Wednesday, August 13, 2008

Gimme Five!

Sorry I haven’t been blogging the past few days, but my internet connection has been up and down inconsistently, and any time I do find online, I tend to favor correspondence with Pagan Girl, who by the way, is having a very nice vacation on the west coast, with her extended family. We correspond almost every day, and I pray to the god I don’t believe in that she doesn’t turn out to be obese, or think I’m ugly, or something like that. Of course I’m never gonna know until I finally meet her in person.

If I had been blogging over the past few days though, it wouldn’t gone something like this:

Savory Saturday

Went out for sushi with a relatively new friend of mine, let’s call her Nurse Betty, and her gay friend. Let’s call him Brokeback. I’m going with movie titles today. I must admit I have a bit of a crush on Nurse Betty, but alas, she’s spoken for by Handsome Rob. He wasn’t there, but the three of us talked about how pretty he is. Even I will admit he is prettier than she is, and she’s fucking hot.

She told us a story about how she found a Tupperware container in her mother’s fridge, and she didn’t know what it was, but it was blue and green. She ate it anyway. Apparently what she ate was pure mold. Brokeback and I were stunned. Knowing that this is a nurse in radiology at a fairly major hospital in the city, this doesn’t instill me with a lot of confidence in our healthcare system. It’s a good things she’s pretty, because man…

And apparently, I didn’t realize this until later on when Nurse Betty sent me a message, but I set off Brokeback’s gaydar, at least at first, and he’d hoped she was sneakily trying to set the two of us up. It’s a shame I’m not gay, because he was quite pretty too, and funny.

Stuttering Sunday

Despite my better judgement, I agreed to babysit my grandmother Loopy today. I’m sure those of you with relatives with advanced dementia can appreciate how tedious that is.

At first wee sat and talked for as long as I could stand it. The conversation wove into patterns, and I felt like I was in Groundhog Day. She started by asking what grade I was in, or was I in university. So I told her about my film degree, and that I have a portfolio, and that I’m planning to head down to Hollywood to work as a script reader and screenwriter, and I told her a bit about the industry. Then she told me about how she left the family farm at 18, scared, moving to the big city for a government job. And she never looked back.

She then asked me if I had a girlfriend or six. I told her I went on the odd date. She said that was good, and clearly nothing had made any impression on her, because this is where the cycle would repeat, over and over again.

So I figured I’d be the variable to her constant, and see if anything stuck. I told her I was, among other things, a lawyer, a garbage man, a doctor, a clown, and an astronaut. Nothing stuck, and each time she replied with her story about having left home at 18, and never looked back.

And she kept offering me coffee, so I kept explaining different reasons why I couldn’t drink it. Invariably she’d then say, “I’ve been drinking coffee since I was five.” Something which is probably true, but really doesn’t man anything. Particularly when you hear her say it thirty times in a day.

Oh, and she kept asking when dinner was, starting right after we just finished cleaning up lunch. That was fun. Not.

Medical Monday

I finally went to see a specialist about the cyst on my head. Let’s call him Dr. Bobo.

When I got to the office, the secretary said, “Oh, you had a missed appointment in May.” Which I confirmed and then she asked to verify my phone number, which was wrong.

“Ah, that explains why I never heard from you the first time.”

“Oh, no we never call anyway.”

“Then why do bother with the phone number?”


“If you never call anyway, why do you bother with the phone number?”

“I case we need to call it.”

“I see.”

So I got in to see the doctor right away, even though I was probably half an hour early.

We got down to business quickly. Dr. Bobo said he excise the cyst for $300. I said that was fine. He said there’s also a $200 charge from OHIP for this, if I tell them I’m using his services, but that he’s “choosing to save me money.” Now, I’ve done this before, and last time it was a mere $200 I paid out to OHIP, with no other charges. So I get the distinct impression he’s just trying to bleed me for more under the table income for himself, but you know what? I like his style, so I’m going to overpay him and undercut OHIP just to spite it. Also, frankly anything else I do is just gonna set me back another 5 months. JESUS H. CHRIST, what in the blue hell is wrong with Canadian health care? Our dogs get better health care than us, without the wait and at a fraction of the cost. I was seriously thinking of growing a beard, donning a collar, and then having my mom drag my ass to the vet at the top of the street.

So then we get to scheduling the actual surgery, and I ask for the day after my audition. So he asks me about it. So I tell him it’s dinner theater. So then he says to me all snooty-like,

“Oh, you’re a thespian.”

“Yes, I am.”

“And what do you do for money?”

And this is where I say something offensive, like “I turn tricks, bitch!” Then I take a swing at him, and he dodges and kicks me in the nuts. Then he looks down at me menacingly as I writhe in pain on the floor. “Aw, whatsamatter, ya big nancy? Lost your nerve.” Well, it didn’t go down like that, but that would’ve been funny.

Terrible Tuesday

Talk about your wastes of time. Today, my sister and I went down to the MOT to get our learner’s permits. It took us half an hour to get there, and then another 15 minutes in line before the mindless civil servant at the counter tells us the certified copies of birth certificates we brought weren’t good enough. Thanks for nothing, guys. Thank you for wasting yet another day of my otherwise worthless life. No please, waste some more. I’m only 28, I got lots of ‘em left.

Oh, did I mention we have a dog now? Now that Grandma Loopy’s at the Loopy Lodge, we have her boxer. Today she made a bunch of whining noises and peed on the floor. I’m pretty sure each of the four of us walked her at least once today, so it’s not like she had a lack of opportunity to empty her bladder outside.

When my mom got home, she got so mad about it she started yelling at my sister for not cleaning it up right away. So now they’re not talking to each other. My mom threw a tantrum and refused to eat until sis left the table. I tried to say something to the effect that maybe we shouldn’t be turning against one another like this.

So my dad responds to this by saying he knows I have my own opinions about this, but that they both had a really bad day. Now, I think the appropriate response to this was,

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean? You think it’s cute that I have an opinion, but that I should keep it to myself? Well right back at you, I couldn’t give a flying fuck about your opinion either. Mom, leave your pissy mood at the office! Because when you bring it back home, we all have to share your pissy mood, and we all hate you for it. Life is too short to spend pissed off over something stupid like a dog piddling on the floor. You guys chose to take the dog in, this is what happens. Don’t take it out on sis, and don’t you dare turn around and start trying to take it out on me either.”

And by “correct response,” I mean only if I wanted to avoid talking to my mom for two weeks, because she just can’t change emotional gears very quickly, and when she’s stuck in angry gear, you just sort of have to wait for it to stop. That can be awhile.

Willful Wednesday

I swear to god I’ll get back on that careers project! I swear to god. Right after I get my learner’s permit today, oh, and visit Depressia. I promised I’d visit her today.

1 comment:

excise my foot from your ass! said...

Firstly, I'd like to reiterate my opinion of Fuck the Canadian health care system. Apparently it's gotten even worse, since I was last there.

Sounds like you've been bottling in a lot of things that should come out. At least you can "excise" them on here. You should take the dog out for a lot of walks for the first week or so, that'll help it adjust to the new home.
You should try asking Granma Loopy about the ages she mentioned. Her short term memory might be fading quick but the long term is still there. I bet she can still remember names of her boss or what she had to do for her job. I don't think it helps with the disease but at least you won't be going in convo loops and you can get a better feel of what her life was like when she was a wild raggamuffin.
I always set off gaydars, but only in women I'm interested in... which really is the worst of all worsts.
Yeay! Grandma Depressia! I hope she's doing good! Give her my regards! I still remember when she took me out to Mcdonalds. She's the best.
As for your parents blowing up. It's good that you understand where they're coming from. And if you let it simmer down they'll end up feeling guilty for giving you and your sis a hard time and you can use that to your advantage. Take them to the cleaners. hahahaha. Man, it's a good thing that I'm human...