Jennifer Blog


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Jennifer Blog

  1. 1. The end of my blog virginity. Location: My basement, Ottawa ON Mood: awake Music: múm -- check them out @ 20/09/2008 9:42 PM So here it is, the much procrastinated over, first entry. Just warming up here and not so sure if I want to let myself be known or just use an alias / avatar on some random site (which is probably the safer idea). I mean is it really a good idea for your family, friends, co-workers and the like really know what is going on with you? Your inner thoughts, dreams, desires, fantasies, foibles, worries, terrors, conquests, addictions (I could go on here)? Let’s see, do you want to know a bit about me, who I am, what I do, what I look like? What music I listen to? Who I’m presently having sex with? Would these help you classify me one way or another ... make it easier for you to decide if this is a blog that you shall set to your favourites list or bookmarks? Well, let’s just say that I am not your ‘typical’ 26 (soon to be 27 – as if one year of age has any significance) year old North American woman. Well, I am 26. I am someone who appears to have friends but really doesn’t let anyone in. Not really. But who really does, right? Can you say that you are totally yourself and at easy with the people in your world? If you can say yes then – hey that’s great for you. And it must feel great to be so simplistic in your thoughts and dreams; to live a life, smothered by a fog of ignorance and self-importance that you have no desire to run away from. You are the center of your universe and why should that change, right? Why should you care about someone you have never met who wasn’t born to the privilege that you were? You can just look the other way, or
  2. 2. better yet, be annoyed by (if not angry at) those who once in awhile attempt to wake you up to the actual problems that we are facing globally. Are you so different than the woman who sells her body, or the man who ignored seeing the person lying on the cold sidewalk? Did you look away too? Did you say to yourself: I pay my taxes, this isn’t my problem. If it isn’t your problem, and social nets we have here in Canada have failed this person, whose problem is it? Ok you are so going to click on the next blog – this shit is just too heavy. Hey, I don’t blame you. It is too heavy for me too. 20/09/2008 10:02:59 PM (surfing break – I have an addiction which I might tell you about later) Two blog posts in one pm? 20/09/2008 10:40 PM Well I wasn’t finished my first one and required a blog medium and checking that that medium was indeed up for the challenge. Meh, just on the book for now, we’ll see how that goes. Not sure what it is, but this is a similar theme with me as of late. I am missing something. There are different facets I guess, to being independent and strong. I project these characteristics, yes I do and I am them as well – but not always. I’ve just been through a humbling experience where I didn’t absolutely need help, but I did accept the help that was offered to me by family and friends – and I was cool with that, kinda. I was grateful and lucky to have people who I love and care so much about – and have them the feel the same way about me. A silent prayer escapes my heart that everything will last. <object width=quot;425quot; height=quot;344quot;><param name=quot;moviequot; value=quot;;></param><param name=quot;allowFullScreenquot; value=quot;truequot;></param><embed src=quot;; type=quot;application/x-shockwave- flashquot; allowfullscreen=quot;truequot; width=quot;425quot; height=quot;344quot;></embed></object> Craig Cardiff – When People Go The last time I say Craig in concert was last summer (07) at the Black Sheep Inn in Wakefield QC. One of the things I love so much about song is when they have a narrative; it is such a special and genuine form of explanation, commentary, documentation. Can you imagine what it would be like to not have this pleasure?
  3. 3. If you had to choose between blindness and deafness – which would you choose? In spite of loving music to the degree I do, and I take no claim that I am a great reference on it, I think I would have to choose to keep my vision. Here I would be: humming to a melody inside my head, and I would probably come out no different than it does now. Yes, everyone, I cannot sing, I cannot every hum well. Sometimes I wonder if I will damage my children (when I have them), by singing them out of tune lullabies. Then I remind myself, that my mom has even less talent in this department than I do (sorry mom), and I realise that I am just being silly. Maybe they’ll be lucky enough to have a father to sing them (and me) to sleep one day? Re: Write something about yourself Between Me and Someone (now don’t get mad, you are anonymous here) Him: Those in love do not always announce themselves with declarations and vows. But they are the ones who weep when you're gone. Who miss you every single night, especially when the sky is so deep and beautiful, and the ground so very cold. - A.H. That's a really beautiful quote. I didn't think Adolf Hitler wrote it either so I looked up who did. Alice Hoffman apparently. Me: Thank you. I just love her stories, they make me laugh ... feel wonderful about the human spirit and depth of one’s connection with another ... but they can also make me cry. Him: I've never heard of her. I think I could use some healthy human positive reminders though after the past few years of things I've gone through though. Do you recommend anything specific of hers more than others? P.S. I'm adding that quote to my favorite quotes... :P I'm a quote thief! Note: when your broken foot falls asleep, try not to whack it to wake it up ... time to take myself and tunes to relax in a hot bath. 20/09/2008 11:45 PM
  4. 4. Muppets and madness – dolls freak me out (part 1 of 2) Location: Um, it is in the pm and guess where I have my internet connection? Mood: Music: Still Berlioz ... getting to my favorite part 9/21/2008 10:35 PM OK so I just posted my copyright issues blog and really should be off to bed – but meh. This is what happens when you sleep in too late in the am, have stimulating conversation over a noon breakfast and then spend all afternoon procrastinating. I am still not used to the long hair thing, quite frankly I prefer to have it in a pixie cut – but that attracts the ladies more than the men – so I decided to grow it out. I have to remember to keep hair elastics around as having it on my face is really annoying at times. But then Fred (my cat – a solid short hair tabby) has an elastic fetish. He hunts them down and deposits them in the cat food dish. I have tried to wash them in the machine – but they inevitably get lost. (To see a picture of Fred and his brother Ricky cuddling ying-yang style on my bed – check out my 2008 picture book). OK time for the main event. I find dolls are creepy. Even as a child I never had much enthusiasm for the dolls my mom gave me in abundance. I preferred to play with my brothers LEGOs, draw or build stuff in the sandbox – is it a wonder that I am so into architecture and building shit? Renovating my home, building a place for a life I don’t have? Meh – don’t get me started. Berlioz. – Symphonie Fantastique – listen: Again, I have diverted. Dolls freak me out. All kinds. Oh and there is nothing scarier than a clown. As a recovering clown a-phobic I attended a Circ Du Solie Show while in Orlando for the International Builders’ Show this past springtime. I was totally OK with the show, no bottled up freakedout-ness came to the surface
  5. 5. at all and I was very surprised by this – as my last clown experience was horrifying to me – and he was in plainclothes! The 6’4” dark, Russian, ex-unicycle riding circus clown: About two years ago I was doing the internet dating thing (ok, yes, I am doing it again now) and set up a coffee date with a tall, dark, somewhat handsome (in a scruffy way) professional of Russian descent. I’ve read the classics, Tolstoy, everything Ayn Rand has written is like my bible. So, I met up with him for a coffee thinking hey – this would be great. We meet at the Bridgehead coffee shop in the Westborough area of Ottawa beside the MEC and have a fantastic conversation over hot beverages. Then pop into MEC as I had to buy a gift for my brother (ended up being a black fleece shell zippered cardigan that he loves) where we browsed the expedition items and chatted. On to a stroll down the trendy sun streaked shop lined street in the crisp air and pass a chocolate shop where he gallantly buys me a petite box of truffles. I am thinking wow, this is awesome. We exit the shop and all of a sudden there is 6’4” of massiveness lunging down upon me in the middle of the street – for a kiss! I, totally unprepared for this manoeuvre, hastily step backwards to avoid being tackled in a sloppy public embrace and hit my head on the chocolate shop store front window. I am seeing stars – and not the sexy red carpet kind. Being a little younger, and a lot less wiser, than I am now, I proceeded to walk with him down the street; however, I was contemplating my tactful escape. We stumble upon a bike shop where he (and I do not remember his name) sees a unicycle in the window. He shouts out in aspiration that he loves unicycles ... he takes my hand and pulls me into the shop. Very polity he asks the clerk to get the uni out of the window. The clerk adjusts the height of the bar (let me remind you that this man is – huge) and he get on the cycle. It takes him much effort to stay upright but he quickly gets his balance. Minutes later he is telling me that he used to be a clown in Russia and his livelihood was made from performing in a Russian circus. Shall I remind you that I am frightened of clown. As a woman and an artist I have a very vivid imagination which is exaggerated by my formal fine arts training. What I saw on the unicycle was a giant clown, in retina burning primary coloured satin jester jump suit complete with ruffles. His face was painted in white with a hideous ginning red mouth and single black tear. I think I wet my pants a little. Yes, I ran out of there as fast as I could and didn’t look back. Ran like I was being chased my Stephen Kings, Penny Wise. Oh, and note that he had quit smoking and became vegetarian due to a religious vision (he professed via e- mail later). I am not sure what scares me more: religious freaks or clowns? 21/09/2008 11:29 PM Hey,
  6. 6. Location: OK this is getting old – time to take my laptop outta da basement Mood: Music: various CD from 2001 (made for me by my ‘real’ first bf using stuff I totally digged (still do) – yeah the preceding ones were imaginary) Big Wreck, Red Hot Chilli Peppers, Jewel, Moist, Tori Amos, Third Eye Blind, Muppets and madness – clowns freak me out more (part 2 of 2, but maybe 3) 23/09/2008 8:05 PM OK where the hell was I? Something along the lines of – wow this girl is a phobic mess? I do admit that I watch myself when it comes to horror movies – the last ‘really’ scary one I watched was the Decent. Basically a group of young women go spelunking – aka caving – something I enjoy ... but couldn’t do all last summer because of the movie. The sane / rational me says: gross albino cannibal people will not attack you underground in the Gatineau’s ... the not rational part says: maybe I’ll go next summer? If I had an arsenal of weaponry with flamethrowers and the like in my four level home then maybe I would sleep better? Meh, a big empty place, three cats and bear (aka legal pepper spray from a hunting store) spray and a Swiss army knife (I’ll open my attacker a bottle of wine) by the bed will have to suffice. I figure that my clown phobia started at a very young age. I was about three or four when a clown would terrorise me at night in my little bedroom. Here I was: a tiny blonde sweet doll of a child in my little lacy white nightdress in a bed with Strawberry Shortcake sheet set and soft velvet upholstered headboard. I remember the little table and chairs my mom set up for tea parties with my stuffed animals, real tea and shortbread cookies. To the right there was a little door, like something out of Alice in Wonderland, that lead to my tiny play alcove where I would spend hours playing in the pillows and with the toys (doll house, kitchen sets,
  7. 7. blocks ...). When my mother left my dad I was three and my brother Chris was almost five. We were the three musketeers. My mom struggled financially to raise us (completely alone), but we never knew. She was and still is the most amazing woman and I cannot even fathome what she went through, being not that much older that I am now. But, back to the evil clown that scared away the sandman ... he would come out at night to haunt me. He’d hang on the wall over my little bed with long arms and legs pinned back as if he was about to fly, casting long gnarly dark shadows on the walls – it was almost like there were others like him. He’d threaten to sweep me away to the depths of hell because he said I was a bad girl: you are bad to your mom, you are bad to Chris, your dad doesn’t visit because he doesn’t love you. I’d look up and it seemed that his ginning mouth full of of red stained razor teeth was descending on me. I was a BAD girl. Shaking and still in my bed and I’d yell to my mom that I couldn’t sleep – I was scared. I wouldn’t tell her what the evil clown had said; if I did he might be mad and hurt her or Chris. Mom would come in time and time again with the patience of an angle saint to sooth me. Sometimes she’d bring warm milk sweetened with honey, sometimes a piece of toast with jam. She showed me how when I laid down under the covers and put my knees up – it was like there were two mountains. On and between these mountains all kinds of magical things could happen – fairies would visit, unicorns would travel to the top and I could join them if I imagined hard enough. From then on in I made a safe fortress for myself that the evil clown could not penetrate – by pulling the blanket over my head and lifting my sheet covered knees I had created a pocket that, I am not sure how, was lit. In this space I could see brooks and streams with toadstools and fairies, unicorns that could also fly; glistening dolphins would jump out of the lake between the mountains and at the tops of both of the mountains were separate castles where Prince Christopher and Princess Jennifer ruled a magical land. OK, now do you understand why I freaked out at the guy on the unicycle? 23/09/2008 8:49 PM
  8. 8. A Man’s Hands Location: (somewheres over Canada) direct flight to Vancouver from Ottawa Mood: hyper sensitive senses ... Music: nada – forgotskies my earfonies & too cheapies to payzzzies another red cent to aircan for a pair 10/7/2008 7:56 AM Not sure what the title of this one is going to involve into being ... I guess we will just have to wait and see as my mind wanders and my fingers get back into the habit of purging what said mind is deciphering. So, right now I am on my way to Vancouver for a couple of days for meetings and I have a little time to myself as well. Finally outta da bionic boot (aka aircast) – still have a bit of a limp but all things considered – walking sans crutches is EXCELLENT. Let’s see, I am in the mood for men / relationship banter: In terms of dating I tend to be attracted to the tall, dark haired, athletic, geeky engineer or creative type of dude. It is easy for me to be totally gaga for a guy on the first handful of dates then – not sure if it is my commitment phobia or something else which drives me to detach from the whole situation ... but I inevitably loose interest. Probably not fair to the guy, but what can I do? If I’m not convinced that someone is ‘the one’ , sooner or later I emotionally let them go even though they are probably still za-za-zoo over me; ouch. Could he still theoretically become the one? Will I know when I meet ‘the one’? There has to be something more to a relationship than sexual chemistry and a big hard dick ... well at least to make it last (pardon the pun). Where is this crazy soul fulfilling, passionate, cannot live without each other love that I read about in novels like Ayn Rand’s the Fountainhead, Bronte’s Wuthering Heights and Hoffman’s Black Bird House? The connection that binds a couple together: sometimes inconvenient, other times comforting – but always there. Unconditional and true. What does it for me in terms of sexual attraction? Beware as I am going to completely objectify men right now (you know – what was, as still is done repeatedly to women right now). Don’t women typically ooo and ahh
  9. 9. over a nice man- bum? Yeah, a nice tight bum is good. I am totally all about being attracted to the ‘whole package’ when it comes to a man ... but I must say: I totally dig a man’s hands. I think my interest in the sensual aspects attributed to a man’s hands may very well verge on fetishism. This fetish originated in art school (my sexual awakening at the tender age of seventeen), where I spent merciless hours sketching my own long, delicate fingers as studies for observation drawing classes. When embarking on a relationship, after chemistry between myself and the man I am dating is verified I tend to either be mega turned on or off by his hands – if turned off it is not looking good for you buddy – sorry. Touch in a relationship is a means of communication, foreplay, love making; he has to be tall and have large masculine hands to do it for me, oh and decent nails (not bitten to the quick). Big hands with fingers that I want to put in my mouth and stroke with my tongue then have caress my breasts with the tips of smooth nails as he brings his mouth down to suckle on a nipple then slide those wet fingers inside me; strong hands that cup and squeeze my ass as he drives himself inside me during hot, sweaty, passionate love making. OK, this entry has a mind of its own and decided to get erotic. Please note that Jennifer is a very frigid, chaste individual who doesn’t enjoy the sins of the body what-so-ever (fuckin’ as-if). Best let this one end here. But, I will say: even if I have not found him yet – I am sure enjoying the search. I know he is out there and I’ll find him – when he finds me. 07/10/2008 9:16 AM
  10. 10. Location: home Mood: Music: Wicker Park Soundtrack Vancouver, a Flight Home, and a Pilot with a ‘We’ Factor 12/10/2008 7:04 PM I spent a couple of extra days in Vancouver after coordinating / attending two days of meetings for work. A neat coincidence was that a friend of mine from Ottawa, Alex, was in Seattle for work and was set to fly home out of Vancouver so we had a chance to meet up one evening and do dinner. The rest of the time I spent poking around Grandville Island and looking for ideas for the renovations I am doing on my townhouse. There is the neat shop on the island called the Wood Coop. I am stealing one of the artisan/furniture maker’s ideas where they used clear and tinted resin to fill the knot holes and fine cracks which are inherent in soft wood, then varnish. This technique gives a lot of depth and interest to the surface of the wood – so basically I will deploy this finishing technique to my 1300 sq. ft. of 6 in. wide, T&G, red pine boards that I am using to floor my townhouse. Less exciting was my pilgrimage to Restoration Hardware and Pottery Barn – way too expensive but full of great ideas where I can create a similar look with authentic character for a lot less funds (aka online bargain shopping for antiques). So far this method has turned up some super cool pieces for my home at ikea garbage prices: massive solid oak dining table complete with carved griffins and lion paws: $275; art deco (1930s) modern style brass bed: $225; art deco lot of hardwood doors (13) complete with metal faceplates, crystal knobs and skeleton key: 500; and huge solid mahogany entrance table with turned/carved legs and bun feet: $275. Items on my ‘to find list’ include: stained glass windows (to insert between living spaces and stairwells for interest and added light), really cool fireplace mantel and tool set, leather club chair / ottoman.
  11. 11. So, as you can probably tell, I focus a lot of my ‘me’ time with contemplating / hunting down cool house fixtures, finishes and furniture – so yeah, that is kinda right. When I was on the flight home yesterday evening I spend the entire 4.5 hour flight in conversation with a handsome pilot on his way home from flight training. One of the many, many questions he asked me (I was asking quite a lot as well – as he was a super interesting guy) was: what are your passions? I had to think about this for a second; however, I eventually started talking about my house renovations. The funny thing about meeting this guy, Jon, was that as I boarded the plane – he was right behind me and I was aware of him right away. I am not sure if it was his height (he’s about 6’3”) or athletic build or the fact that he looked me right in the eyes but I was surprised at the coincidence when he was in my row (17 ... my number) and there was an empty seat between us. I am not usually attracted to men with fair hair (like my own), but his skin had good colour and he had such strong features. We were chatting up a storm even before takeoff and as he was clear of a wedding ring – I was thinking this might lead to something interesting. Unfortunately, about one hour into our conversation our living arrangements (near Southkeys shopping mall for both of us) comes up and he started using the ‘we’ term to describe his condo. I was thinking – huh? You are a ‘we’ ... WFT? *looks around plane cabin disappointedly* In spite of the ‘we’ factor, we continued our conversation (more of a prolonged question & answer period). There was this one point (about three hours into the flight) that it was just getting astronomically hot; my cheeks were flushed and I had almost finished my bottle of water, I took off my sweater with him watching then he did the same with his over shirt. Oh man – the arms on this guy – super sexy. Oh man yeah – nice big hands too, I for sure noticed those. Have I mentioned that I have been seeing someone? It isn’t very serious (on my part) and to be honest, I am skeptical that we are a good match. He is a nice guy, but probably not the guy for me. Where are you – guy for me? Probably not reading this blog :( But if you are, and you fall in love with me – even if you have never met me – let me know! 12/10/2008 7:59 PM
  12. 12. 13/10/2008 11:21 PM Location: home Mood: Music: Wicker Park Soundtrack What or Who is Perfection anyways? I just popped Third Eye Blinds album Out of Vein in and am listening. For those of you that are not 3eb heads (like me for the past decade), a lot of this album was based on the dissolve of the lead singers relationship with a very beautiful and talented women. My last relationship dissolved almost a year and a half ago; I cannot imagine going back to that time in my head regularly. But isn’t that what one must do when they sing a song in the present that was written with a specific person in mind? Relationships come to an end: sometimes amicable, other times tragic. I have this box, my blue box, which I keep relationship mementoes in. But to be honest, I have not added to it since Alex (my first love). In this box I have old e-mails (the lovie-dovie ones as well as the intense break up ones) and little notes he would write me and stick it inconspicuous places; I have a b/w set of pictures from a mall photo booth where the last image is in profile of us tensed and about to kiss as well as others; I have concert stubs and movie tickets; a few sheets of gold leaf. I have a copy of the voice mail he left one my machine (months after the break up) telling me that he had finally parted with the ring he bought me, I had no idea at that point that he had planned on proposing before I moved away. I have thought I have been in love a couple of times since then ... but in all honesty as well as my naivety: I was in love with the idea of being in love and in the ‘perfect’ relationship. I was speaking to a friend, who mentioned that from a male perspective that I come across as ‘perfect’ and unattainable. Or if attained I would get bored really quick as I am used to this fast paced intellectual environment (work) that is sometime glitzy. Yes, these things are true, but I also need my down time. Work is one thing, and it is important to keep a good balance between it and life in general. I don’t think I could work a 60/70 hour work week (well once in awhile you have to when travelling) but not continuously. How do these people do it? I guess they have their ‘partners’ wash their undies because they certainly must not have time to wash them themselves (let’s just hope they wash themselves). Speaking about undies and grossness, I used to know this couple, that when they found fabreeze, they were really excited as they would just take the dirty clothes off the floor – fabreeze them – and voila-presto! Ready for a second and third round. To their defence – they were and probably still are chronic pot heads. So yeah, me no perfect princess and I do not strive to be either. One thing I try to bring up on a first date to put him at ease is my bowl movement schedule and if I am experiencing any blockages from the codeine I take for my intense but thankfully infrequent migraines. I think this is a very successful method in proving down-to-earthiness. I have this female friend who looks the princess part – but can belch really, really loud. It is startling really as you look around for a truck driver with a beer gut and three days shadow – but only see this tall, slender blond chick. Anyways, it is quite impressive (if not sexy). Are we getting any good laughs here? Hope so. OK, although I am still on PST I am going to again attempt to get to sleep. 13/10/2008 11:54 PM
  13. 13. A lil’ Budda Can be Sexy 14/10/2008 4:55 PM Location: Coffee shop near work Mood: voyeuristic Music: whatever mellow tunes are playing in the background I know this is kind of a mean thing to say/ask but, why are so many cute men so small I could fit them in my breast pocket? Right now it is after work and I am sitting in the bridgehead coffee shop at Bank and Albert (across from my office building) and scoping out the passersby as well as the shop patrons. Sitting by the window in a comfy black leather seat, and there is a cutie to my far right, but alas, I saw him walk in and I fear he is TC (Tom Cruise) size. He is looking this way and I try not to make eye contact. From my seated position he may have mistaken my slender appearance for diminutive height – which at 5’8” tall in flats – I certainly do no posses. No Sarah Jessica Parker here. I enjoy my curves, eating high calorie notorious meals and giving a man a little somethin’-somethin’ to hold on to (if you know what I mean?). I even enjoy my little belly; what I affectionately refer to as ‘my ‘lil budda’ ... rub her and she will bring you luck – promise. Marilyn Monroe had a little tummy, and so do the most sexy belly dancers and playboy bunnies. Da budda is in according to me! So you better learn to love it! However, please note that a paunch on a dude is totally unattractive and unacceptable. I know this is a double standard on my part – you’ll just have to do some crunches and live with it (or without it as the case may be). I think this must be the best seat in the house for inconspicuous people watching. All I need now is an incognito disguise ... shades and perhaps trendy chapeaux. Nothing interesting going on however, so I shall concentrate more on the writing ... or should I say continuous brain fart assembled into cohesive sentences?
  14. 14. Summary: I think a little budda belly on a woman is sexy. Note that this statement is not to be extrapolated and equated to: Jen is a lesbian with a fat fetish. Not that there is anything wrong with being a lesbian who’s panties get wet when seeing a chick with a BMI greater than 30. I just cannot understand why people (not only women) are so obsessed with being super thin. Scary thin. Really guys: is scary-bones-sticking-out-thin sexy? You tell me, check this link out: supermodel-jen-hunter.jpg Now, you might do a double take if each woman, in turn, walked down the street. Mind you one you would categorise as super hot, the other you would gawk at and rush to the nearest fast food joint in hope of obtaining a burger for her. Hey, I’ll holder her down (wouldn’t taken more effort than that which I can exert with my index finger) and you can force feed her said burger. Poor thing. I think it is a pretty sick society we live in where this conception of super thinness is synonymous with beauty. I used to be the fat girl growing up (from grade two to grade eleven when I lost the extra poundage), but I must say ... I would prefer to have those extra pounds back then deal with a warped and twisted body image where I saw a fat girl instead of the bones poking through the skin of my ribcage and pelvis when I looked in a mirror. Afraid to eat, counting carbs and calories, and thinking that it is a great accomplishment in my life that the size zero trousers I try on at the GAP are bagged out in the back. I know, I know, it was not nice of me to be height prejudiced earlier in this entry. But to be honest, when looking for a potential mate, he has to have good genes to pass along our progeny. I cannot imagine pulling a Katie: stooping over to make my ‘man’ look bigger. That statuesque girl now looks like a stooped old woman with a bad nose job; basically an ad for osteoporosis fighting supplements. And skin-ny. Ick. I wonder how much the scientology thing has to do with the whole situation. Hummm ... scientology, I am going to have to do some hands on research at some point. Maybe go to their center on Rideau Street and see what it is all about? Don’t worry – I’ll let you know before I attempt such a risky thing ... can we say, ‘cheese I am a pod-person’? 14/10/2008 6:01 PM 10/29/2008 5:15 PM The Mann who wasn’t; the men who are not Location: Coffee shop near work, chillin’ out before a ‘blind’ coffee date Mood: energetic Music: whatever mellow tunes are playing in the background, which, right now is nada This time last week I went on my third blind date (secured through an online dating website) since the start of the summer – yes it has been a slow summer. [Enters present blind date and this entry has come to a timely close] 10/29/2008 5:23 PM 03/11/2008 4:43 PM
  15. 15. I thought I had some time before Chris showed up for our first meeting and I could get in a entry full of witty prose, however he, like myself, was early so I had to cut the above entry short. This was to be a witty entry about Jason Mann (first name substituted for privacy), a guy who I had an OK date with – but the ‘type’ of guy who isn’t looking for an ‘equal’ partner – more of a woman in the kitchen. To be honest, I wouldn’t have made an equal partner to him as I was more successful in my career than he (a philosophy masters grad who works for his dad’s insurance company – I am sure there are failure issues there). But to his defence he was quite attractive, articulate, creative and handy if not conscientious or cognoscente in some of his life choices (as I rightfully deduced from his tales of personal injury and lifestyle – what a dumb-ass). 03/11/2008 5:01 PM
  16. 16. 1/29/2009 7:56 PM Russian at the roulette table and a black chip Location: Toronto airport – yet again waiting for a flight Mood: happy, content and high energy Music: Guess – Robe Noire I am not going to talk about being stuck on the plane for hours and hours while they tested a mechanical failure and de-iced the plane – twice. Got some cool shots of what looked like ectoplasm being sprayed on the plane wings by Wallee-like robotic truck extensions. Not going to talk about the meeting in Toronto concerning the magazine; just that it looks like I will now officially be a member of the editorial board – which is totally cool. What I am going to talk about the fact that I’ve been experiencing instances of deja-vu lately. Like right now actually. When I opened this document I thought that I had not saved my last entry as it was gone – but the fact was that I had not written it yet – I’ve been thinking about writing it. I don’t want to come across as self- important or narcissistic (ok what artist is not a little bit self-absorbed?), but there seems to be a narrator inside my head, explaining the events of my life as they are happening. What is that called in cinematography? Is it over-voice, over-tone ... or something like that? I got to the airport an hour early hoping to catch the earlier flight – no luck on that front. Oh well, I am not that concerned as it just means I have some extra time to write and I have a few things to tell you (when do I not?). The strongest feeling of déjà vu came when I was still in Vegas last week – it was Friday after the convention closed up and staff disassembled the booth stands. I was back at the hotel casino – conveniently located in the main lobby – and was exchanging the gambling chips I had accumulated from one run at the craps table and another at roulette. After pawing through my purse to collect as many as I could find amongst the disorder of cosmetics, receipts and papers, I foisted the lot at the accommodating, plump older lady behind the Plexiglas separation. She handed me one back, it wasn’t read like the other chips – it was black. For a moment I thought that it must have come from the incident with the Russian.
  17. 17. What, another incident with a Russian? Didn’t a menacing clown or Russian descent terrorize you on a date – you ask? Yeah, but this is totally different, yet equally weird – listen. It was late exactly a week ago now – my last night in Vegas. I was sequestering myself in my hotel room early the preceding evenings after dinner in order to chill out and get enough sleep to maintain consciousness and brain capacity while answering technical questions as the show. I had a couple of drinks with co-workers after dinner and danced a bit with one of our extended technical team working in mid-west US (I forget which state). Earlier in the week I had won a bit of money on one game of craps where I rolled the dice over and over until my nine came back up. Feeling pretty confident in my gambling ability, I took out fifty from my credit card and approached the roulette table where the attendant was a huge (both in height and girth), jovial man with ebony skin. Dwane (my co-worker) left to use the washroom – there were a few chips on the table from a tall, dark man wearing a heavy jacket to my right. With high spirits, a bit giggly and seemingly ignorant about the game I started asking basic questions concerning the rules. I felt tension coming from the dark haired, scruffy man to my right – whom I estimated to be in his late 30s or early 40s. I asked him where he was from. The big, jovial attendant boomed out laughter – probably wondering where a seemingly perfect doll of a blond white girl would acquire the sheer gall to have the confidence to ask such a question of a complete stranger, especially one with his level of serious moodiness. ‘Humph’, was the hoarse groan that escaped from him – along with a shoulder shrug. I looked him in the eyes; he was about 6’ – so about 4” taller than me. Russian? I state – more as a proclamation than a statement. His eyes widened and he continued to look at me – even more serious and uncomfortable. Thinking out loud I stated ‘I wonder what part of Russia’ this wasn’t a questions – as it was obvious he would never tell me. I looked at the attendant – who was watching with a smile but looking on intently – I looked back to the morose Russian and stated ‘north of Moscow’! The Russian’s brow furled, eyes widened even more, yet his mouth set in a firm line – a very unnatural expression. Another grunt escaped him – and with one gesture of his right hand he swept his chips off the table – the wheel was still in spin – and he stormed off without looking back. ‘How’d you do dat gurl?’ the attendant asked in a boisterous southern accent. ‘I don’t know’ was my honest answer and I felt myself sober up in a hurry as I put my chips down on the table. So, it was the next day when déjà vu hit – something fierce – as I took the black chip back from the cashier. Looking at it in the dim light, wondering if it had something to do with the Russian and feeling that I had held it before – it read: Marine Ball. It belonged to Randon, the tall, handsome, Marine I didn’t walk by on my way to my room after the modified game of Russian roulette. 1/29/2009 9:11 PM