I'm a detail-noticer. I'm pretty observant regarding new arrangements of objects in a familiar place, gorgeous and/or striking eyebrows on strangers, and the details of public washrooms, to name a few.
When I go to a new place, such as a shop, restaurant, coffee place or bar, I always notice the restrooms. Are they noteworthy? Accessible? Clean? Are they gendered? What's the decor like? How do I dry my hands? Is the light switch hard to find?
So, why not fill others in on my observations? Here I am with "Bathroom Connoisseur", an unsolicited new addition to this blog.
Today, I went to the new Smoke's Poutinerie in my work neighbourhood, and after drawing the top half of Kermit the Frog on their chalk board and eating some fairly delicious poutine, I decided to check out their washroom.
It's downstairs, as so many restrooms are, and thus not accessible to anyone for whom stairs are a barrier. A lack of banister also made me feel like I could plummet to the bottom easily, but I braced myself using the walls. Considering the logo for Smoke's is a stencil/silkscreen-esque graphic of some fella's face that is plastered everywhere (including on t-shirts of the folks who work there), I was pleasantly surprised to discover that said fella's face was not in the bathroom, watching me pee. In fact, the downstairs portion is all white, blank and kind of mini.
There are two onesie bathrooms which are "not" gendered...Both rooms' signs have the dress woman and pants man symbols on them and say "Washroom" on them, denoting that either is fine. (I give mega-happy points to signs that just say "washroom" or some kind of variation therein without any kinds of images of binary gendered people and their clothing, so I'll give this one out of two thumbs up).
There were no mirrors in the room, which is neither here nor there, given that it is not the kind of eatery where many things could be stuck in your teeth.
The lights go on automatically, which is nice, since that's one less switch to touch and a lot less energy being wasted when nobody is in the room.
Foam soap dispenser, paper towel and an inward opening door are the last things I recall, and then I left and went to the art store and bought some glue and gesso.
I hope to bring you slightly more interesting bathroom news soon. Perhaps it's time for me to go to Marchet (now known as Richtree?) in the financial district again because their bathrooms have always inspired awe in me (mostly the decor...more on that later).
Off to go paint!
-Sequin
Friday, April 9, 2010
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
some bedtime poems, specifically: weak haiku
1. (En-route to brush my teeth)
fuzzy-eyed wee hours
Cat sighing at her dry food
seafoam crochet blob
2. (What I am pondering)
wrapping mind around
semiotics of clothing:
express myself nude?
3. (What I am wearing)
glorious stubble
mustard yellow capri pants
Stevie Wonder's face
fuzzy-eyed wee hours
Cat sighing at her dry food
seafoam crochet blob
2. (What I am pondering)
wrapping mind around
semiotics of clothing:
express myself nude?
3. (What I am wearing)
glorious stubble
mustard yellow capri pants
Stevie Wonder's face
Monday, April 5, 2010
a WINDOW DAY poem
Sun is shinin'
took my pills
time to decorate some 'sills!
No more winter snowfolk faces
buds and blossoms in their places
sunshine, sparkles, vibes and toys
to celebrate spring's sexy joys
need some fabric, tulle and foil
maybe even potting soil?
A joyous task I'll ne'er renounce!
Time to get crackin', Sequin OUT, let's BOUNCE!
took my pills
time to decorate some 'sills!
No more winter snowfolk faces
buds and blossoms in their places
sunshine, sparkles, vibes and toys
to celebrate spring's sexy joys
need some fabric, tulle and foil
maybe even potting soil?
A joyous task I'll ne'er renounce!
Time to get crackin', Sequin OUT, let's BOUNCE!
Friday, April 2, 2010
Your urns smell like LewisCraft
Hey, what's up, internet? You scramble my brain but you're still alright.
I feel like I haven't been blogging fearlessly enough. My so-called blogger "dashboard" (woah!) says I have 12 posts on here, but several of those are abandoned drafts! I need to stop abandoning drafts for fear that they are boring or pointless. Many of my favourite bloggers sure don't let that stop them, and I don't mean that in the backhanded-compliment way it sounds! Some things are awesome because they are exciting, but not every single moment can be covered in neon rays of flashing wondrousness - some things are awesome because they are just real life and folks can relate to that.
Without further ado: My Day, Exuding REALNESS.
I tried to wake up at a decent hour this morning, because as I mentioned I am trying to get onto a sleep schedule that relates more directly to being alive when the sun is out. My BFF, who has been (and from here on out shall continue to be) referred to here as "Snoof", has been helping me out in this department, as I like her more than my alarm clock and therefore feel more excited to wake up and hang out with her than with a clock. Finally got up at 9:30 with minimal shouting from Snoof in the living room ("[Sequin Brown]! I'm alone in the living room with our coffees!!") and after a terrifyingly unhealthy breakfast of sour cream n onion chip remnants and Starbux Via instant coffee, I decided to listen to some Riot Grrrl music and work on a couple of paintings I've been meaning to tweak.
After that good time, plus a shower, Snoof took us out for ice cream to reward herself, and by lucky extension me, for having made several pages of notes for one of her many papers due in the next few days. After this joy, I got on the subway to go see my counselor, which is one hell of a transit ride out to the lovely 'burbs, had a decent session and hauled my arse back to the mainland to have a secular Good Friday dinner with my Mom.
We laughed, we caught up on life, mocked all the new developments in makeup application we noticed in Fashion magazine (honestly, roll-on foundation, spherical mascara wands and...vibrating mineral powder???) and drank zinfandel! Mom made some fabulous lasagna and brownies, 'cause we like things non-traditional that way. We surfed the net together, looking at really old photos of her parents and cousins that my uncle scanned and e-mailed her. I also introduced her to regretsy.com, which I figured she might get a kick out of if only for the entries where etsy sellers' spelling and grammar mistakes are picked on - she's a stickler for that sort of thing, and she likes crafts, to boot. "Fugly" seemed to be my mom's unofficial Favourite Slang Word to Use With Caution in 2006 or thereabouts, so I needed to hook her up with some fugly craft commentary.
This led us to gripe harmlessly about the new urns that "decorate" the front entrance of her (formerly "our") apartment building...they're big, they're gaudy and they're full of a combo of dried and fake plant matter that smells like spray glue and florist's foam. False pears and red spray painted pussy willows jut out at all angles and threaten to poke out visitors' eyes. Before I left, we spent a lot of time looking for the area on my totally unflattering but sensational sweater that I could have sworn had a polka-dotting error. Maybe I was hallucinating last time I wore it, but I really thought one of the shoulders had been knit with a few toonie-sized dots missing. I love my mom.
In closing, I noticed that being constantly connected through social technology like Facebook and text messaging makes me way more anxious and skews my already flawed sense of time. I find myself mentally rehashing sent e-mails and wondering where I went wrong if I don't receive relatively immediate responses. Because of this, I sometimes feel like a paper-bag puppet with extra-large googlie eyes: crinkly, ridiculous and wiggly.
I feel like I haven't been blogging fearlessly enough. My so-called blogger "dashboard" (woah!) says I have 12 posts on here, but several of those are abandoned drafts! I need to stop abandoning drafts for fear that they are boring or pointless. Many of my favourite bloggers sure don't let that stop them, and I don't mean that in the backhanded-compliment way it sounds! Some things are awesome because they are exciting, but not every single moment can be covered in neon rays of flashing wondrousness - some things are awesome because they are just real life and folks can relate to that.
Without further ado: My Day, Exuding REALNESS.
I tried to wake up at a decent hour this morning, because as I mentioned I am trying to get onto a sleep schedule that relates more directly to being alive when the sun is out. My BFF, who has been (and from here on out shall continue to be) referred to here as "Snoof", has been helping me out in this department, as I like her more than my alarm clock and therefore feel more excited to wake up and hang out with her than with a clock. Finally got up at 9:30 with minimal shouting from Snoof in the living room ("[Sequin Brown]! I'm alone in the living room with our coffees!!") and after a terrifyingly unhealthy breakfast of sour cream n onion chip remnants and Starbux Via instant coffee, I decided to listen to some Riot Grrrl music and work on a couple of paintings I've been meaning to tweak.
After that good time, plus a shower, Snoof took us out for ice cream to reward herself, and by lucky extension me, for having made several pages of notes for one of her many papers due in the next few days. After this joy, I got on the subway to go see my counselor, which is one hell of a transit ride out to the lovely 'burbs, had a decent session and hauled my arse back to the mainland to have a secular Good Friday dinner with my Mom.
We laughed, we caught up on life, mocked all the new developments in makeup application we noticed in Fashion magazine (honestly, roll-on foundation, spherical mascara wands and...vibrating mineral powder???) and drank zinfandel! Mom made some fabulous lasagna and brownies, 'cause we like things non-traditional that way. We surfed the net together, looking at really old photos of her parents and cousins that my uncle scanned and e-mailed her. I also introduced her to regretsy.com, which I figured she might get a kick out of if only for the entries where etsy sellers' spelling and grammar mistakes are picked on - she's a stickler for that sort of thing, and she likes crafts, to boot. "Fugly" seemed to be my mom's unofficial Favourite Slang Word to Use With Caution in 2006 or thereabouts, so I needed to hook her up with some fugly craft commentary.
This led us to gripe harmlessly about the new urns that "decorate" the front entrance of her (formerly "our") apartment building...they're big, they're gaudy and they're full of a combo of dried and fake plant matter that smells like spray glue and florist's foam. False pears and red spray painted pussy willows jut out at all angles and threaten to poke out visitors' eyes. Before I left, we spent a lot of time looking for the area on my totally unflattering but sensational sweater that I could have sworn had a polka-dotting error. Maybe I was hallucinating last time I wore it, but I really thought one of the shoulders had been knit with a few toonie-sized dots missing. I love my mom.
In closing, I noticed that being constantly connected through social technology like Facebook and text messaging makes me way more anxious and skews my already flawed sense of time. I find myself mentally rehashing sent e-mails and wondering where I went wrong if I don't receive relatively immediate responses. Because of this, I sometimes feel like a paper-bag puppet with extra-large googlie eyes: crinkly, ridiculous and wiggly.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
My internal weather, and sparkstensions!
I'm trying to get my body's internal clock to function in a more predictable fashion. This involves a gaggle of alarm clocks, agendas and calendars, which I try to make palatable by making damn sure there are kittens and stickers all over them. (Buying books from the Scholastic book order forms was not in the budget when I was in elementary school, so I skipped the Lisa Frank fantasy-fluorescent-ponies-and-pink-leopard-print-notebooks phase...*menacing*: it has finally come to take its course!)
As my luck would have it, the first alarm clock that I got at Honest Ed's was a $16 piece of junk that I tried to reason/wrestle with for 15 minutes before giving up and deciding that it would have been less frustrating if the fake clock face sticker over top of the actual clock face had not been "remove[d] before use". At least there would have been actual numbers, not just flickery streaks suggesting numbers that did not fit together in a way that represented actual times. However, as I am becoming more and more wise to the ways of Honest Ed's, I had bought a second alarm clock at the same time, this one being only $0.99 and having no accompanying instructions, and cryptic buttons on the top reading "Here" and "There". I though it was a puzzle alarm clock, but wouldn't you know it, the thing woke me up pleasantly and on time this morning. It looks like binoculars, and the here and there buttons can digitally "shut" one "eye" or the other with black pixels for no apparent reason, but I don't have to totally get it to be very pleased with it, so finally, one point for Team Sequin Brown.
After Honest Ed's yesterday, I spent several hours cleaning my oven and making cupcakes for our annual sale/customer party/time of awesomeness just days before we take inventory. Then I worked for 6 hours at the store, surrounded by giggles of glee over free cupcakes, the DJ spinning, the customers milling and clustering hungrily at the super-duper reduced items table. It felt awesome to be able to take the time to really help and explain things to folks with questions, amid the mayhem and joy of a jam-packed store. The curly and talented Amanda Marshall puts it well when she sings "Everything is clear when you're inside the tornado/ everything is stable in the eye of the storm/". In all, a fabulous experience, especially since I was so intensely hopped up on sugar and caffeine.
Today started out well, because when I was on the streetcar - running ahead of schedule, might I add - I happened to run into a lovely friend of a friend whose name I unfortunately ALWAYS get wrong by accident, and today I really focussed and got it RIGHT. I psyched myself out for a couple seconds, you know, like, oh gosh, she's so sweet, and indeed memorable, I'm a horrible beast, her name is NOT LISA! Lisa it is NOT! Neurons, reform! no! it's..."Hello, LINDA!" Yessssss! Rock. On. I think the curse has been broken, and I will never blatantly call her Lisa again. Not that Lisa isn't a great name, but it just ain't hers.
Work was great, did a massive post-sale restock, during which I kind of felt like a basement troll because our fluorescent light tubes were acting up and it was dark and cold down there and my nose was running and I always do the hunch-n-flinch dance when I am in the basement because I fear hitting my head on the pipes. Tropical Storm UTERUS blew in from the South shortly after restocking, but since I have been so conscious of times and dates recently, I was aware of what was to come. Apocolyptic PMS emotions also tend to alert me, as well as Violet-Beauregard-style bloating and disproportionately angsty reactions to my inability to find any one magazine at Shoppers Drugmart or Book City that speaks to me wholistically. I bought myself chocolate ginger nuggets and took some ibuprofen, and plan to get into my bed with a book by 11:30pm.
Note to self: begin writing next hit single, "Menstrual Lady Slumber Party for One".
In closing, I witnessed a most delightful and beguiling hair phenomenon upon the head of a very nice customer today, which was that her hair shimmered at me. Throughout her shining black tresses were what appeared to be a faint scattering of single metallic hairs, in purple and even verigated red, orange and gold! I tried to concentrate on the topic at hand, but my hindbrain was trying to comprehend the pretty pretty hairs. Suddenly my whirring mind skipped a beat and there it was, the obvious answer:
WOW. Maybe she's just MAGIC.
I felt reverent, and this luckily gave me a millisecond to get back on track and help the lady out. Once all questions had been answered I complemented her hair and she told me that the glitteries were teeny semi-permanent extensions she had had done when she was in Bankok a few weeks ago. Just when I thought technology was out to ruin us all, a heartwarming discovery is made in the field of beauty salon research that does not involve lasers, depillation or pinching!
I also believe in magic, just to be clear on that.
As my luck would have it, the first alarm clock that I got at Honest Ed's was a $16 piece of junk that I tried to reason/wrestle with for 15 minutes before giving up and deciding that it would have been less frustrating if the fake clock face sticker over top of the actual clock face had not been "remove[d] before use". At least there would have been actual numbers, not just flickery streaks suggesting numbers that did not fit together in a way that represented actual times. However, as I am becoming more and more wise to the ways of Honest Ed's, I had bought a second alarm clock at the same time, this one being only $0.99 and having no accompanying instructions, and cryptic buttons on the top reading "Here" and "There". I though it was a puzzle alarm clock, but wouldn't you know it, the thing woke me up pleasantly and on time this morning. It looks like binoculars, and the here and there buttons can digitally "shut" one "eye" or the other with black pixels for no apparent reason, but I don't have to totally get it to be very pleased with it, so finally, one point for Team Sequin Brown.
After Honest Ed's yesterday, I spent several hours cleaning my oven and making cupcakes for our annual sale/customer party/time of awesomeness just days before we take inventory. Then I worked for 6 hours at the store, surrounded by giggles of glee over free cupcakes, the DJ spinning, the customers milling and clustering hungrily at the super-duper reduced items table. It felt awesome to be able to take the time to really help and explain things to folks with questions, amid the mayhem and joy of a jam-packed store. The curly and talented Amanda Marshall puts it well when she sings "Everything is clear when you're inside the tornado/ everything is stable in the eye of the storm/". In all, a fabulous experience, especially since I was so intensely hopped up on sugar and caffeine.
Today started out well, because when I was on the streetcar - running ahead of schedule, might I add - I happened to run into a lovely friend of a friend whose name I unfortunately ALWAYS get wrong by accident, and today I really focussed and got it RIGHT. I psyched myself out for a couple seconds, you know, like, oh gosh, she's so sweet, and indeed memorable, I'm a horrible beast, her name is NOT LISA! Lisa it is NOT! Neurons, reform! no! it's..."Hello, LINDA!" Yessssss! Rock. On. I think the curse has been broken, and I will never blatantly call her Lisa again. Not that Lisa isn't a great name, but it just ain't hers.
Work was great, did a massive post-sale restock, during which I kind of felt like a basement troll because our fluorescent light tubes were acting up and it was dark and cold down there and my nose was running and I always do the hunch-n-flinch dance when I am in the basement because I fear hitting my head on the pipes. Tropical Storm UTERUS blew in from the South shortly after restocking, but since I have been so conscious of times and dates recently, I was aware of what was to come. Apocolyptic PMS emotions also tend to alert me, as well as Violet-Beauregard-style bloating and disproportionately angsty reactions to my inability to find any one magazine at Shoppers Drugmart or Book City that speaks to me wholistically. I bought myself chocolate ginger nuggets and took some ibuprofen, and plan to get into my bed with a book by 11:30pm.
Note to self: begin writing next hit single, "Menstrual Lady Slumber Party for One".
In closing, I witnessed a most delightful and beguiling hair phenomenon upon the head of a very nice customer today, which was that her hair shimmered at me. Throughout her shining black tresses were what appeared to be a faint scattering of single metallic hairs, in purple and even verigated red, orange and gold! I tried to concentrate on the topic at hand, but my hindbrain was trying to comprehend the pretty pretty hairs. Suddenly my whirring mind skipped a beat and there it was, the obvious answer:
WOW. Maybe she's just MAGIC.
I felt reverent, and this luckily gave me a millisecond to get back on track and help the lady out. Once all questions had been answered I complemented her hair and she told me that the glitteries were teeny semi-permanent extensions she had had done when she was in Bankok a few weeks ago. Just when I thought technology was out to ruin us all, a heartwarming discovery is made in the field of beauty salon research that does not involve lasers, depillation or pinching!
I also believe in magic, just to be clear on that.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Throwing around some ideas for a Fat amusement park
If I was going to make a fat amusement park, as per my internal brainstorm this morning in the shower, it would include all of the following amazing features:
-A really elaborate water park with bigger tubes that you can actually drape yourself into instead of just lying on it with one bum cheek kind of in the hole
-Vast bouncy castles
-Rubberized walkways, so walking all over the place is friendlier to the feet and knees, as well as really snazzy scooter things for folks with limited mobility
-Dressup photo studios where the costumes actually fit and you have the option of posing in front of a green screen
-Obviously seatbelts/safety latch things on rides that fit larger bodies and don't make it impossible to breathe/scream with glee on rides
-None of that "I'll guess your weight and you can win a prize" crap. Also, no petting zoos or aquariums, because I run the park and I think those are not cool.
-Tickets won in games can be redeemed at the park's fabulous boutique: clothes, fat positive books, music, snacks, etc.
-Fantastic restaurants AS WELL AS traditional amusement park fare AS WELL AS areas to picnic (although angry geese congregating is innevitable)
-Fat walk of fame
-Mist areas for cooling off when it's a scorcher out
-Amorphous benches (?)
-Sensational dance parties
-Theme days
I'm slowing down here with ideas, mostly because I am getting really tired. To be honest, I am not a huge fan of roller coasters, nor do I have money to build an amusement park, but what I do have is a wild imagination and a blog!
-A really elaborate water park with bigger tubes that you can actually drape yourself into instead of just lying on it with one bum cheek kind of in the hole
-Vast bouncy castles
-Rubberized walkways, so walking all over the place is friendlier to the feet and knees, as well as really snazzy scooter things for folks with limited mobility
-Dressup photo studios where the costumes actually fit and you have the option of posing in front of a green screen
-Obviously seatbelts/safety latch things on rides that fit larger bodies and don't make it impossible to breathe/scream with glee on rides
-None of that "I'll guess your weight and you can win a prize" crap. Also, no petting zoos or aquariums, because I run the park and I think those are not cool.
-Tickets won in games can be redeemed at the park's fabulous boutique: clothes, fat positive books, music, snacks, etc.
-Fantastic restaurants AS WELL AS traditional amusement park fare AS WELL AS areas to picnic (although angry geese congregating is innevitable)
-Fat walk of fame
-Mist areas for cooling off when it's a scorcher out
-Amorphous benches (?)
-Sensational dance parties
-Theme days
I'm slowing down here with ideas, mostly because I am getting really tired. To be honest, I am not a huge fan of roller coasters, nor do I have money to build an amusement park, but what I do have is a wild imagination and a blog!
Monday, March 22, 2010
Keep On Livin'
And I lived to tell the tale!
Here I am, alive and okay and plowing through some very fluffy Black Forest Cake which I have dubbed "breakfast".
I have decided that today will be a faux birthday, due to the nature of my activities: Wake up at quarter to one in the afternoon. Play with cat until she attempts to claw out my eyes with love. Eat too much cake in attempt to obliterate it "because there is no room for it in the frige". Take a moment to fart with glee. Go buy fancy cat food and potentially one of those SIGG bottles that everyone has (I'm tired of using a waxed paper cup or mug that can spill while working) with newly acquired Guilt Money. Go to friend's house for pre-planned debrief snuggles.
See? It's just like a birthday except it doesn't have to remind me that I am about due for a yearly physical, and I am not covered in ribbons and bows.
So yesterday was intensive.
I was filled with glee when my Best Friend of LIFE returned home from her East Coast March Break Extravaganza and we shared some knock-off-brand maccaroni & cheez and esophagus-melting coffee. Of course this meant that I left the house late to go see my therapist, who I have not seen since I broke my foot a year ago. So of course I was late, and she had already started a session with another client, so I waited for an hour, which I deserved because I am always late. I got to hang out with my therapist's lovely elderly mom and extremely friendly lap dog (She runs her practice from her home in far North Scarborough, hence the difficulties of me trying to maneuver my broken self on the TTC over there while I was wearing the "Shortie Walker" cast). We had a decent session, and she quesioned my motives for going to see my dad, to which I had no definitive response. While I thought about it blankly, she went to grab a frozen roast beef from the other room to thaw for her dinner. I am mildly worried about her response to my "new" job (last time I had a session with her, I worked at Sbux)... being that our focus in our sessions is on sexual abuse, she referred to me working at a sex shop as "the OTHER issue", and I kind of took offence because I am really proud of the transformative and educational work that I do, but we know each other well enough that I think we can have some good talks about it. A lot can change in a year. A lot can change in five years, too.
While my therapist thought it was not - to put it mildly - the best idea to go to dinner at my dad's, I freaking did it anyway, because I felt it rude to cancel 2 hours before I had said I would be there. I got dropped off at Fairview Mall, where went in to Sephora and put on some makeup, and then took the bus straight to my dad's. Although he didn't make food and had eaten dinner plus a few beers at his neighbours' place before I came, he had the kindness to pick me up a delicious beef roti and an ENTIRE black forest cake (not my fave, but it's cake), which I ate while he watched. My step-mother is still on Weight Watchers (I have at least a few entries worth of rants on the rediculous idea of "food points" that will come in the near future) and my dad is Diabetic now, so the remainder of the cake came home with me in the end, but I digress. The first 20 minutes were tense and eye-contactless, as it was just me and my dad, him chain smoking and avoiding eye contact while he listed his three or four feelings on "the subject", and me summarizing why I didn't really know why I was there, and that I was happy they were getting married but that I did not feel that it was appropriate for me to attend the event. When my step-mom arrived, the conversation got flowing, mostly catching up on the births, deaths and home rennos of the past 5 years, and the disproportionately important bonding fact that I now drink coffee. I felt lured in to the world of little neices I have never met, missing my step-sisters and hearing all about everyone's lives. I looked at pictures of their trip to Sri Lanka and saw so many beautiful smiling relatives I have never met. I stood strong on my NO vote to the wedding, though.
As often as possible, I took the oportunity to underline my Flamboyant QUEERNESS, which I hoped would open some doors to conversing about that. Not so much. They attempted to give me a stereo system, and invite me to an Easter shindig of some kind. My dad claimed that he is going blind (which he is not) and made a bullseye estimation of the cost of my glasses, and in the end, nervously handed me a hundred dollars and told me to "get some cat food and some new shoes". I thanked them. We left it at the statement that it was nice and that they would love me to come visit more, and that I "might do that". Hugs at the elevator, a long transit ride home. Crocheting to ease my fidgets, and also to someday beget a bangin' mermaid sweater.
Not sure how I feel about it all. Still had nightmares all night, but of a slightly different variety.
Time for scheduled friend snuggles, over and OUT <3
Here I am, alive and okay and plowing through some very fluffy Black Forest Cake which I have dubbed "breakfast".
I have decided that today will be a faux birthday, due to the nature of my activities: Wake up at quarter to one in the afternoon. Play with cat until she attempts to claw out my eyes with love. Eat too much cake in attempt to obliterate it "because there is no room for it in the frige". Take a moment to fart with glee. Go buy fancy cat food and potentially one of those SIGG bottles that everyone has (I'm tired of using a waxed paper cup or mug that can spill while working) with newly acquired Guilt Money. Go to friend's house for pre-planned debrief snuggles.
See? It's just like a birthday except it doesn't have to remind me that I am about due for a yearly physical, and I am not covered in ribbons and bows.
So yesterday was intensive.
I was filled with glee when my Best Friend of LIFE returned home from her East Coast March Break Extravaganza and we shared some knock-off-brand maccaroni & cheez and esophagus-melting coffee. Of course this meant that I left the house late to go see my therapist, who I have not seen since I broke my foot a year ago. So of course I was late, and she had already started a session with another client, so I waited for an hour, which I deserved because I am always late. I got to hang out with my therapist's lovely elderly mom and extremely friendly lap dog (She runs her practice from her home in far North Scarborough, hence the difficulties of me trying to maneuver my broken self on the TTC over there while I was wearing the "Shortie Walker" cast). We had a decent session, and she quesioned my motives for going to see my dad, to which I had no definitive response. While I thought about it blankly, she went to grab a frozen roast beef from the other room to thaw for her dinner. I am mildly worried about her response to my "new" job (last time I had a session with her, I worked at Sbux)... being that our focus in our sessions is on sexual abuse, she referred to me working at a sex shop as "the OTHER issue", and I kind of took offence because I am really proud of the transformative and educational work that I do, but we know each other well enough that I think we can have some good talks about it. A lot can change in a year. A lot can change in five years, too.
While my therapist thought it was not - to put it mildly - the best idea to go to dinner at my dad's, I freaking did it anyway, because I felt it rude to cancel 2 hours before I had said I would be there. I got dropped off at Fairview Mall, where went in to Sephora and put on some makeup, and then took the bus straight to my dad's. Although he didn't make food and had eaten dinner plus a few beers at his neighbours' place before I came, he had the kindness to pick me up a delicious beef roti and an ENTIRE black forest cake (not my fave, but it's cake), which I ate while he watched. My step-mother is still on Weight Watchers (I have at least a few entries worth of rants on the rediculous idea of "food points" that will come in the near future) and my dad is Diabetic now, so the remainder of the cake came home with me in the end, but I digress. The first 20 minutes were tense and eye-contactless, as it was just me and my dad, him chain smoking and avoiding eye contact while he listed his three or four feelings on "the subject", and me summarizing why I didn't really know why I was there, and that I was happy they were getting married but that I did not feel that it was appropriate for me to attend the event. When my step-mom arrived, the conversation got flowing, mostly catching up on the births, deaths and home rennos of the past 5 years, and the disproportionately important bonding fact that I now drink coffee. I felt lured in to the world of little neices I have never met, missing my step-sisters and hearing all about everyone's lives. I looked at pictures of their trip to Sri Lanka and saw so many beautiful smiling relatives I have never met. I stood strong on my NO vote to the wedding, though.
As often as possible, I took the oportunity to underline my Flamboyant QUEERNESS, which I hoped would open some doors to conversing about that. Not so much. They attempted to give me a stereo system, and invite me to an Easter shindig of some kind. My dad claimed that he is going blind (which he is not) and made a bullseye estimation of the cost of my glasses, and in the end, nervously handed me a hundred dollars and told me to "get some cat food and some new shoes". I thanked them. We left it at the statement that it was nice and that they would love me to come visit more, and that I "might do that". Hugs at the elevator, a long transit ride home. Crocheting to ease my fidgets, and also to someday beget a bangin' mermaid sweater.
Not sure how I feel about it all. Still had nightmares all night, but of a slightly different variety.
Time for scheduled friend snuggles, over and OUT <3
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