, stammering something about how I love the dress but I have no idea where it’s from.
Naturally, she asks, “Where’s it from?”
“I honestly don’t remember. I’ve had it for years. Probably Wal-mart.”
Her mouth drops, “Really? Wow! What about the shoes?”
Those I know are from Wal-mart, so I tell her.
“You must be wearing really expensive clothes! It looks like it costs so much!”
This should be my first clue that this young woman isn’t all here. After all, I did say I’m basically wearing a Wal-mart special. But I tell her anyway, “No, it was all under $50.” (Heck, it was probably all under $30, including the purse. What can I say? I know how to look good on a budget—when I try…)
She continues to be impressed. I tell her it’s not normal for me to dress up, but I’m meeting clients today.
She’s not that impressed. She asks what I do.
“I work in radio.”
That catches on. “What station?”
"CHUM. Curve, Bob, CFRW.”
“Wow! So then you know Beau, Tom and Dez?”
“Well, it’s Frazier now.”
“Oh yeah. What happened to Dez?”
I have no idea, I'm just an intern! I know they wanted Frazier back and they got her, but I don’t know why Dez left, if it was even by choice.
I make something up.
“She found another opening in a different market.”
Uninterested, “oh.”
OK, deep breaths. You’re not even 5 minutes into the bus ride and already this girl won’t leave you alone. That’s OK, though, other people will come and sit between you and all will be well.
Oh how wrong I am!
She picks up her bags and slides over to sit next to me. I’m flattered that she wants to talk, but I really want to read my book. I have about 17 books to get through in the next 10 days. The bus is my best shot.
What now?
She continues to ramble on, excited about her first date with this new guy named Riley. He’s in a band—he really likes metal. They are going to see Alice and Wonderland on Sunday.
She smiles and gushes about Riley some more, then picks at the gunk in her eye and pops it in her mouth and keeps going.
Yes, you read that right—she ate her eye gunk.
Clue number two that she isn’t all here right now.And yet off it goes, flying past my head.
People do all kinds of weird things.
Some people still pick their noses and eat it (not pointing any snotty fingers, though!). Yes, it’s disgusting, but I won’t judge you if you do it. We all do stupid things, or at least things that other people consider gross, stupid, or offensive. You can’t please everyone. Plus we’re on the bus—if she likes to eat eye gunk, she can go ahead and eat it. (I try not to throw up in my mouth as she does this.) You know, I once went to school with a guy who used to eat his scabs. (Shoot, again I am trying not to throw up in my mouth!)
But back to the bus.
She has just eaten eye gunk and now she is telling me about her future plans of not getting pregnant (yes, we’ve just met) as she asks me if I have kids.
“I have a 9 year-old.”
“And how old are you?”
I can see she’s already trying to do the math. Why must people judge. “I’m 28. But she’s my step-daughter.”
“How old is your husband?”
Really? More math?
“He’s 32.” Some quick math shows that he was 21 when she was born. Yup, he was in his 20s—nothing worthy of judgment about that!
The girl shifts and continues to tell me about awkward topics: her obsession with Tim Burton movies, past and future Halloween costumes, being sexually abused by a much older man, her fears of having a baby and then having CFS take said baby away—you know, typical banter that you share with strangers. (By the way, Riley has 3 kids (from 2 different women—I didn’t need to know that either, but since I do, I decided so should you) who have all been taken away by CFS. He has fetal alcohol syndrome. They also attend the same day program—clue three.)
As she is telling my all about Prudence (who is Prudence??!!), she notices a stray chin hair.
No, make that three stray chin hairs.
“I hate chin hairs,” she complains.
“Yup, me too. Aren’t they just the worst?” I’m trying really hard to be sympathetic. By now I know that she isn’t completely healthy upstairs.
Also she doesn’t stop talking.
She begins to pick at her chin hairs with her fingers.
“I wish I had some tweezers!”
I look down at my bag, knowing that I do not have any, and if I did, I would soooo not want them back after giving them to a complete stranger on the bus.
Man, I wish I had tweezers.
“Do you have long nails?”
I quickly ball up my fists, “No, not really.”
Ha! I’m a liar! I have beautiful long nails. I don’t paint them either because the whites are already so white. Plus I have a really good idea why you want to know if my nails are long, and I won’t do it, I won’t—I won’t! That’s just gross!
“Well could you just try?”
You’re joking, right? You don’t seriously want me to pick at your chin hairs, do you? Lord, please tell me she’s joking!
“I don’t know…”
She shoves her chin into my face. I can see all three hairs just sitting there, waiting to be plucked—by tweezes, not by a stranger’s nails!
“No, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
She shoves her chin further into my face. If passersby didn’t know better, they’d think we were preparing to make out. I’m happily married and don’t really like girls that way. She’s already told me about her last relationship with a girl, which is fine, but like I said—I’m married! (and I don’t like girls that way.)
I say no again, this time more firmly, but she continues to get in closer.
I don’t know what to do.
I feel like the walls of the bus are closing in on me. It’s horrible. I can’t breathe. She’s so close. Those chin hairs are just staring at me. What am I going to do? She’s got me cornered. I’m stuck between the back corner of the bus and a crazy person with three stray chin hairs and I really need to throw up now.
So I take a deep breath and do what a normal person would do.
I pull the cord and get off the bus.
.............…
If only!
I reach forward and pluck at her chin hairs. Why, I ask you, why? Why wouldn’t she just accept my “no”?! Why did she keep pushing further and further into my personal space?! Why oh why oh why?!
And why did I do it? What’s wrong with me? Why didn’t I think to pull the cord and get off the bus?
I know exactly why—I didn’t want to offend her. Isn’t that awful?
So what happened next?
I wasn’t able to pull out the full hair, but a got a little piece of it. She was thrilled. I wanted to throw up.
My stop couldn’t come fast enough. I probably could have got off sooner, but she knew what stop I was getting off of. She had asked me much earlier. I would have felt like a terrible person lying to her and being caught. (Kind of like lying about my nails being long…but who am I kidding? I don’t feel bad about not wanting to touch her gross face with my lovely, long nails!)
Finally, we’re getting closer to it.
“Yours is the next stop.”
Oh I know, crazy lady, I know!
“I hope you have a really nice day. I’m Tabitha, by the way.”
She reaches out to shake my hand—not far mind you, since she’s sitting so close to me. I accept and shake back. “I’m Rachel.”
Again—where is my brain? Why didn’t I make a name up? I like the name Abby, I like the name Sara—heck, today I even would have been a Gertrude! But nope, I’m an idiot. “I’m Rachel.”
She tells me to have a nice day.
I wish her luck on her date with Riley.
Then I cross the street, get to my next bus stop and start digging through my purse for hand sanitizer.
People read “couples’ therapy” and immediately assume we’re having issues.
We’re not.
It’s like when we took a Love and Respect course last year.Everyone thought our first few years were already rocky.
Of course not.
We took it so we could have that strong foundation so we can ride out the rocky days.I promise you, there is such a thing as a healthy marriage.It includes love, fights, collaboration and, well, the good stuff.
We didn’t go to Couples’ Therapy for help—we went for a date!
Two of my fellow playwrights, Dan Augusta and Jessy Ardern, put on a fantastic show on Saturday night with the rest of their troupe, The Struts and Frets Players.
Entitled Couples’ Therapy: an Evening with Shakespeare’s Most Dysfunctional Lovers, the 90-minute evening consisted of 8 scenes, 3 sonnets, and 3 songs with original music by the Flying Romantics (lyrics by William Shakespeare).Totally refreshing.
Like most high school students, I was forced to read Romeo and Juliet and Macbeth. (Hamlet was never an option, although I’m sure I watched Mel Gibson back in the late 90s…)
But wait for it--Couples’ Therapydidn’t includeRomeo and Juliet.(At least not Juliet.There was a minute-long run-through of the play, and why it wasn’t included, by the amazing Ariel Levine as Romeo.But I’m digressing.Back on task.)
It did, however, include a segment from one of my favourites: Much Ado About Nothing.
Ah Beatrice and Benedick.
So spiteful of each other, and so perfect for one another.(SPOILER ALERT: it’s a comedy, they obviously get together! (although Romeo and Juliet also got together and that one was a tragedy… Hmm; maybe I didn’t spoil anything…))
But seeing the players on Saturday night, then doing a great reading (for a cold read in a writing class, tears never hurt) on Monday night, and preparing to see myself in two short films tonight (Tuesday), I can’t tell you more how much I miss acting.I miss the stage, the lights, the makeup, and the rush of being completely vulnerable before hundreds of people while fully clothed.Damn that feels good.
So CreComm, you’re fun and all, but I can’t wait until you’re over.I want my weekends and evenings back.My acting needs the time, my writing needs the discipline, and my bank account could sure use the money. But most importantly, CreComm, my marriage needs the focus, or I might just need real couples’ therapy after all.
Tonight I was part of a focus group with 12 other people.
It was entertaining.I made $50, so I’ll take it.
While there, I sat next to a guy named Jon (his name is changed for confidentiality’s sake.Nah, who am I kidding?His name was really Jon).We chatted for a bit, joked around, basically hit it off well.
During the course of the evening, however, I mentioned that I am currently studying Creative Communications at Red River College.
Suddenly, nice, quiet tattooed Jon spoke up very angrily, “You’re in the program they call CreComm?”
I nodded enthusiastically.
With disgust, he continued, “You’re a CreComm?”
Woops.Did I do something wrong?
Apparently dear old (well young, really—I’d say about 30ish) Jon spent $35,000 (disgusting, right?My BFA didn’t cost me that much!) at the Academy of Broadcasting and couldn’t find a job to save his life—all the jobs went to this horrible cultish group of freaks called CreComms.
(Ya, I also don’t get all the emphases on “CreComms”, but he said it like that, not me)
*sigh*
On the plus side, at least I know I’m very likely to get a job.Thanks Jon.With school winding down, that’s just the encouragement I need.
Plus I got $50 for hanging out with you, so I’ll take it.
You know how some days you just need to say things?They aren’t complaints; they’re facts.But they almost seem negative so they come off as complaints.
But they’re not, because I’m not complaining.
I am currently on a break from my Web Design class.I have no idea what’s going on.Actually, I suppose that is something that I could complain about.My instructor just doesn’t seem to be getting things across.I’d say it’s just me, but it’s not.There are only about 2 people in this class who understand what’s going on.
Ya, I’m so not one of them.
But I’m trying.
Sort of.
It’s also very cold in here.Again, not a complaint, just a fact.
Of course it might just be so cold in here because I am so tired.That’s mostly my own fault.I probably shouldn’t have gone to bed at 11 last night and woke up at 4 this morning.
Ya, that’s so my bad.
In the meantime I am trying to focus on the 101 billion things I have left to do this week (again, not a complaint—more like an exaggeration…)
But I should take notes now.
Or at least I would if I had a pen.I always have pens.Usually at least 6 pens on me at a time.I think other people have caught on that I’m the pen girl because they’re always asking for one but never returning.
So today when I need one, I don’t have one.
But then considering what class I’m in, knowing full well that even if I can take notes I’ll have no idea what they mean in an hour, I am definitely not complaining.
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