or, perhaps, next door is where the crazy is

i think my next-door neighbour has asperger’s syndrome. at least, i kind of hope he does. otherwise, he’s just a mildly creepy and weird guy.

don’t get me wrong – he’s nowhere near as scary or freaky or threatening as any of my former neighbours at hell house, and he’s always pleasant. he’s just... very peculiar. and seemingly unable to pick up on (my) social cues that say, “i’d really rather not talk to you, kthanx.”

for the purposes of this story, let’s call him stanley.

when i first moved in here, right on day one, stanley came a’knockin’ at my door. he was maybe in his late-40s or early-50s, tallish, average-looking with glasses and very tidy. sort of like a high-school math teacher. he introduced himself as my neighbour to the right, and asked me if i needed a dolly. thankfully, not a toy that comes to life at night and kills you in your sleep, but a wheeled device for moving heavy things. i thanked him, but declined. he wanted to know if i was settling in. i said i was. he complained about the property management, but (having previously lived in la maison du hell) i was thus far thrilled with them. he wished me a perky “good day” and left.

i didn’t really see him for a long while after that, though i’d occasionally come home and see his dolly or a grocery buggy sitting outside his door. the superintendent, upon learning i’d met him, rolled her eyes and proceeded to tell me what a headache he is, and how much she wishes he’d move out. from what she told me, it simply sounded like he was an overly conscientious tenant, which was fine with me. i was happy to learn there was someone else keeping tabs on the building and its goings-on, since i’d done that to no avail back at HH.

nonetheless, he did seem strange.

on the rare occasions when i did encounter him in the hall, he always had some bizarre proposition for me. one day, he wondered if i was interested in sharing the internet with him. as in, signing up for a single account with, he hoped, other tenants on our floor and then all setting up a “network” to split the cost. in my head, my answer was, “um, no, freakshow. i don’t even know you, and i kind of think you’re weird, so why would i willingly share online access with you?”

out loud i simply said, “no thanks. i’m not interested.”

another time, as we were waiting for the elevator, he asked me, “do you have a car in the underground lot?” i said i did not. he went on to explain (without me asking) that small bits of debris were falling onto cars, presumably due to the ground shaking from a large construction project next to the building, and he was going to complain. i learned stanley complains a lot. about trivial things. sort of a boy-who-cried-wolf scenario, only instead of a boy it’s stanley. and instead of “wolf!” it’s “the super is operating a gas-powered snowblower too close to the front door.”

then there was the night several months ago when i heard men’s voices in the hallway outside my door. i muted the TV and scurried to eavesdrop. based on what i heard, stanley had apparently called the fire department and was being reprimanded by a firefighter for abusing the emergency-services number. seems stanley felt the floor-varnish fumes coming from another unit on our floor – which had been rather strong earlier in the day but which had long since dissipated – were hazardous, and had complained to the super (who, as you recall, can’t stand him) several times. then, when she did nothing (not sure what he expected her to do), he called the fire department. all i heard was the firefighter sternly saying, “sir, you can’t call emergency services for something like this...” and stanley saying something about being concerned about anyone on a respirator who might breathe that air. please note: no one on our floor is on a respirator. that night, i figured stanley was one nuisance complaint away from being kicked to the curb.

cut to a couple of weeks later, when i heard something being slid under my door. it was a flyer, printed by stanley and evidently slipped under every door in the building, offering to come to the apartment and weather-seal the windows for $50. the flyer also talked about how inefficient the building’s heating system is, and how the radiator covers are never removed or the radiators cleaned (“i’m able to clean those for you, too” read the ad). as soon as i saw the flyer, i knew stanley was just asking for trouble.

sure enough, two days later, another notice was slipped under everyone’s door... from the property management company. it notified us that they (the company) had been advised that a tenant had been soliciting residents for “unauthorized and unapproved” repairs and maintenance work, and that “this tenant” (who remained nameless in the memo, but whom we all knew was stanley) had been warned that performing any such work or continuing to solicit his neighbours would result in his immediate eviction.

long story short: stanley’s been walking on thin ice as far as his tenancy is concerned.

and then, just this past sunday, came the pièce de resistance. as i was chatting on the phone with dan of ericanddan, there was a knock at my door. i wasn’t expecting company, and there’s no mail delivery, so i was curious and actually paused to answer. it was stanley.

smiling and used-car-salesman-y he said, “do you have any environmental wonks in your circle of friends?”

WTF?

“sorry, what?” i replied.

and then stanley said... totally seriously... no joke...

“i’m petitioning for the creation of an international criminal court to prosecute crimes against the environment...”

and i stopped him. “oh, i don’t know anyone who’d be into that kind of thing.” (i.e., i don’t know anyone insane enough to join you on your outlandish visionquest.)

“okay,” said stanley. “so, what do you do for a living?”

wait. was this turning into a social call?

“i’m a freelance writer.” as soon as the words left my mouth, i wished i’d never said them. my brain hit the FFWD button to stanley asking me to help pen his press releases and i felt myself break out into a panic sweat.

“really! what kind of writing do you do?” he asked.

“entertainment,” i answered quickly. “and i’m on the phone right now, so i need to go.”

he smiled and nodded, then issued his trademark, “good day!” and left.

i closed the door.

for now, stanley doesn’t worry me. he’s a little annoying, yes, but i rarely see him. i definitely never hear him. he’s (knock on wood) blissfully quiet, and evidently diligent to a fault. his business is his business... provided he leave me out of his schemes. and his complaints. i’m not actually sure why he still lives here, either, since he seems to take issue with so much about this building and its management (both of which, btw, are great as far as i’m concerned), and they haven’t been shy about expressing their desire for him to perhaps find a new address. like stanley, it’s weird.

a day in random thoughts

“what time is it?”

“what day is it?”

“five more minutes.”

“robin roberts looks good this morning.”

“i should flip the mattress today.”

“these flower books better come through.”

“the coffee syrup is almost gone.”

“this milk isn’t milky enough.”

“god bless routine.”

“maybe i should blog today in thoughts.”

“wow, it’s gorgeous out.”

“i forgot to thaw that chicken breast overnight.”

“i wonder...”

“figures.”

“why am i still trying?”

“what should i have for dinner?”

“why doesn’t she see?”

"it's very warm in here."

“cats are funny.”

“who knew there was this much to know about flower mythology?”

“i should have lunch.”

“why does this bother me so much?”

“i should turn off the computer.”

“i’m going for a walk.”

“i love this street.”

“i love this sidewalk.”

“there are no clouds.”

“dogs are funny.”

“i am alone.”

“SNAP OUT OF IT AND KEEP WALKING AND LOSE THE NEGATIVE THINKING!”

“i wonder if it’s been 40 minutes yet.”

“i don’t feel like soup.”

“maybe she does see.”

“i love cheerios mix.”

“oh, i had forgotten how good this grapefruit sorbet is.”

“how many more flowers do i have to research?”

“i’m bored.”

“maybe a nap would be good.”

“if i take a nap, i’ll be asleep for at least an hour and dopey for several more after i wake up.”

“nevermind the nap idea.”

“i think i can feel my cranio-sacral tide.”

“i wonder if the kraft dinner has expired...”

“gotta finish with these flowers.”

“i need to call mom to ask about the chicken.”

“dammit, the kraft dinner has expired.”

“five flowers to go.”

“i don’t think that’s supposed to be that colour...”

“well, at least it’s not rancid.”

“ooh! the raspberry cookies!”

“done!”

“done!”

“done!”

“i still have Kings to watch...”

“that song always makes me cry.”

“she doesn’t have a clue.”

“why is facebook so slow?”

"i'm going to keep the windows open overnight."

“is my email broken?”

“i’m so glad i started my blog entry early.”

“i need to get up early tomorrow.”

“i should go to bed early.”

“yay!”

“done.”

“what time is it?”

a day in nouns

bed.

morning.

stretches.

regis.

kelly.

crunches.

weights.

milk.

cookies.

ellen.

email.

facebook.

laundry.

lunch.

sunshine.

walk.

library.

bakery.

bank.

email.

facebook.

snack.

review.

lyrics.

phone.

email.

facebook.

blogs.

couch.

snack.

news.

magazine.

shower.

dinner.

dessert.

email.

facebook.

lyrics.

blog.

bed.

hearing voices

today i heard my friend lou’s voice.

for the first time.

we’ve known each other... wow, maybe 11 years? 12? i’m not even sure anymore... but i’d never heard her voice before today.

we met online in the late-1990s, back when the internet seemed much smaller, much simpler (comparatively speaking) and, despite the prevalence of social networking, much friendlier. she, moob (cod) and i met in a women’s chat space, where our mutual irreverence bonded us fairly quickly. we’d “meet” at least once a week with several other women from around the U.S. and elsewhere in the world for a dedicated poetry chat, where we’d share our writing and, more often than not, goof around. from there, we eventually branched off into private messageboards and emails and blogs and the like. lou is one of my closest confidantes, perhaps because of her physical distance, and one of my most trusted advisors, because she’s a super-smart lady with a world of experience... and she's an amazing listener. which is oddly ironic, since we've never had a spoken conversation.

in all these years, we’ve never met in person. lou lives in california, and i don’t. since we’re both writers, we connected through the written word and, as such, haven't even talked on the phone. but that hasn't mattered, because our friendship grew just fine on its own, online. not all online friendships work that way, though. sometimes, you do meet in person and hit it off immediately and an IRL (in-real-life) relationship instantly materializes. sometimes, you meet in person and you realize, “oh. you’re not the same person you are online...” and not only does an IRL relationship never happen, but your online friendship eventually evaporates, as well. or sometimes, for whatever reason, you don’t meet in person, time goes on and the online friendship slowly fades to black.

say what you will, voices matter. the way people wrap their mouths around words. the inflections. the pronunciations. the accents and intonations and reverberations. everyone’s voice is different, and they’re not all music to a listener’s ear. haven’t you ever heard a supermodel give an interview and been shocked at the flat, nasal voice that came out of a gorgeous face you’ve seen on magazine covers? (where do you think “just stand there and look pretty” came from?) or perhaps you’ve seen someone from across the room, felt a flutter in your heart and then had that flutter stop on a dime when the object of your imaginary affection opened his or her mouth to reveal a voice that instantly erased your attraction. conversely, maybe you've had your heart unexpectedly melt at the velvety, dulcet tones of someone you’d initially thought might sound like gilbert gottfried.

all this to say: it was really freaky (in a good way) to finally hear what lou sounded like. earlier today, she’d posted a couple of home videos on her blog and, though she was behind the camera, she was posing questions to her onscreen subjects – her grandkids, who were animated and funny and adorable, showing off their home and chatting about their lives.

and then there it was.

lou’s voice.

!

last year, lou heard me for the first time when i sent her a video i’d made for ericanddan, and i remember her saying at the time how strange an experience it was... to hear my voice after all these years. it was equally strange for me the first time i met (in person) and heard moob – i had no idea she’d have a hint of a southern drawl! ericanddan didn’t sound a thing like i’d expected when i first met them, but now i can’t fathom them sounding any other way. the list goes on.

when you make friends online, and i’ve made a few, it’s often a curious undertaking because of the inherent nature of online communication. for the most part, especially in the days before webcams and skyping and the like, it’s often silent. distant. with varying degrees of anonymity. and that very first glimpse of the other person in person, in the 3-D world of real life (even if it’s just a voice), is sometimes surprising.

but for some reason, lou kind of sounded exactly as i’d imagined – warm, soothing, loving and fun.

and, really, i wasn’t surprised at all. :-)

three good things

a while back, at my weekly meditation group, our regular “discussion period” was unusually quiet. no one really wanted to talk, it seemed, and the silence after the question “does anyone have anything they’d like to share?” was awkward.

crickets.

tumbleweeds.

silence.

so, our de-facto leader that night decided to try sparking some chatter by suggesting each of us share three good things about the day. just any three things that made us happy, or relieved, or feel nice, or were simply positive somehow.

“if you can’t think of three, two is okay,” he said. “if you can only think of one, that’s okay, too. and if you’d rather pass, you can pass.”

pass? would there really be anyone who couldn’t think of a single good thing about their day?, i wondered. turns out, yes, there were a few people who passed. but i think that had more to do with them being shy than them having had a day devoid of an ounce of goodness.

for the rest of the group, it was an opportunity to share everything from the minutiae of their world (“i had a really great sandwich at lunch”) to the life-changing (“my husband’s cancer is officially in remission”). one by one, we went around the circle (because that’s how the chairs are configured) and thought about our days, each one of us picking out a few things to offer. for some, it was challenging to find three things, for others it was easy. overall, though, it was a surprisingly moving exercise – a few people shed tears, and i tried hard not to (especially after the remission admission) – that allowed each of us to share as much or as little of ourselves as we liked with the others. it reminded us all to be a little more mindful in our day-to-day lives. to look for the good if it didn’t seem obvious at first.

it was also a nice way to acknowledge that there’s something good in every day... and that those good things don’t have to be Big Events like winning the lottery or getting married or eating a platter of cupcakes. little things count.

little things add up.

little things are good.

little things can be great.

so, later today, i encourage you to think about three good things about your saturday.

even if they’re little.

home is where the crazy is

let me just get this out of the way right now: i’m crazy. i am. i know it. and i’m okay with it.

lest you suddenly worry that i actually have gone off the deep end, or am somehow being offensive to the mentally ill, let me explain:

we’re all crazy in our own ways. each one of us. everybody.

not the “should be heavily medicated and in some kind of supervised-care facility” crazy, but idiosyncratic. different in very unique ways. possessing foibles that, to the casual observer, might seem a little strange or weird or silly.

or crazy.

the way you fold your shirts. the time you get up or go to bed. your preferred organizational style when it comes to your cupboards. your habit of rechecking all the lights to make sure they're off before you walk out your door. your inability to eat anything with caraway seeds in it. the fact that you enjoy sitting around naked and watching TV in summer.

everyone has some crazy in them. no matter how seemingly sane and together and normal and ordinary. everyone has some crazy.

after sitting here tonight for the past 90 minutes, writing a long, blathering, rambling, epic blog entry (that, by the way, still isn't done because it was that massive in size), i decided to scrap it all. the overall gist of what i was writing is: i'm crazy and so are you. and, for me, my home is my sanctuary where all my idiosyncracies and foibles and quirks can flourish and live comfortably. where my craziness can kick off its shoes, stretch its toes and recline on big red without fear of judgment or scorn or ridicule or rejection.

i may or may not finish the epic blog entry tomorrow morning. it snowballed into something of a personal-therapy-session avalanche of words, and i don't know that posting it will be a benefit to anyone... in fact, i think it may simply wind up being a gigantic navel-gazing bore.

but i did write it. consider this the condensed-for-your-pleasure version that, for all its brevity, is a much better, much more coherent encapsulation of everything i wanted to say, anyway.

embrace your inner crazy, accept it with love, and don't apologize for it.

oh, don't think i forgot...

i got home very late after a day out, and knew i still had a blog entry to write before bed.

so i'm writing it right now... but wanted to put this placeholder up in the meantime, lest anyone swing by, look at the clock and think, "feh, she's already bailed and it's only day four."

entry coming shortly.

validation

yesterday, it felt a little like the universe had me on speed dial. i was getting messages throughout the day, all relatively subtle and easily miss-able, but they made sense when i took a step back to see the bigger picture. as noted in yesterday’s blog entry, it was about change.

but today the universe had something new it wanted me to know. just as important. just as fitting. delivered just as subtly.

today’s message was: validation.

the importance of validation. of being told, “you’re great, i like you, you’re valuable, you’re special.” everyone needs it, and the world might just be a happier place if everybody took a moment or two each day to be as conscious about giving it out as they are when it comes to taking it in.

think of how nice it is when someone pays you a random compliment. or tells you the cookies you baked were delicious. or remarks at how fantastic you were at that presentation the other day. whatever form it takes – because sometimes it’s as simple as a passing smile or a warm hug – validation feels good. for all involved. i truly believe that, and try to practice what i preach. you should try it, too, if you’re not doing it already. you’ll see.

somewhere – maybe elsewhere on this blog or in an email or someplace, i can’t remember – i commented a while back that i sometimes feel like i’m constantly striving for validation. not a gold star or a hearty slap on the back, but just a sense that what i do matters, and what i say matters, and that i matter. that desire for validation ebbs and flows. or, i suppose, it’s always there but just more pronounced sometimes. and i find it creeps to the surface more often when i’m in a funk or likewise blue.

or feeling adrift.

cue: the universe.

tonight, at my weekly meditation group, the woman who leads the group enthusiastically suggested we all check out this really sweet short film on YouTube. she said it was very charming, and it deals with how all interact on a day-to-day basis. so, of course, upon arriving home i logged on, found the film and watched. at first, i thought it was cute... but wasn’t really super-engaged. i understood its moral about a minute in, and was enjoying its message of “say nice things to people,” but with a running time of over a quarter of an hour, i wondered what else it could possibly say to fill another 13 minutes.

then, right as i was pondering surfing elsewhere online, one of the characters onscreen turned around and i saw that she was wearing a nametag that said, “victoria.”

okay, universe, i’ll keep watching.

and i’m glad i did. it’s not a groundbreaking film and its production values aren’t slick or flashy, but for all its simple storytelling and rough edges it’s unexpectedly moving.

and in its lead character, i saw myself. in so many ways. not surprisingly, i cried at the end.

so, tonight, i want you know that you're pretty cool. that you coming here to read makes me happy. that your comments, for those of you who leave them, mean a great deal to me. i'm glad you drop in. thank you.

and tomorrow, i hope you validate someone else. pay it forward. tell someone they have nice shoes. or point out how wonderfully friendly your waiter was during your meal. or just smile at a stranger you pass on your way to work. please do it. because it does make a difference. trust me.

oh, and here’s the short. it’s called... Validation.

yes, it’s a little long. but worth it, if you have the time.

in dreams

i’ve talked about my dreams before. sometimes, i wish i lived in my dreamlife because it’s frequently so much more fulfilling than my waking life. in my dreams, i’m happier, or braver, or more confident, or more successful... and i’m certainly much luckier in love when i'm asleep than i am in actuality.

but sometimes my dreams are unsettling. they’re not nightmares, per se, but they’ll occasionally leave me shaken or uneasy, even hours after i wake up. i had one such dream the other night...

i was in the living room of my parents' house... waiting to die. just sitting in one of their armchairs, perfectly fine physically and dressed normally, but very upset because i somehow knew i was going to die before the end of the day. but i didn't know how and i didn't know why. just that it was going to happen, that it was my time to go. it was probably afternoon (time-wise) in the dream, because the sun was shining in the big front window.

i was crying, and kept saying that i wasn't ready. i thought (in the dream) that if i could just manage to stay up past midnight, i would have survived my predetermined fate and would be fine (because the date of my death would have passed). sort of like, "maybe i can sneak through and live..."

i can't remember what my mom and my sister were doing or saying, but i know they were there. i also remember a very deep, very profound sense of sadness, fear and regret... so much so that i woke up with that feeling (it took me a few minutes to snap out of the dream and realize it WAS just a dream) and it hung with me for much of the following day.

initially, i chalked it up to just another manifestation of stress, but decided to consult my friend steph, who is a bonafide savant when it comes to dream analysis. i emailed her the above description, and this morning she sent me this reply:

“My first instinct would be to treat death as a metaphor for an ending. You are afraid to end one part of your life, and afraid to start the new part. You are afraid you aren't prepared, that you won't be able to handle it, you will fail, and you will be devastated so much that it will feel like a death sentence. The fact that everything seems normal on the outside would indicate that you are ready, despite your internal anxiety. Waking up with the profound sense of sadness, fear and regret indicates the level of emotional gravity of the ending. Whatever this ending is, you've lived it your whole life - you are being torn from it. The sneaking through part would be you trying to see if you can make the transition without really letting go - tricking death as it were.”

i know there are a few of you who will instantly see how freakishly telling the above interpretation is. without knowing much about what’s going on with me (she lives on the other side of the continent), she was nonetheless so dead-on right (no pun intended) that i almost wanted to cry when i read it. and it gave me a strange sense of comfort – maybe because of the bit about me being ready despite my anxiety.

the arrival of this astute analysis was especially appropriate given yesterday’s entry on my sense of being unmoored and directionless, as well as entries in the last months of 2008, where change was definitely a recurring theme. then, later today, i read this, which popped up on my computer screen seemingly at random... but i knew it wasn’t just a coincidence.

things have been changing. some subtly, some not. i’ve been moving towards the new and letting go of the old. or trying to, anyway. and, amid all this, i’ve sometimes felt like i’m spinning in the middle of a whirlpool, where i’m reaching for something rooted... something moored... in order to feel okay. but, ultimately, i'm the only one who can truly make me feel that way.

in the past few weeks, i’ve definitely been sensing the need for change – or, perhaps, the necessity for it amid other changes already in progress – which is probably from whence the secondary feeling of being adrift came in the first place. because, for me, change has always been scary. something unsettling. something that forces you to let go of what’s familiar and secure for the unknown, unproven and unfamiliar.

but, as it says in the linked story, change is necessary.

and so are dreams.

the plan

i’ve been feeling a little unmoored of late. personally and professionally. just kind of... adrift. directionless. spending more time than i probably should looking at my life and thinking, “what am i doing?”

am i happy? what do i want? where do i want to be? who do i want to be? am i wasting my time? am i squandering it day after day?

am i living up to my full potential? do i even know what my full potential is?

and so on.

earlier tonight, i chatted online with a friend overseas, relaying my existential ponderings and hoping that talking (or typing, as it were) it out might help me find some answers.

unsurprisingly, it did not. at least, not the kind of crystal-clear, definitive, be-all-and-end-all-and-solve-all answers that would make everything so much easier.

but it did help to open my eyes a little – “opening my eyes” being another recent, recurring theme for me – to the fact that i feel i am not doing enough. in various contexts and relating to assorted areas of my life. that somehow i feel like there’s more to life than what i’m experiencing, and that there’s so much more to living than the way i’m doing it. not that there’s some exciting adventure i’m not taking or some remote place i’m not visiting... just that i could be living more but, for whatever reason, i’m not. that i am to blame for the shortcomings in my own life.

to be clear, it’s also not a feeling of inadequacy, but more one of disappointment in myself. sort of like looking in the mirror and recognizing that i can do better than this. that i deserve better than this. and then asking myself, “why aren’t you trying?”

so, i have some work to do. both literally and figuratively.

in the meantime, i’ve realized that i haven’t really been blogging enough, either. i know people visit this site daily, but i don’t write daily... so maybe i should.

to that end, for the next 30 days, my plan will be to write something every day. not every entry will be as epic as some of the ones i’ve written in the past few weeks, but i’ll write something. it’ll be a little exercise for myself and, if all goes well, i’ll wind up with 30 really unique, kick-ass entries when all is said and done.

i might not feel like it’s enough when those 30 days are over, but it’ll be a pretty decent start, i think.

see you tomorrow...

to "L" in a handbasket

i just finished watching the series finale of The L Word.

it was terrible.

truly truly crappy.

it BLLLLLLLEW.

beyond bad.

the show's entire sixth season has been a complete mess from the get-go, but its last hour was mind-blowingly awful.

in fact... it was, quite possibly, the worst hour of TV i've ever watched. and i have watched MANY hours of TV.

the producers knew the series was ending, and had time to develop the last eight episodes carefully and thoughtfully with well-constructed storylines and scripts... but no. instead, a season full of absolutely nothing, characters who became strangers to their audience, and an entire series tossed onto the dung pile without an ounce of resolution, closure or sense in the end.

what a massive, massive waste.

salon selected

saturday night, i went to my very first salon. 



not the kind of salon where you sit down in a big chair to get your hair did; the kind of salon where you sit down on a big couch in someone’s home to get excited as you watch all kinds of actors, singers and musicians perform. live. in the living room.



if you’re only interested in the short version of the story, read this: i had a phenomenal time. 



if you’re a glutton for verbiage, who prefers the long version and doesn’t mind me prattling on, here you go:



the lovely and amazing and generous p-lo and her husband, j-lo, occasionally have get-togethers chez eux where they assemble their equally talented pals for a night of food, drink, music and socializing. guests who are so inclined are encouraged to get up and test-drive new songs or hone works-in-progress or just tinkle the ivories (or strum a guitar or blow their horns) in whatever way they choose. it’s a way of sharing one’s gifts with friends, while simultaneously enjoying an opportunity to gauge audience reaction to fresh material (does this work? are the funny parts funny? the sad things sad? etc.) if needed. saturday night’s event, for example, featured the world’s most adorable piano duet – a very simple but fantastically delivered piece, played by an expert and a novice, which turned into equal parts music and comedy.



anyway, a while back, p-lo invited me to this soirée. the guest list was very impressive, and there was no way i *wouldn’t* be showing up. she and b-dub were already planning on performing themselves and, last week, b-dub told me that they would also be debuting a song for which i wrote the lyrics. 



?!



SUCH an incredibly sweet gesture, and i was truly honoured that they’d choose to use what i'd written at all, let alone at the salon and very fancifully arranged into an extravaganza (including j-lo on trumpet!) by p-lo herself. that news also added an element of “OMG” to the event for me... because, i mean, omgholycrapwow. it would be the first time ever that i’d be hearing any of my words performed for an audience... AND these ones would be in the form of a song. indescribably exciting.


so... swallowing the nerves that are inherent whenever i go to a party, i got myself dressed [both for the salon (kinda sexy) and the weather (bulky and decidedly unsexy)], packed up a batch of cookies i’d baked (b-dub said they tasted just like my mom’s, which is the utmost compliment as far as i'm concerned), borrowed an absent m-dub’s man – maisnon, who acted as my extremely chivalrous, wonderfully attentive faux-date for the night – and headed out.



the Home of the Lo (HOTL) is gorgeous and spacious and tailor-made for this kind of shindig. the spectacular kitchen opens directly into the performance area – that’s right, there’s a performance area, complete with microphone, piano and every accouterment one might need – so you can load up your plate, check out the fridge, fill your glass and lean on the counter while warblers warble eight feet away.

the potluck-ish menu for the night included two slow-cooked chilis (turkey and vegetarian) with a huge assortment of toppings, a bushel’s worth of caesar salad with enormous homemade croutons, an array of fancy breads and even fancier cheeses, and a full-service bar where j-lo mixed drinks, poured wine and listened to tales of heartache and angst. (wait, was that just me?)

with a ding of her triangle, and amid the din of chili consumption and conversation, an apron-clad p-lo announced that the show was about to begin. i scored a seat up front on the couch with dan2, sharron matthews (oh hell yeah, i'll be dropping names) and maisnon. (total aside: went to sharron’s “sharron’s party” show on friday night and it was fantastic and she was amazing, as usual, and i highly recommend you track down her rendition of radiohead’s Creep, because it will blow your mind. for real. okay, back to the story...)

first up was the aforementioned adorable piano duet (between guy and richard), which was met with thunderous applause and cheers, and which set the tone for the rest of the festivities. p-lo and b-dub then did a trio of songs – including the one for which i wrote lyrics (which, mercifully, they programmed early in the night so that my stomach could untie from its knots-of-anticipation-anxiety-and-delight). they were AWESOME, and knocked everyone on their asses.

while the evening was filled with copious amounts of laughter, there was fair degree of poignancy, as well. b-dub had everyone in tears for a very moving song called My Brother Lived in San Francisco (note: that’s not him in the linked video, obviously, but it’s the best audio-quality rendition i could find for now). both p and b were choked up before the first note had been played, and the rest of us followed suit once it had. such a beautiful song and so wonderfully, tenderly performed. for all his hilarity and shenanigans, b-dub can also break your heart with a song, and i love that about him. midway through their set (and at several other points in the evening) i just kind of looked around, took stock for a moment and thought, “wow... i love this...” not only with regard to what i was watching, but simply what was happening in the room. i felt very very lucky to be there.

DESSERT BREAK!

intermission arrived and, with it, a call to dive into the collection of desserts, or refill wine glasses, or go for seconds on the (delicious!) chili. i’m sure it will surprise exactly none of you that i skipped more sensible food and went straight for the cake and cupcakes and everything with sugar. about halfway through my slice of a rather elaborate confection, i was informed by miz matthews that nestled within the banana-esque cake base were chocolate-covered espresso beans. i’d been chomping on them quite contentedly but had no idea what they were. by that point, i’d probably eaten a half dozen. and it was 9:30pm. (cut to 4am when i was at home, in bed, staring at the ceiling, STILL wide awake and thinking i probably ate six too many of those yummy but cursed crunchy hyper-caffeinated kernels.)

after a while of noshing, the second act began with another triangle ding. we watched selected DVD clips of comedian and fellow guest sandra shamas, who’d brought along a sampling of her work to share; singer-songwriter nancy white performed a couple of very sweet songs, including When You Fall in Love Like That; sharron’s super-talented and totally charming actor-singer husband, george masswohl, was yanked (mostly willingly) from the audience to do a really lovely little song called Coney Island by john bucchino, which talks about not going through life afraid, but opening your eyes (*rrrring* “hi, vickie? this is the universe. i’ll be sending you a message around 10:30 on saturday night, so do me a favour and make sure you’re present enough to get it. kthanx...” *click*); and then sharron got up to sing another bucchino tune called Sweet Dreams, and told a lovely story before she began that was so genuine it touched everyone. wait... now that i think on it, sharron might have sung before george. doesn’t matter, though, because they both turned it out.

[note: yes, i realize the above paragraph is, quite possibly, the longest run-on sentence in recorded history, that no amount of semi-colons could ever conceivably disguise.]

the performance portion of the evening ended (far too soon, IMO) with a few more superb songs from p and b... and then the mayhem began. because, after a night of laughter and tears and food and drink and music, there was still plenty of gas in the collective party tank. (i’ll let you make your own gas/chili joke. go ahead. you know you want to.) it was time for cutting loose and, for many, cutting a rug into the wee hours. j-lo cranked the stereo to 11, pink floyd took a thunderous spin on the sound system (much to maisnon’s delight), dan2 and r-dub (a fashion designer) took turns arguing over what my pant- and bra-sizes might be, and several people congratulated me on my lyrics, which was so hugely flattering given the crowd.

just before 12:30am, i packed it in. the party went on for at least another hour after that – there are photos to prove it – but i was pooped and knew it was still going to take me an hour to get home. on public transit. maisnon was kind enough to escort me on the bus and to the subway, so he and i said our goodbyes to the group and walked out into the icy but serene night air, both of us reveling in the fantastic time we’d just enjoyed and at the soul-nourishing marvels of spending an evening surrounded by artists and their arts.

it was divine, in every sense of the word.

rereading everything above, i don’t know that i’ve managed to fully capture what it was like being there. sure, i’ve outlined the evening’s events, but more than just who sang which song or what topping i put on my chili (grated cheese) or how many times i was hugged (blissfully often), i wish i could properly articulate how wonderful the whole thing was. at the risk of sounding like a complete cornball, it was strangely magical. it was a big houseful of warm, engaging, supportive, creative people just enjoying each other’s varied talents, and i felt truly blessed to be a part of it.

i know i’ve said it before, but i really feel so immensely lucky to have dropped like a pebble into this lake of new friends and new experiences, where each ripple in the ever-expanding circle is just as amazing as the one before it.

it's coming... it's coming...

i know a few of you have been checking back here several times today, looking for the entry i promised you. it's en route, i swear! i was waylaid by an unexpected trek to IKEA (yes, with b-dub and dan2 again) today, so i'm writing it now.

it's pancake tuesday...

today is shrove tuesday. also known as "fat tuesday." also known by many as "pancake tuesday." why?

because, in many places, one consumes copious amounts of pancakes on the day before ash wednesday.

so, i went out for a pancake dinner tonight.

and ate about a half-dozen forkfuls too many of pancakes.

so now i have a pancake hangover.

the end.

baby’s day out (or "the great IKEA adventure")

yesterday, i went to IKEA with b-dub and dan2.

we were there for almost five hours.

seriously.

they dropped some coin on a whole whack of furnishings; i tagged along for moral support, dossier carriage and more silliness than a line of famnig hjärtas sitting on a tylösand. it was huge amounts of fun, with minimal melting down. always an excellent combo when shopping.

we began our home-decorating journey with b-dub – eager to begin the afternoon’s festivities – nearly breaking his spine as he gleefully disembarked the complimentary shuttle. once safely on solid, non-slippery ground, he composed himself, glared at the offending shuttle steps, briefly pondered a lawsuit and we all headed inside to get started... on a meal.

en route to the store, dan2 had informed me that they have a system for outings such as ours. (in hindsight, it’s not so much a “system” as a predetermined start line: the cafeteria.) very, very wisely, the fellas always start what might turn into a lengthy undertaking by fueling up. shopping stress + low blood sugar is never a smart idea. so, we hit the IKEA restaurant, grabbed trays and did some carbo-loading. well, i did – you can’t beat their $1.99 pasta special! – while b-dub opted for a pre-made sandwich of questionable origin and dan2 ate roasted chicken with fries. i will leave out what he did with the bones.

once fully satiated (a big chocolate bar split between us for dessert), we were off. on the agenda: get stuff for their office and kitchen, with random items for elsewhere in the home. we spent a long while mulling over kitchen islands of varying coolness – stainless steel? stainless steel and wood? neither? how high? how wide? notes were made, options weighed, and then we pressed on.

next stop, cabinetry. as soon as we arrived in the kitchen-design section, we hit the Wall of Doors, on which was hung every possible cabinet door one could order. i saw one i loved immediately: it was orange. bright orange. i jokingly suggested it, knowing they’d reject it outright... which they did. they might have even scoffed, i can’t quite remember.

after browsing, the guys decided to enlist the aid of an IKEA staffer in figuring out what they’d need and how they’d go about actually purchasing it. one such staffer – let’s call her “patty,” because i have no idea what her actual name was – led us all over to one of the planning stations, which is essentially a computer with which you can make magic happen. if not magic, then at least some really cool 3D renderings of your desired room and desired décor. patty did her best to maintain her calm amid a battery of questions (and i could see her tensing up several times, bless her), but once the guys figured out the software, it was a breeze. a fun breeze, actually.

virtual cabinetry was created and “hung” in the virtual office with the click of a mouse. virtual doors were attached. a virtual tour of the virtual room was taken to make sure it all worked. the room looked fab. then we discovered that, because of the measurements plugged into the system, custom cabinet doors were coming up on the order. expensive custom cabinet doors.

no.

faster than you can say “mercy save us,” dan2 and i scurried off – blueprints in hand – back to the kitchen planning area, while b-dub held their computer and all the coats. room measurements at the ready, dan2 and i set about creating a new plan with pre-measured (i.e., not custom and way less expensive) cupboards and doors. speaking of doors, guess which ones they eventually plugged into the virtual room and then decided they actually loved?

THE ORANGE ONES. the ones i loved. the ones they’d scoffed at.

that’s right. val’s initially outrageous and insane design idea turned out to be just what the office doctor ordered. white cabinets, white desks, white walls and spectacular orange cabinet doors for a brilliant punch of colour. that room is going to look amazing. and i’m not just saying that because i picked the orange doors. even though i am because i totally did.

after what seemed like a thousand years (for us and poor patty, who was later relieved from her shift by someone else because we were there that long), we were done in cabinetry and headed towards the office-furniture section... where we then sat for another few decades.

desktops were compared and contrasted, legs were scrutinized (for the tables, not on each other) and then the issue of the kitchen island re-emerged when one of the fellas stumbled upon a stainless-steel tabletop. this time, a helpful and patient staffer named elizabeth (per her tag) pitched in and guided the guys through a process that put the kibosh on the initial island in favour of a custom combo of tabletop and mount. once again, it’s going to look great once in place. i neglected to include the portion of the afternoon where they first picked out stools, mainly because those stools were chucked later in favour of a much cheaper option once all was said and done, and partly because i'm fairly certain no one is actually still reading this epic blog entry, anyway.

onwards!

once the kitchen and office furnishings were locked and loaded, we descended to the first floor, where all manner of sundry items danced before b-dub’s eyes. pillows! bath mats! duvets! faux-tupperware! we were all getting kind of punchy by that point – i think we’d hit the three-hour mark by then – so he actually began singing and pirouette-ing through the aisles. they picked up random bedroom items and supplies, and bickered over laundry hampers (nylon vs. wicker... nylon won) before we made our final stop: the pick-up area. for those unfamiliar with the world of IKEA, this does not, in fact, refer to some kind of well-hidden hot-spot for sexcapades with randy singles. it’s the warehouse, where you have to locate your desired items yourself, haul them off enormous shelves along massive aisles and then load them onto your well-oiled trolley. by yourself. heaven help you if you’ve gone shopping alone. so, the boys found their stools, loaded ‘em up and we were done!

save for... the checkout.

oh dear.

long-story-at-the-end-of-a-long-story condensed to a readable length: because some of the guys’ items were in stock and some would take a week or more to arrive at the store, they’d have to be delivered in two separate shipments (IKEA only holds in-stock items for 24 hours before mandatory delivery). which meant two separate $69 delivery charges. this did not go over well with dan2. at all. there was some ranting, some calls from the cashier to her supervisor, one stompy trek to the delivery counter (dan2) and b-dub and me repeatedly shoo-ing away other customers who were queuing up behind us (“you probably want to pick another line. we’re going to be a while...”). i started having JC penney flashbacks.

eventually, when it was clear this situation would not be resolved in-store without us having to tuck ourselves in and spend the night in the bedroom division because it would surely take that long, b-dub suggested they just swallow the double-charge. i suggested they then write to head office to complain, because they’d probably be compensated somehow... likely in the form of a gift card that would cover that second delivery fee if not more.

calmer but still peeved, dan2 relented and proceeded to pay for the purchases. as the cashier scanned the smaller items and sent them along the conveyor belt, she said, “you have to buy a bag to put those in.”

i tried not to start laughing out loud.

seems the delivery department – the one that would be charging $69 x 2 – won’t accept anything (loose) that isn't in a box. either you bag them, or you have to take ‘em with you yourself when you walk out of the store. so, on top of everything else and as if to rub a little salt in the wound, dan2 and b-dub had to BUY two plastic bags (@ ¢5 a bag) in order to have these items included in the delivery that would already be costing them $138. sure, it might only have been an additional dime, but by this point the sheer principle of the thing had become so hilariously wrong. nonetheless, amid MUCH muttering, they bought the bags, i bagged the items, they dropped everything off at the delivery desk and the words “put it in the letter... just put it in the letter” (i.e., the impending complaint letter) were repeated ad nauseum by us all.

(note: “put it in the letter” will now also be the go-to, smart-ass reply when one of us starts complaining at length about anything, anywhere at any time.)

with all the sturm-und-drang done, we boarded the shuttle back to the subway (b-dub carefully holding the handrails and gingerly stepping on this time), exhausted but satisfied. the boys managed to check off all the items on their to-buy list, we had loads of laughs as they shopped, and nary a weeping employee was left in our wake.

that we know of, anyway.

gracias and FYI

for anyone who worried i might have thrown myself off a cliff or something since last saturday, fear not. i didn't. i haven't updated in a week partly because i didn't really have anything to say, and partly because i wanted the valentine's day entry to stand at centre stage for a while. plus, i felt following it up too quickly with something silly or frivolous would be inauthentic and ring false. so, i left it alone for almost seven days.

to that end, i just wanted to say thank you to the folks who emailed me or called me privately to comment on that feb. 14th entry. it really meant a lot. ditto to my amazing pair of de-facto aunties who commented here. thank you, as always, for reading and getting it.

now. moving on...

i spent a sizable chunk of today shopping at IKEA with b-dub and dan2. it was, in a word, hilarious.

the details of that jaunt will be posted here tomorrow.

a valentine’s wish

someday, i would like to have a valentine.

i’ve never had one. not ever. not as a teenager, not in my 20s, not now. it shouldn't surprise me, and i suppose it doesn't. i’ve also never had anyone say “i love you” to me, romantically. never been pursued. never even been asked out on a date. not once.

and that breaks my heart a little. or a lot, depending on the day.

with varying degrees of success, i try to remind myself that i’m not really a repellent human being, even if that’s the way my situation sometimes makes me feel. i tell myself that, you know, i’m actually quite a catch. that i would make someone a wonderful partner, that maybe i just haven’t been discovered yet and that perhaps the universe is keeping me woefully, achingly single because it wants to make sure i’m available when the right girl comes along. but it’s hard to keep that internal pep rally going year after year after year. i live in a world of couples, and i’m surrounded by friends who are married, or in long-term relationships, or who have found themselves someone great to love. yet my dance card remains empty.

each year i think, “next year will be different.” by next year, it’ll happen. by next year, i’ll have found someone amazing. by next year, that amazing someone will love me. and by next year, when valentine’s day rolls around, my hopelessly romantic heart will finally be able to celebrate properly. i’m so ready for it that it sometimes feels like i might burst from the strain of a lifetime of anticipation... or completely collapse under the sheer weight of the wait.

but fate obviously has its own plans, and a valentine for me has not yet been among them. maybe someday.

so today, on this valentine’s day, i want to make a wish. a wish for that someday. a wish for what i want... which isn’t anything grand or extreme or outrageous. it’s love. someone extraordinary to love, who’ll love me as much in return. i want so very much to know what that’s like.

i want to have someone look at me like no one else is in the room.

i want to feel the comforting warmth of a hand unexpectedly placed gently on the small of my back.

i want to hear a quiet whisper that says, “you’re beautiful.”

i want to see a smile that takes my breath away.

i want to melt into open arms. gently. tenderly.

i want the perfect kiss.

i want that kind of love. whole and complete.

i want these things and, really, little more.

maybe they’ll arrive someday. i hope they do.

so, today, that's the wish i make.

because, someday, i really would love to have a valentine.

talk of TV on a tuesday

* why have julia ormond and natascha mcelhone started using american accents out of character? i watched the former in an interview with bonnie hunt, and the latter is currently in a neutrogena ad... and both have scrapped their lovely british accents for (kind of shaky and unconvincing) plain american ones. whom do they think they’re fooling? and who told them this was a good idea?

* the smartest comedy on the air right now? in my opinion, Scrubs. brilliant and inventive, week in and week out. 30 Rock comes in second.

* Diners, Drive-Ins & Dives might be my favourite food network show ever.

* i have completely stopped watching Heroes, a show i once loved. why? oh, that’s right, because it now bores me silly. honestly, i don’t think a series has ever flamed out that quickly for me before. in related news, i am barely hanging on as ER wheezes to its final episode. i thought i could stay engaged in that drama right to the bitter end but, damn, the producers and writers are really, really trying hard to make me not care anymore.

* these days, i’ve found myself flicking on The Biggest Loser when i need ambient entertainment. i watched an episode while putting together IKEA furniture at young beatrix’s house one saturday and thought, “huh. not bad.” so now i tune in on occasion. (somewhere, denette’s head just exploded.)

* are you watching Celebrity Rehab Presents: Sober House? i swear to you, without a word of lie, it’s a really compelling, often shocking and surprisingly moving show. sure, these might be D-list “celebrities,” but their addictions are real and watching them battle their demons (sometimes winning, sometimes losing) is fascinating. it’s one of the few series i watch where i actually sit down on the couch for the full hour.

* speaking of, the other shows i watch undisturbed and without distraction are Damages and LOST. love love love love them both.

* every day, without fail, i watch the trifecta of regis, ellen and the ladies of The View. even if i’m not watching directly, i’ll have them on in the background while i clean, or write, or what have you. occasionally, i’ll swap out ellen for kathie lee and hoda on Today. i always eat breakfast during ellen. this whole schtick has now become my routine.

* i am strangely disinterested in the upcoming oscars.

* i hope that Dollhouse doesn’t suck.

“oh hello, universe, i didn’t see you there...”

i’ve been feeling unusually sad for the past few days. i blame it on a number of factors (including lack of sleep), but i know most of it stems from the impending arrival of valentine’s day and the canyon of loneliness i tend to fall into as a result. but that’s a post for another day.

suffice it to say, i was especially blue this morning. so much so that i eventually found myself just sitting at my computer, crying. it was pathetic and clichéd and i was upset with myself for even engaging the self-pity, but i obviously needed to get that out of my system because i felt better when i was done.

anyway...

i collected myself and went about my day. i had breakfast, did some work, chatted with linda on- and offline, made a smoothie, did some other work, watched TV... and so on. still in a funk, but just moving through it.

late in the afternoon, my phone rang. it was my mom, calling to read me my horoscope from the newspaper. now, my mom and i don’t really talk about my feelings (especially sad ones) and she didn’t know i’ve been down for a few days, let alone that i sobbed into my keyboard earlier today. and she also doesn’t usually call me with my astrological forecasts... in fact, i think she only does it around dec. 31st, when the horoscopes for the upcoming year are published. nonetheless, she called today.

“hi! i thought you might want to hear your horoscope...”

“why? what does it say???”

and this is what it said (copied from the paper’s website):

There's no valid reason to believe that destiny is working against you. Ignore any thoughts of doubt or failure. No matter what seems wrong, remain determined, resolute and courageous. The mood will soon turn positive.

seriously.

it’s not so much the exceedingly fitting content of the horoscope that kind of freaked me out – because, let’s be honest, “don’t stop believing!” horoscopes are not uncommon – but the fact that it was published today, that my mom read it (we don’t share a sign, so she'd made a specific point of seeking out mine) and that she then picked up the phone to call me and read it to me exactly when i needed to hear it.

maybe it’s mother’s intuition... even though she didn’t preface or follow the horoscope with anything that would indicate why she thought i needed to hear it more than any other horoscope on any other day.

maybe it was just a coincidence... even though, as we know, there is no such thing.

or maybe it was just the universe putting a couple of chain links together to gently offer me a nudge, tilt my chin upwards and wipe away a tear.

adventures in drainage

before i begin, a gentle caveat: readers with especially sensitive constitutions or an aversion to excess grossness may wish to skip this entry, because it ventures into decidedly disgusting territory.

you can go. it’s okay. i understand.

if you’re still here, please know that yesterday was a big day. a momentous day. an exciting day. a long and tiring day.

why?

no, not because of the superbowl.

yesterday was historic because yesterday i unclogged two drains in my apartment.

it may not sound like much, and i know it doesn’t seem like a particularly fun way to spend one’s sunday, but these were drains that have essentially been mildly to moderately blocked since the day i moved in, resulting in water sort of slowly gurgling down them rather than flowing in any kind of efficient, normal manner. they were functional, certainly, but they were by no means functioning properly. they’d irritated me since i washed my first set of dishes (kitchen sink) and engaged in my inaugural teeth-brushing (bathroom sink). as time wore on, they seemed to get worse and water was having a harder and harder time disappearing.

so, yesterday, armed with a 4L jug of vinegar and a fresh box of baking soda, i decided to climb my everest. it was me vs. the drains. for four hours. the whole process was, in a word, REVOLTING.

and yet, in two more words, it was also fantastically satisfying.

but i’m getting ahead of myself...

i like to think i’m a fairly clever, resourceful, sometimes-handy gal. i’ve got my tool box, i’ve got a brain, i’ve got google at the ready, and i did more than my share of macgyvering back when i lived at hell house. so, i can generally take care of the occasional odd job on my own. sure, it’s sometimes more band-aid work than anything else, but i get whatever weird and obscure task it might be done and i enjoy the satisfaction of having done it myself.

these drains were no exception.

i hesitated for a very long time about dumping vast quantities of toxic chemicals into the plumbing in order to solve the problem. aside from my own inherent, warning-label-induced fear that i might somehow accidentally splash some into my eyes or drop it onto the floor (where it would burn a hole straight through to the apartment below mine), i like to be conscious of the environment... and i figured anything with the image of a skeletal hand on the front probably might not be the most eco-friendly option out there.

ages ago, i’d looked for green solutions. one quick google for “unclog drain naturally” brought up multiple sites with the same recipe: baking soda + vinegar + 10 minutes + flush with pot of boiling water. repeat as needed until water whooshes quickly and easily down. i’d used this method in the kitchen sink last year, and it *did* improve the drainage, but didn’t completely clear it. i reasoned that, at the time, i didn’t use enough vinegar. that was not the case yesterday.

this time, with a moonshine jug-sized vat of vinegar, quantity would not be an issue. i started in the kitchen...

i followed the instructions, but the clog was still sort of there when all was said and done. dammit. i tried again... only, this time, i decided to add “use plunger” to the mix.

all i can say is: OMG.

for starters, this was the first time i had ever used my plunger, EVER. it was given to me back when i first moved into hell house, but i’d never needed it. so i wasn’t really well-versed in plunger dynamics or terribly familiar with how freakishly effective one can be. for the uninitiated, i would also like to present the following fun fact: when you plunge, whatever guck and filth and sludge and slime that you “free” when you push DOWN on the plunger often comes back UP into your sink when you release, as though your pipes are actually vomiting at you.

let me just say that plunger-induced pipe vomit is just as pretty as it sounds. when i plunged the kitchen sink, on the “updraft,” i was met with a small spattering of water and greyish debris that appeared to be solid but which was, in fact, semi-solid at best. when i went to pick up what looked like chunks of limescale so that i could toss them in the trash, they turned out to be sludge. melt-between-your-fingers alien sludge. i rinsed the sink with hot water to wash the sludge bits back down, plunged once more and, is that a chorus of angels i hear?!?!?!, the clog was gone. unclogged. the water poured down the drain unobstructed and free. at last! i poured a pot of boiling water into the sink just to be sure and watched with glee as it vanished in a heartbeat.

awesome!

buoyed by my success, i moved to the bathroom sink. i knew this one would be more of a challenge because of The Hair Factor (henceforth known as THF). see, the kitchen clog was likely a combo of grease and other fatty deposits (sort of like a clogged artery), but the bathroom sink was likely both of those things... plus decades’ worth of hair from previous tenants.

you’re forgiven if you just urped a little bit.

i will condense the THREE HOUR bathroom-sink attack into the following paragraph: i did the baking soda + vinegar + boiling water schtick to no avail. i plunged, and a large quantity of thick black sludge splorted out (not splurted... SPLORTED). the plunging process also sent filthy rust-coloured water squirting out from all sorts of nether regions of the sink... from where, i have no idea (it wasn’t coming out of any pipes or faucets, but it was splittering onto the floor each time i depressed the plunger). i plunged again. more nauseating goop.

now, i pause this story for the following bit of information: for portions of this process, both in the kitchen and in the bathroom, i did not wear gloves. i actually touched the alien sludge bits with bare hands. surprisingly, it did not gross me out. at all. for some reason, the germophobic part of my brain that would normally have been curled up in the fetal position and weeping at the mere notion of 40-year-old guck spewing from a pipe, was totally okay with everything. perhaps it was because the clean-freak part of my brain had completely taken over, and this was all just part of the job that needed doing. no idea. but i figured if millions of plumbers can do this kind of stuff and worse without wearing gloves, and none of them seem to be dying from it, i’d be fine. i did put gloves on when it got really really vile (see below), but for the most part i did my work unsheathed.

after several runs of the recipe on the bathroom sink, the water flow was better... but still not whistle clean. i had to go out to meet friends for a quick dinner, and the entire time we were eating i was quietly wondering if, in my absence, the loosened chunks of sediment, scum, slime and THF were somehow recongealing like the shattered fragments of the metal-alloy T-1000 played by robert patrick in T2: Judgment Day. would i get home and find a fresh, new clog that was bigger and stronger than the decaying one i thought i destroyed?????

turns out: yes. sort of.

upon returning to my apartment and the bathroom and the sink, i saw what i thought was a tiny gathering of hair hanging from the little metal crossbar about 3” down into the drain.

“oh! i’ll just pull that out,” thought i.

those of you who are shaking your heads already know exactly where this is going.

that innocuous-looking little cluster of hair was, in fact, attached to a long, complex, absolutely horrifying nest of hair that was also EMBEDDED in all manner of black and grey sludge. it was the mother of all THF. so, i pulled... and pulled... hard!... and what emerged was more and more disgusting with every inch that was revealed. the pulling also “disturbed” residual sediment in the drain, so i was pretty much back at square two by the time i yanked free whatever i could yank. (after the first inch, btw, i ran for the gloves. i’m brave but not insane.)

anyway, very very long and drawn-out story short: after several more doses of baking soda and vinegar, and umpteen pots of boiling water... the bathroom sink finally, FINALLY cleared. completely. i kept pouring huge volumes of water into it just to be sure i wasn’t imagining things in a fatigue-related delirium. but no matter how much water i dumped, the drain did not tighten. the pipes did not clog. the sludge had obviously melted enough that it could be washed away for good. i was so happy i actually jumped up and down and clapped my hands.

and today, my drains are unclogged. HOORAY!

last night, i went to sleep knowing that i would no longer have to watch dishwater pool and seep away, nor would i have to wonder what kind of THF might be causing my bathroom sink to hate me. both sinks are now just as beautiful and spotless on the inside as they always have been on the outside. both drains are now clear. totally, completely, entirely clear. and, while it may not seem like a life-changing experience to the casual observer, this was one big, fat accomplishment for me on a number of levels.

which is why this whole story is epic in its length, occasionally sickening in its details and totally, totally blog-worthy.