Quotable - Part 1

"Thia Olga, arms are made for hugging."   

                  Nicolas, Age 5, to me (Thia Olga).  Saturday April 9, 2011.

"Lay 'em on me, baby."  

                  Thia Olga, Age 40, to Nicolas.  A nanosecond later, Saturday April 9, 2011.


This was the highlight of my weekend.  Of course.

:)

Friday, I'm In Love ! Volume Five - Mr SelfRighteous

Welcome to Friday, I’m in Love!  This Friday series will share my tales, both funny and absurd, but mostly funny, from my real life as a crummy dater.  Or, maybe just my crummy dates.  Either way, these cautionary tales are public service announcements for the heart weary and hopeful – read wisely, carefully.  These “types of dates” are rare breeds indeed, so, please, fellas, don’t be insulted – and also don’t be one of these guys.   Ladies:  interesting times, yes.  On the bright side, I've already spent time with these quirky cats so you don’t have to and you’re welcome.

Volume  Five – Mr SelfRighteous

Love this one.  The date itself wasn’t all that bad, but it did quite a bit to solidify my world view on something – that’s progress!

Mr SelfRighteous was (well, he still is I guess) an architect.  Cool.  Very cool.  People that can build things and are handy really excite me because I break things and don’t have fun with hammers.  I have anti-life skills, so I’m all for the solid life skills of build and make.  We met at The Swan, and chatted for a long while over oysters.  I don’t particularly like oysters but it’s good to be open minded and willing to try things – this is a good life skill, I think.

I’m a big fan of mindless chit chat.  Mr SelfRighteous not so much.  He was super serious and on point.  I appreciate that perhaps he had an agenda to get through, questions about me that needed answering before deciding to move forward or back, but at the end of the day does it really matter where I went to university or where I was born?  I don’t really think so.  The big question I want answered is:  can I talk to you?  and the only way to answer that is to actually do some talking.  Not Q&A talking, but simple common interest, anecdotal talking.  All the other stuff will come out and sort itself out naturally – maybe I’m being naïve, but I think this is ultra important. If you’re right and I’m left and we talk our way to centre, what’s better than that?  Anyway, I was trying to mindlessly chit chat and Mr SelfRighteous was questioning me but it was all pretty okay.

As a self confessed pop culture junkie, it doesn’t take long for a story or commonality to eventually reference its way back to a TV show I’ve watched, movie I’ve seen, book I’ve read, band I’ve heard.  I really love it when someone gets your reference points on this stuff without missing a beat - it’s like the sky has opened up and angels are singing – it is beyond the best.  Just an immediate click, a laugh and subliminal knowledge that you’re on the same page.  Often, this reference point works its way to Seinfeld because, well, it’s Seinfeld.  Come on.   After a very innocuous Seinfeld reference (I believe it was the big salad), my night went from pretty good to life altering.  Here’s how : (HE is in Italics.  ME is in This.)
__
Oh – I’ve never watched Seinfeld. 

Wow.  (This is actually fascinating to me.)  Really?  Never an episode?

No, I don’t have a TV.  (This is equally fascinating to me.)

Really?  No TV?

No, I haven’t owned a TV since 1998.  (This is now science experiment fascinating to me.)

Really?  Since 1998?  That’s a hella long time, tell me about that. (This “tell me” business needs to stop as it’s usually where things go on the serious downslide.)

TV is pretty mindless to me. I enjoy listening to CBC Radio or jazz while reading in the evenings. (Oh. Dear. God.  Kill. Me. Now.  But, well, okay – he’s eccentric.  Until he posed two questions with such loathing and pretentiousness I almost felt my skin crawl.)

You have a TV?

(Dude.  Are you serious?  What type of question is that?  I was a little kid in the 70s when moms thought TV was a babysitter.)  Well, yes, of course I have a TV.

What do you watch on TV?

(Okay, so you want to judge me now?  You’re ON: ) The BBC, Documentaries & The History Channel (fine, mainly lies, but seriously, he deserved it).
__

He was now simply unable to let this go.  My TV ownership and marginally fabricated viewing habits were so low classy and vapid you’d think I told him I believed those velvet dog paintings were high art.  He didn’t say this of course, but there was a tone of condescension that was inescapable.  Look, I know I could sometimes be nicknamed The Superficial, but seriously, it’s a friggin’ TV and yes, I watch some crap and I watch some good stuff but it’s really nothing worth judging because it’s totally normal.  Normal people own TVs.  Normal people watch TV.  Normal people do not judge other people for being normal.  We are not worse, we are not better, we simply are.

But Mr SelfRighteous thought he was better.  He thought he had one on me, what with all my flagrant TV owning and watching.  In truth I don’t watch a ton of TV it just seems like I do because I read Entertainment Weekly and watch The Soup so I get a full round up of everything without having to watch everything (so efficient!), but that’s not the point.  The point is, I’m not making you feel like a weird “where’s your pipe” nutjob because you listen to jazz and CBC Radio in the evening while reading so why are you lording over me and my TV?   I’m not judging you, why are you judging me? 

When did it become normal to be weird? When did we start judging people for being normal?  Why am I now the weirdo?

My life lesson here is pretty simple.  Live and let live.  Embrace eccentricities, but don’t be pretentious about your own.  Be open minded (I ate the fucking oysters) and curious.   We are all weird, we are all normal.  There’s room for everyone – that’s what makes the world the world – and that just makes everything better.  Mr SelfRighteous?  Judging normalcy with an upturned nose?  He’s just making things worse.

The Big Nag

I nag.  I do prefer to use the terms “remind” or “follow up”, but really it’s nagging.

I hate it.  More than nagging though, I hate when people put me in a position of nagging  (remind / follow up) because they simply don’t get back to me about specific things that have been spoken about or asked after or pseudo planned.  Relax.  I am capable of being patient and always give everyone else the benefit of the doubt, because everyone’s so busy and spread so thin and sometimes forgetful, but really, are people giving me the benefit of the doubt by not respecting my time and effort and activity?  No, no, they are not. I’m busy too.  I’m spread thin too.  I forget things sometimes too.  I manage, why can’t you?!

The only way I can stop the nag is to stop the ask.  Can I do this?  You bet I can. 

Emotional Wreck

We spend time thinking about why we do things, but not much time thinking about why we don’t do things.  This little curiosity was turned on its ear the other day. Where?  Improv class of course! 

We’re doing emotion work now.  I’m really not a fan. Not because I feel fake conjuring up emotions at the blink of an eye – we’re pretending after all, but because it’s hard and really exhausting.  Mostly, though, it’s because there will be a day when I’m called upon to drum up an emotion I’m uncomfortable with and always avoid in real life.  Teach said so.  He’s watching to see what we haven’t done.  Teach is annoying.

We spend our whole lives making ourselves who we are, or, rather, the person we want others to see and this impenetrable person isn’t you all the time.  I’m not saying we’re really two people or a world class fakes, it’s just that sometimes you hide your real you in certain situations, around certain people, because you are uncomfortable exposing this Achilles Heel of emotions for fear of judgement, repercussion or shock. You suppress a little bit for the public eye and, in your own time, on your own terms, you expose the real you.   I don’t think this is altogether peculiar and I’m certain everyone does it.  It’s hard to come to terms with, and most absolutely let people see, that you are not strong, you are weak; you are not confident, you are unsure or whatever emotion you protect from real life exposure because you don’t want it part of your impenetrable you.  This reality, for me, anyway, is going to get some action soon and I’m petrified.  I don’t want this side of me exposed, few people see it.  I don’t like me like that.  But, perhaps, the best place to bring it to light is in a room of pseudo – strangers in a forum of make believe.  Maybe then it’ll be easier to let my guard down and, while not turning into a massive sap, help me be more honest with who I am on the inside, sometimes, and on the outside, most of the time.

Honestly, IMPROV!  If knew you were going to be such a mindfuck I would have just gone to therapy.

# 6

For a movie buff I don't watch many movies.  Let me clarify :  I don't watch many movies again. Once is typically enough for me, and it's absolutely at the theatre. Home views are reserved for old-time classics,  movie party nights, sick days or someone else's place as I'm too easily distracted to properly focus on a film when I'm sitting on my sofa.

In light of this, while I have many favourite movies, I only own 5.  I won't make you guess, blogs aren't all that interactive ...

The Princess Bride (Just last week I told my boss (my boss!) to stop talking when he told me he didn't like this one.  How is that even possible?)
Dead Poet's Society (Inspiring Robin Williams, the promise of Ethan Hawke and a tremendous coming of age movie that gets me everytime.  EVERYtime.)
Cinema Paradiso (A movie about love and the love of movies, in Italian.  What's not to love?)
Love, Actually (I have a Love, Actually Viewing Party every year at Christmas, you should too.  Actually, don't,  just come to mine.)
Gladiator (Surprised?  Don't be, it's amazing.)

It's a perfect little collection, well, to me, so obviously adding another to the mix is a huge commitment, a huge statement.  When you only own a handful of movies, they need to say something, to mean something.  Well, this week, I added a number six.

My #6 is based on an Elmore Leonard novel and,as directed by Steven Soderbergh, is not only gritty, but fun and completely satisfying on every aspect of the pleasure meter.  It stars two of my favourites in "never been better never will be better" performances.  Entertainment Weekly (my Bible) voted it as the sexiest film on their "50 Sexiest Movies Ever" list.  It bobs and weaves, it's smart and funny, it IS dead sexy, it's simply Out of Sight.

By way of a simple description, a bank robber (George) escapes from prison, attempts to rob a tycoon (Al Brooks), and seduces the female marshal (JLo) out to capture him. But it's Elmore Leonard and Steven Soderbergh so you know there's way more than that going on. 

Along with all the cops and robbers stuff, there's of course the crazy chemistry between George & JLo, as Jack & Karen, who provide requisite sizzle.  We're first introduced to them together as they meet cute while trapped in the trunk of a car.  It's a pretty low key scene, but has just enough of everything to keep you going. Jack & Karen meet again, this time Karen is incapable of turning Jack in when she spots him in an elevator making his escape.  He waves at her - waves at her! - and she's as transfixed in gaze, as he is with hers. She doesn't turn him in - how can she?   You know there's more to come from these two and eventually - finally - we see it all in the bar scene.  This bar scene is crazy - Jack & Karen want it so bad but know as they are they can't have it, so they put their respective lives on hold - just for the night - and allow themselves a ‘time out’ to get it.  The scene is so seductive and the way it's intercut with how the night plays out later on is honestly too much.  Too much.  Aside from all this steam, though, is a clever clever caper film, that travels to frigid Detroit and sweltering Miami (are there two more opposite cities in the US?) with a stellar supporting cast (Ving Rhames/Don Cheadle/Al Brooks/Dennis Farina/Catherine Keener/Steve Zahn/Michael Keaton) that is just so incredibly cool.  Things aren't wrapped up to movie - perfection, it's a bit outrageous, unruffled and almost zany.  It is a most clever,sexy caper film.

There you have #6.

Luck

I’ve never considered myself to be a particularly lucky person.  There has been no lottery win.  No discovery of a four leaf clover.  No Lucky Charm (aside from the magically delicious and nutritionally suspicious kind), nothing really falls into my lap without some work or effort.   

Over the last little while though, I’m wondering if this is what luck is – is luck really a random wave of good fortune that taps you on the head every so often to make your life easier for a time, or is it something more?

It’s more – so much more, and I had my watershed moment about it on one glorious September morning when I sent out an email requesting some company on my monumental birthday trip to NYC, and within half an hour 5 friends had booked their flights.  30 minutes, 5 friends.  Done & Done.  This may not seem so incredible, but think of how hard it is for you to make any sort of planned commitment these days – lots of hemming, a bit of hawing, some we’ll sees and let me check my schedules later and by the end of it you don’t feel like going anymore.   I realize this wasn’t all about me – NYC, at Christmastime to boot, is a powerful lure indeed – but the quickness of this YES I’M IN attitude had me thinking that I am one lucky girl.

I am lucky because I have friends that I consider family, and family that I would choose as friends.  Lucky because I know that whatever hardship may befall me in life, I will never ever have to deal with it alone because I am embraced with arms, in hearts and surrounded by people I love.  Regardless of my waves of grumpiness, self-centeredness, foul mood-ness, I am met with patience and humour.  I have the most amazing people in my life that I can depend on in good and bad times, all the time, anytime. This is amazing to me.  This is lucky to me.

Take your lottery.  Keep the clover.  No Lucky Charms for me.   I will work twice as hard for everything I have with pleasure because that’s all gravy – where it matters and when it counts, I am the luckiest girl in the world.

“a friend may well be reckoned the masterpiece of nature” - ralph waldo emerson

Friday, I'm In Love ! Volume Four - Mr Asshole

Welcome to Friday, I’m in Love!  This Friday series will share my tales, both funny and absurd, but mostly funny, from my real life as a crummy dater.  Or, maybe just my crummy dates.  Either way, these cautionary tales are public service announcements for the heart weary and hopeful – read wisely, carefully.  These “types of dates” are rare breeds indeed, so, please, fellas, don’t be insulted – and also don’t be one of these guys.   Ladies:  interesting times, yes.  On the bright side, I've already spent time with these quirky cats so you don’t have to and you’re welcome.  

Volume Four – Mr Asshole

I take partial responsibility for my nightmarish evening with Mr Asshole.  I was late – 15 minutes late.  Not a huge deal, but I hate being late (which is surprising considering how often I am late) and being late as a first impression isn’t exactly the best.  So, Advantage Mr Asshole.

After my tardiness was dealt with accordingly (profuse apologies by me, scant nod by him), we dug in – you know the drill.  But this time, it was different.  I soon started to feel like I was on some PUNK’d Date Game Show – dude was on the attack and I was ducking for cover.

HE : What do you do?  ME: I work in financial services.  HE: How do you that?  It’s like you’re stealing money from people for a living.  ME:  Internal WTF.

HE:  Do you have a big family?  ME:  Just big enough -  we’re in and out of each other’s homes and are pretty close, you?  HE:  I don’t talk to my family.  We don’t see eye to eye. ME:  Internal WTF.

Nothing flowed, it was argumentative.  Look, I can giv’r with the best of them but you need a little push / pull – this was all push and it was exhausting.  This guy hated everything:  girls that wore heels were silly because they couldn’t run from danger (this got an external WTF – like, if someone is chasing me I think I can ditch my shoes and bolt, dude.  Also, stilettos are a good weapon).  Girls that wore make up were trashy.  He made fun of the people sitting next to us because they ordered an appetizer to share.  He derided my chosen profession to no end – I was obviously superficial and money hungry – he was a teacher, of course. 

I know you think it couldn’t get any get worse, but you know it did. 

HE:  So, how old are you?  ME:  39 (at the time).  HE:  Really? You want kids? ME:  Well, wow, that’s a bold intro question, no? HE:  I’m sure I’m not telling you anything you don’t know but you better get going on that if you do.   ME:  External gulp.  Internal WTF.  External eye bulge and eyebrow raise. 

You wonder why I stayed there.  I know, I do too. I think I was so shocked into paralysis by his continual stoning that I couldn’t muster any type of jam to give back. I took it all in like I was in a one- way silent movie. It’s not that this guy made me feel bad about myself – he totally didn’t - he didn’t know me and was way too angry to form any real opinion outside of my job, shoes, lipgloss and womb.  He made me feel like I had to somehow defend myself against a lifetime of wacked opinions and skewed points of view. What kind of person does this to you within 5 minutes of laying eyes on you? 

You know who … come on … you got it … that’s right:  an asshole.