Making Words Aloud

Sitting in front of my computer with a big, white screen devoid of text I'm at a loss. I want to write something, creative words and such are floating around in my head and I know I have the ability to make feeding the cats and popping my gigantic zit sound like a cool adventure. There is nothing.

I've been feeling quite contemplative lately. There just seems to be so many thoughts running around, not quite coherent but completely whole. I find myself drifting off into that other plane of consciousness quite often but always getting yanked back out abruptly and before I'm done. Sometimes I can sit in one spot and think for hours, about everything real and imagined. I like thinking as there are no boundaries inside and nobody to question the deliriousness of my logic. As loud as I can be at times I think that I'm much more an introvert as I am more than comfortable with the same silence that make people squirm and bring up the weather.

In these past few days I wrote something that turned into a two page exposition, a topic which began quite lightheartedly benign but evolved into a very personal and affecting diary entry. I let Mr. Stinky read it and he thought it was good. He also questioned whether I would publish it or not. I haven't quite decided, it seems much too deep down private to let others see, yet is probably the most honest account of me that I've ever expressed. Don't hold your breath for it to appear here anytime soon.

I can talk. Oh my god, I can talk so much that sometimes it's hard to shut me up. But when my mouth isn't opened is when I find myself most profound. I've always found it much easier to write things down than to vocalize them but sometimes I feel that I need to share something of me. That seems to be why I wanted to have Mr. Stinky read my essay... I wanted him to know but my words don't work the way they do when I say them to myself. This way I was able to keep the integrity of the message and at the same time lay it all out on the table. It's not quite the most ideal way to communicate but for now I suppose it'll have to do.

I've kept a diary for years, keeping inane, momentous and show-stopping events in the hereafter. These past few years I've been lazy and only write once in a very long while and I think it's why I started this blog, not really for you but for me because I like words. I like the way they connect and make sense. The fun patterns they make all over the page. The way they let me tell my stories and someone else wants to read them. If I could, I would be constantly writing and therefore constantly updating.

I can clearly see how horribly unorganized and disjunct this post has been, and embarrassingly so. Normally I'd go back, slash and burn the words until they flow: beginning, middle, end. But today I think I'll just leave it as visual proof that lately I really can't seem to connect the dots. If my words won't even work imagine the abomination when I try to speak... As many trains of thoughts as I have, it's just like rush hour at the station but nobody knows what happened to the damn schedule.

Baseball Players Are Pussies

Please don't try to dissuade me or defend them because I'd just laugh at you if you tried. Remember last year when Jeter dove onto the turf and laid there wracked in pain for a good 10 minutes like he needed his last rites? They may have wheeled out the stretcher... lord, they may have brought the whole ER down onto the field, I'm not too sure. But what did he end up with? A bruised thumb. Ohmigod!

When I heard that Chacin left the game last night with a crampy finger all I could do was roll my eyes. Dude, walk it off! Suck it up and play through the cramp. It'll eventually go away on its own. What the hell.

How do hockey players get their teeth knocked out and come back for their next shift? How do they break a leg but manage to hobble back to the bench so the next guy can jump on the ice? How can they stand in the hallway to get that gaping hole stitched up and return to the game? Inconceivable! (The Princess Bride was on a few days ago. Oh Westley....)

I don't know what breed of men they have in the MLB but seriously, let's tone that suck factor down a few notches. Nobody wants to hear about female cramps and pains but if a baseball player gets a cramp we want to send him get well cards and pretty balloons. This world makes so little sense that it's practically inconceivable.

Saturday Quickie

Bike riding to a nearby supermarket, we stopped at a red light. On a nearby light post I noticed a piece of paper taped onto it with the little cut-off flaps at the bottom for easy ripping.

Stinky T: Hey! Quick Divorces from $300!

Mr. Stinky: Haha! Look, someone already took one (of the flaps with convenient 1-800 number).

Stinky T: Haha! Wow, $300.

Mr. Stinky: $300... I could afford that.

Stinky T: Hey we'll go half, $150-$150.

Mr. Stinky: Done.

Stinky T: Niice!

Starburst Attack

A few fortnights ago an incident occurred which forever changed the dynamics between T-J and I. It wasn't planned and nobody was injured severely but it was gut-bustingly funny and became an instant classic. To this day when we retell the story it's a slapstick comedy reenacted in tandem coz it's always funnier that way.

I'm not a sweet snacker, I prefer to munch on salty foods instead. About the only time that I crave sweet stuff is when I'm PMSing. I don't know why. Sometimes I will even want chocolate but that's rare. I'm not a fan of chocolate as it does nothing for me. The mind just boggles. Back to the topic.

I hadn't had Starbursts in awhile so when I saw that they were on sale I bought a bag of the assorted flavours. I was enjoying them immensely at my desk and asked T-J and Shuster if they wanted to share in my bounty. Shuster came over and grabbed a few while T-J held out her hands for me to toss one over. We work about 10 feet away from each other so you'd think no problemo, yes? But if you did then there'd be no story to tell.

For the record I was planning on gently tossing it over so that it would land in her outstretched hands. Somehow the synapses grossly misfired because I winged the damned thing at her and because her hands were kind of head level guess where the Starburst went.

In the instant I let it fly my mind said "whoops!". In the half a millisecond (what would that be?) before the candy hit her, she must've seen the imminent strike because her head turned away from me and her hands morphed from catcher's mitts to shields. In the silence of the office we heard a small "tock!" and T-J's "AAAAAAOoow!!"

When the rest of that second passed we burst into laughter. My profuse apologies were drowned pitifully in the undertow of our tear filled hysteria and everytime I tried to explain my intent a fresh wave of mirth would burst forth. Why do we have boxes of kleenex on our desks? It's definitely not to combat nasal drip, unless it results from laughing. Nay, the kleenex is to aid in our recovery after such events of stupidity, especially when T-J revealed that as she shied away from the Starburst missile and yelled in reaction to being hit, a big gob of drool fell from her mouth and onto the floor. We laughed until it hurt, then we laughed some more until it got numb.

I don't even know if she ended up eating that candy. I can't remember coz all that laughing caused me to black out and forget the rest of the day. What I do know is, you can only get away with such acts of violence against your friends. If it had been anybody else and I had laughed to the brink of pissing myself, I can assure you that formal complaints would have been drawn up and issued. That would be followed by severe scolding and an indefinite ban on candy with pointy corners. And that's so not fun when that's about all we care for.

Just Add Water!

We've got Sea Monkeys in our office. They were on sale at the toy store and we decided they'd be the perfect addition to the ambience of our hard-working environment. I should tell you that this is the second generation. The first, may they rest in peace, were mercilessly slain in the historic event known as the T.R. Massacre*. I shall not divulge the tyrant's name, as he might slap me with a big, fat libel suit and as much as I cherished the pets I don't have the kind of money to go to court over such frivolity.

Sea Monkeys are a cutesy name for a species of brine shrimp. They are itty bitty little swimming creatures, kind of like lice or moving dandruff. They come freeze-dried in little packages and magically become animated when you mix them into a jar of pre-treated water like you would make lemonade.

They’ve essentially become the centrepiece of our office as we get frequent visitors throughout the day to check on their growth, numbers and watch them buzz around the tank. Everyone drops by to see them, it’s like freak circus central! I tell ya, this office is full of fre.. characters!

I’m happy to report that second generation Monkeys are thriving. After the T.R. Massacre we learned our lesson, there are now colourful signs all around the tank warning people not to touch or pick it up. Anytime a visitor gets too close to the pets we immediately screech out warnings which include promises of dire pain and torture should they disregard the signs. So far the combination of warnings have proven to be superbly effective.

So now, a little bit wiser and a little less soaked we are all living harmoniously with our sea creatures. Hopefully it stays that way coz I like that they are such an attraction and draw many new and returning visitors to our cozy little office. All it took was mixing a few things together to bring forth life! Playing god makes Stinky T ve-ry happy.

*Coles Notes version of the genocide: T.R. picked up the tank to look at it and proceeded to spill it all down his pants, namely his crotch. Now I know it’s not rocket science, but if you see a container filled with water why shake, tip and turn the thing upside down? I know, right?!?

Expand Your Lungs

The weather lately has been beautiful, the humidity has snapped and although it can get hot under the sun, you can’t beat hanging out in the shade. Mr. Stinky and I enjoy the outdoors; we bike, garden, hike, camp and go for walks… even on those yucky, sticky days. I figure you can’t be a constant shut-in, right? Everyone needs to go outside to relax, get some fresh air and have some fun when they can, especially since the majority of us go into a state of semi-hibernation come winter.

I’m coming to the realization that a lot of people don’t agree with me, a lot of people don’t like to breathe outdoors air or be outside. The past week or so, we’ve enjoyed having the windows opened and the a/c off. There is almost always a lovely breeze coming from the lake and it feels nice… different from manufactured cool air. I’ve even been using the side burner of our BBQ more often, just to be outside. However, all through the day and night, our next door neighbour’s a/c is running. And loudly at that. These last few nights temperatures went down to the low teens but I’ve deduced they like it much colder than that. I don’t even know what their bills are like but to give you a hint: they moved in about 6 months after we did and once as I was doing some gardening I looked at their meter. The numbers were already much higher than ours. Yowza!

It’s not an isolated case either, I’ve been told by some that their windows do not open. At home if the heat’s not on, then the a/c is. Not only do I find this quite wasteful in terms of unnecessary hydro use, which translates to further lining the pockets of our energy providers it leaves me with the question of why we don’t like natural, fresh air? Do we believe that it’s better inside? Not to get all scientificy here and I won’t be referencing anything, but I’m pretty sure that most studies between indoor and outdoor air have proven that the latter is usually cleaner and fresher. Or perhaps the age of artificial living has moved in whereby we don’t do or use anything unless it’s not in its raw state. Intriguing.

In any case, I don’t know why it’s on my mind. I don’t suppose it’s an issue of right or wrong, just different mindsets. But if you can before it gets cold, go outside and enjoy the weather. It doesn’t get any better than right now.

Back!

Days Gone: 4
Mileage Claimed: ~50km
Bear Encountered: 0
Moose Encountered: 1
Bug Bites: Stopped counting after the first one
Scary Storms: 1

I'm back. Rest your weary, little hearts, we made it safely back out the bush. Although for the rest of this post you will think of me as Lumpy T instead of the usual as I'm covered in bug bites, scrapes and bruises. More later.

We were gone for 4 days, and as stated above the round trip was roughly 50km worth of rowing and portaging. There was a lot of rowing; my arms and shoulders are sore but I held my own. Sometimes it felt like all we did was stroke... stroke... stroke... but we actually moved at pretty good clips. I've learned to look far off to where we were going, not in front of me, especially if we were rowing across the current coz then it gets trippy. Like we were travelling diagonally, or sideways which, when it was super windy was definitely the case. There was also the fear that we might tip over. Back country canoeing/backpacking is quite different from being in the familiar. We couldn't just whip out cell phones to call for help if anything bad were to occur. If something happens to you out there you're pretty much fucked. Ain't nobody gonna come rescue you coz how would you call them and how would they know where you are anyway? Since our packs were 30-50lb they'd be dead weight and sink so fast we wouldn't even see where they hit the water. All the gear and food would be gone in an instant, thus severely handicapping us. I was super vigilant in my quest to keep the canoe upright.

We were careful not attract any bears to our campsites. I'm pretty happy that we came out having never met each other, although according to park statistics it actually is very rare to see one of these creatures. Park rangers are lucky if they see one or two a year. Good odds for me.

On the second day we stayed on a small island littered with moose poo, actually moose poo dots the entire park. They're not very picky about where they go... think also of roughly two dozen chocolate Timbits in one pile. At about 4pm, while we were hanging out in our campsite which is located in the clearing at one end of the island Mr. Stinky and I heard branches snapping and something walking in the bush. We looked up and saw a huge brown shape walking through the trees, its footsteps thumping the ground so heavily that we felt them. The camera came out and we waited. The shape turned into a very impressive bull moose taller than Mr. Stinky's height of 6' and came as close as about 6 feet away from where we pitched our tent. We were very excited due to our proximity, plus they usually don't come out in the middle of the day. It got spooked and jumped into the lake to swim back to the mainland. We stood and watched the whole time while it grunted and huffed the water out of its nose. Absolutely awesome.

I don't like using bug spray so I endured the bites. I find that the first bite is the worst; after that they all sort of cancel each other out so although I tried to swat them away, kill them or do the Mosquito Dance I did get bit but only had to use the spray once.

The last night of our trip it stormed. You could hear God noisily inhaling from somewhere down in Alabama before blowing it across the land... winds in the city cannot compare in terms of strength and noise. The lake was choppy and it rained. I had visions of us trying to make our way back come morning with lashing winds and pouring rain, and me screaming at Mr. Stinky "I HAAAATE youuuuu!! You did this to meeeeee!", not unlike how I imagine it might sound in the delivery room. Luckily for us it cleared up in the early morning and we got out without any incident.

After days of eating trail mix and dehydrated foods we headed to Kelsey's for our celebratory gorge. Tossing aside the skimpy lunch menus we devoured the entrees of choice and several hours later stuffed ourselves silly again. Heaven.

Bear Warning

I'm off to my weekend portage tomorrow. Mr. Stinky and I are heading up to Algonquin for a long weekend of canoeing, camping, bugs and skinny dipping (!). I'm very excited as it's my first experience. We're regular car campers but this time we're going a step further into the bush and away from life. It's our mini vacation... as a regular vacation seems to be out of our reach right now so this'll do.

I've never camped where the land belongs to the bears. I'll have to be careful and remember not to smell too yummy to one of them but I'm sure if I smell like hot dog Mr. Stinky'll remind me to change my clothes before bedtime. If one should get agressive, I can assure you that I will not be playing dead or curling into the fetal position. Why you ask? Simple. If a hungry and angry 800lb beast decides that he wants to nosh on some Stinkyback ribs I hardly think that I'm a good enough actor to remain calm until he's done and goes away. I really do not believe that calmly presenting oneself on a platter surrounded by sprigs of green garnishings will discourage a hungry being. No, presentation is a large part of eating and I for one am not willing to look like a yummy dish for Ursus grumblytummyus.

Instead I resolve to fall into total panic mode whereby squawking like a chicken, running back and forth, jumping into the lake, flapping my limbs around and throwing gear at it like my toothbrush, pillow and underwear, for some reason will totally make sense. I will not be the generous main course of the night for the damn bear. I will convince myself that my actions are deterring him from clamping down on me even though my clear and rational mind knows that I'm just whetting his appetite.

So, dear readers, I plan on returning Monday night. I'll be tired so don't expect me to rush to the nearest piece of technology to update you on how I got a soaker, hiked up some hills and made potty in the bush. You can however, check here on Tuesday since I've got the day off from work and should have some time to type. If I don't make a peep by Wednesday you may safely assume that Mr. Grumblytummyus greatly enjoyed some Stinkyback ribs and you'll need to tell the rangers that they'll probably find me in random piles of bear poop.

The Blue File

A co-worker came into our office just now. There are three of us in here: T-J, Clueless and me. Usually when our manager comes in to ask us questions we sit in our chairs looking blankly back at her slack-jawed, hoping someone else knows the answer, any answer. However, our manager's questions usually make sense as they are logical and specially designed to make us squirm in our seats. This question, well..... I've changed a few details to keep things ambiguous but yah...

Co-worker: Excuse me, have you seen the blue file?

Magnificent 3: .....................?

The Shuster a frequent visitor sits and observes.

Co-W: It's a blue file.

M3: .........................?

Co-W: I'm looking for the blue file.

M3: .......................?
T-J: Like a blue file folder? Yes we use those here....

Co-W: No no, it's an existing blue file.

T-J: Is it empty?

Co-W: No, it's got stuff in it. It's a blue file.

Clueless: It. would. help. if you had an address…
Stinky T: Do you have any other information about the file?

I should tell you that Co-W is notoriously secretive, nobody knows why. If you locked her up in solitary, tortured her within an inch of her life and threatened any and all kin she's got she still probably wouldn't tell you what colour the sky is if she didn't feel like it, so divulging this bit of information surely must've torn pieces out of her heart and soul.

Co-W: ..........Uh...It says..... "6 Pink Elephants and 20 Toes".

M3: OHH! OK, that file! Yah, we don't have it.

Co-W: No? Are you sure you don't have that file? (Wanders around, poking her little nose everywhere) It's a blue file.

M3: Nope.

Co-W leaves. I look over at Nancy T-J and the Shuster and they're both sitting v-e-r-y still, trying to hold something in. I decided to find out what that something could be.

Stinky T: So.. I'm looking for a woman... She's a woman. An existing woman. Have you seen the woman?

The office erupts into peals of laughter and tears of hilarity. We can't get over what just happened. Like complete idiots we put the incident on repeat and keep on asking each other where the blue file is. T-J is yanking out sheaths of kleenex by the handfuls in an effort to dam up the flow of streaming tears, while snorting and snuffling, trying to catch her breath through her laughter in what I can only think of as some sort of hysterical epileptic seizure. The Shuster is shaking tremulously in his chair so much that I didn't know if he'd ever be able to stop and wiping his eyes in futile. All the while I'm trying to keep a straight face. The rest of the day is a wash because about the only thing we can talk about is the blue file.

As of the time of publishing we still don't know where that darn blue file is.