This past Friday night, I got a call from a friend of mine asking if I wanted to grab a drink and a bite to eat. I jumped at the chance to sit in a room that wasn’t my living room and have a good chat and chew with a buddy. I should lay some foundation here in regards to my pal. She is in her forties, insanely energetic and perky, runs marathons for shits and giggles and will do tequila shots from her belly button on command.
It’s a challenge keeping up with her at the best of times and the few times we have gone out- men end up joining our table to salivate while I sit like a circus freak and scan my blackberry in hopes that someone is trying to contact me.
So this past Friday we ended up at a local roadhouse called the Cat’s Caboose.
It’s a casual joint around the corner from my house which acts as a harmless family establishment during the day but morphs into a version of “ Looking for Mr. Goodbar” for the 40- 60 year old demographic at night.
They usually have a band playing nostalgic dance tunes. The dance floor is crowded with single women shaking their groove thing and the air is thick with sweat, perfume, hair products and aftershave. Tight jeans and high heels are mandatory, bedazzled t-shirts and big, big hair. It would be fine if this could be enjoyed as a spectator sport but when you sign on to an evening at the Caboose, you are expected to participate.
As we finished up our meal, my pal suggested we go closer to the action and watch the band, so we saddled up to the island by the bar for a closer view. There is, I must confess a tiny voice in my head that says, “ So what if you happened to meet the man of your dreams at the Cat’s Caboose?”
Spend 20 minutes in there and you will quickly understand that it ain’t gonna happen. As I anticipated, a group of men gathered around the island to watch my pal shake and groove. I looked to my left and there was a bald man wearing a ton of bling including an unusually large stone necklace. He stood about 4ft, 11 inches and had a thick French Canadian accent. He leaned in and shouted, “ Dis band dey do good song eh?”
I asked him to repeat the phrase several times as “Brick House” thundered in my ears. I think I caught him craning to look past my breasts to catch a glimpse of my friend. She was busy entertaining a 60 something year old man, again with the bling and a perm.
He introduced us to his sad sack friend saying, “ He used to live in LA and work in the movie business but he quit that and came home” By the looks of him I wasn’t convinced that it was his decision to quit the movie business. He nodded hopelessly and turned his attention to my pal.
I caught the eye of a large man standing opposite me as I tapped my foot to a little ditty about Jack and Diane. He was bald, imposing, decked out in a 3 piece suit, diamond pinkie, no surprise bling and a tattoo sitting dangerously close to his Adams apple that read,
“ Fuck Pain”
I am not easily deterred by a bad boy but something about this guy really screamed turn and run.
There are many reasons that I may not be a prize and yes I am a snob ( there I’ve said it) but this was like walking into a scene from Pulp Fiction. And when did men start wearing so much jewelry? Is this really what is left when you get to my age? How do you bridge the 25 year old that is still in your mind with the 50 year old that is now inhabiting your body? This scene would be totally acceptable 20 years ago. Going out to dance and mingle and flirt. Why does it now seem so ridiculous and embarrassing? And yet, I’m not ready for the singles’s cruises or lawn bowling. I’m stuck in a horrifying limbo that can only lead to a continued relationship sharing blissful hours watching other people’s reality.
I miss my 25 year old self. I used to love sport flirting, spontaneous dancing, unhealthy choices and carrying on till all hours. I was at my afore mentioned friends house for dinner a while back. Our kids are great friends and they were playing downstairs. It was a Thursday night, nothing crazy. She had invited a male friend of hers to drop by and we lingered over after dinner wine as he aggressively tried to sell me on some ponzi scheme involving internet advertising. ( more on that another time)
Suddenly my fit young friend jumped up and turned on an English Beat CD and called us into the living room to dance. Don’t get me wrong, I love her energy and free spirit, I really do but the idea of the 3 of us dancing in her living room on a Thursday evening at 9:20 seemed horribly wrong. No one needs to see that, I thought to myself as I reluctantly got to my feet. I was uncomfortable and imagined myself outside of the situation watching from the corner. God I would have loved to witness it from that perspective.
I shifted my feet a bit to “ Hands off She’s Mine” and tried not to make eye contact with my other dance partners but it was hopeless. I couldn’t get my groove on.
I’m not saying I’ll never dance again. Ten drinks and I’m yours. I still think I’m fun, at least I amuse myself to no end but I’m leaning more towards a dinner party filled with good food, good wine, lots of quips and some semi-intelligent discourse that stops short of politics or green energy.
Rock on Cat’s Caboose, there is no shame in getting dolled up and hitting the bricks looking for love. It’s just not for me. The very idea of meeting strangers seems overwhelming. What’s the big fat idea around coupling anyway?
Seriously, Fuck Pain!
gus and ray
clara
clara rehearsal
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Sunday, June 5, 2011
My Husband Doesn't Wear White Shoes
Lately I’ve been mulling around the concept of positive thinking. It’s nothing new, people have been raving about it for years. Think positive thoughts and the universe will align.
That’s all fine and well but I’m wondering if maybe there is a way to up the ante. I am looking for something more concrete.
A friend of mine advised that I should write down the things I want to happen. The act of laying it out somehow creates a shift in tides that opens the door for all the good stuff to come to fruition.
Why stop there? What if we just start verbalizing our dream scenarios?
It started innocently enough. I was treating myself to a mani-pedi at a shop around the corner when the woman filing my feet started grilling me about my life.
“What your husband do?” she asked, clearly with no thought that I may not have a spouse. I paused for a moment and considered the consequences of coming clean on my marital status. This would no doubt lead to much explaining and justifying, met with awkward silence. She’d then start cutting corners and using the cheap polish because she felt that I had somehow misrepresented my happiness.
“He’s in finance” I replied as I dipped my toe into the warm waters of deceit that would grow to be so familiar. I chose finance because it sounds like there is money involved and it is ambiguous enough to stop follow up questions.
“Oh, that good” she beamed. We were off and running.
“Are you and your husband going to go on vacation?”
“ Yes-we are leaving for California on Tuesday” I answered. That was only partially fiction. I was going to visit a friend in California on Tuesday. I thought it best to walk before I ran and anchor my fantasy life in half-truths.
“That nice! Your husband get vacation time” she affirmed.
“Oh yes, he gets lots of vacation time” I assured her. Might as well aim for a husband that makes tons of dough but still has plenty of time for leisure.
She shifted to questions about my children which was easy as I just inserted my real son into the scenario. I didn’t even feel bad about that.
The only glitch happened on my return visit. I treat myself to manicures sparingly so it was a good long while before I went back. My manicurist picked up right where we left off, her memory unfailing. I on the other hand was having trouble keeping track of my bullshit. Did we vacation in New Mexico last time or was it Dubai??
Had we already completed the remodel of the kitchen? My mind was scrambling as I buried my head in a magazine. I may have to tell her that he slept with his secretary and I was taking him to the cleaners.
This little exercise began many years ago when I lived in Winnipeg. I had moved there to study with the Royal Winnipeg Ballet ( this part is true) and as I stood in a room of strangers at a social event, it occurred to me that I had no personal history with anyone in the room. It felt so liberating that I got carried away. Someone asked me what I did and I spontaneously told them I was a race car driver. I was giddy with the possibilities of reinvention. Unfortunately, my choice of profession couldn’t have been worse. I didn’t even have a drivers license at the time, leaving me wide open for discovery.
What kind of car do you drive?
Red...
Like so many artists, I had to find a waitressing job to sustain my meager existence. Problem was, I had never waitressed before. Wait a minute, not a problem. I have no history here, I can invent all that!
I had my first interview at a sporty eatery called “ G Willikers”
The manager was a dashing young gay man that I instantly gravitated to. He asked me about my employment history and I told him I had worked at Bemelmans, ( a Toronto hot spot where people went to be seen).
His eyes lit up and he blurted out excitedly, “ I used to work there too! We must have just missed each other!”
Shit, Shit, Shit! This can’t be happening to me in Winnipeg. Why did I have to pick the popular spot?? I knew I should have gone with the Magic Pan!
I was in the thick of it now and there was no turning back. We bantered back and forth about mutual acquaintances, him asking me how so and so was doing and me affirming that all was good with them-making sure to steer away from details of any kind.
Good news is, I got the job and Cavin and I became fast friends. When he referred to a former coworker, I nodded and laughed or rolled my eyes, careful to follow his visual cues. It was exhausting.
Several months into my gig, Cavin came into work one day bursting with news.
“Stephanie and James are coming to Winnipeg for a visit!”, he announced breathlessly.
I stared at him blankly, my mind a bit fuzzy from too many pirouettes the day before.
From Bemelmans!, he screeched. My house of cards was crashing. Okay, I had passed my 3-month probation period and Cavin and I had become buddies, going for after work drinkie poos, sharing war stories, revealing, plotting. I was standing on solid ground when I exhaled deeply and said, “ Cavin, there is something I have to tell you.”
“I knew it!! he screamed. There was always a moment of confusion on your face when I talked about the old days.”
Though I was busted, we had forged a good enough friendship to laugh about it for years to come but phew, that was a close one.
I no longer think of it as fabrication. I look at it as life affirmation. If you say it out loud, it will transpire. It’s become a natural part of my visualization process. I routinely shop with a dear friend and we entertain ourselves picking out clothes for our fantasy spouses as well as furniture and appliances for our fantasy cottages. We pass the hours holding up outfits that won’t fit us, items we can’t afford, discussing itineraries for trips we aren’t taking. After a couple hours of laughing our way through our perfect fantasy lives, I feel a hell of a lot better.
And for sure, write down your lists of wants. Can’t hurt to cover all bases.
I’ll start.
1.I want a kind hearted man who is crazy smart and funny to love me forever
2.I don’t ever want to worry about money
3.I want someone to take care of all landscaping for the rest of my life
4.I want my digital cable to stop pixelating.
5.I don’t want me or my loved ones to ever be sick. Ever!
6.I want to look like I do yoga, twelve times a week without having to do yoga twelve times a week.
7.I want our school systems to find more engaging ways to educate our kids
8.I want to bring back the crank call without call display
9.I want “Lost” and the “Sopranos” back on air
10.I want people to stop saying, “ It’s not personal, its business”
11.I always want access to good coffee, wine, chocolate and cheese
12.I want my work life to be fulfilling
13.I want good hair with no prep time
14.I want the grass to be green on both sides
15.I want my kid to be insanely happy for the rest of his life
On a recent solo shopping trip, I browsed through the men’s section of shoes. I believe you can tell a lot about a man or woman by their choice of shoes. My eyes rested on a pair of white loafers and without hesitation I said to myself,
“ My husband doesn’t wear white shoes.”
That’s all fine and well but I’m wondering if maybe there is a way to up the ante. I am looking for something more concrete.
A friend of mine advised that I should write down the things I want to happen. The act of laying it out somehow creates a shift in tides that opens the door for all the good stuff to come to fruition.
Why stop there? What if we just start verbalizing our dream scenarios?
It started innocently enough. I was treating myself to a mani-pedi at a shop around the corner when the woman filing my feet started grilling me about my life.
“What your husband do?” she asked, clearly with no thought that I may not have a spouse. I paused for a moment and considered the consequences of coming clean on my marital status. This would no doubt lead to much explaining and justifying, met with awkward silence. She’d then start cutting corners and using the cheap polish because she felt that I had somehow misrepresented my happiness.
“He’s in finance” I replied as I dipped my toe into the warm waters of deceit that would grow to be so familiar. I chose finance because it sounds like there is money involved and it is ambiguous enough to stop follow up questions.
“Oh, that good” she beamed. We were off and running.
“Are you and your husband going to go on vacation?”
“ Yes-we are leaving for California on Tuesday” I answered. That was only partially fiction. I was going to visit a friend in California on Tuesday. I thought it best to walk before I ran and anchor my fantasy life in half-truths.
“That nice! Your husband get vacation time” she affirmed.
“Oh yes, he gets lots of vacation time” I assured her. Might as well aim for a husband that makes tons of dough but still has plenty of time for leisure.
She shifted to questions about my children which was easy as I just inserted my real son into the scenario. I didn’t even feel bad about that.
The only glitch happened on my return visit. I treat myself to manicures sparingly so it was a good long while before I went back. My manicurist picked up right where we left off, her memory unfailing. I on the other hand was having trouble keeping track of my bullshit. Did we vacation in New Mexico last time or was it Dubai??
Had we already completed the remodel of the kitchen? My mind was scrambling as I buried my head in a magazine. I may have to tell her that he slept with his secretary and I was taking him to the cleaners.
This little exercise began many years ago when I lived in Winnipeg. I had moved there to study with the Royal Winnipeg Ballet ( this part is true) and as I stood in a room of strangers at a social event, it occurred to me that I had no personal history with anyone in the room. It felt so liberating that I got carried away. Someone asked me what I did and I spontaneously told them I was a race car driver. I was giddy with the possibilities of reinvention. Unfortunately, my choice of profession couldn’t have been worse. I didn’t even have a drivers license at the time, leaving me wide open for discovery.
What kind of car do you drive?
Red...
Like so many artists, I had to find a waitressing job to sustain my meager existence. Problem was, I had never waitressed before. Wait a minute, not a problem. I have no history here, I can invent all that!
I had my first interview at a sporty eatery called “ G Willikers”
The manager was a dashing young gay man that I instantly gravitated to. He asked me about my employment history and I told him I had worked at Bemelmans, ( a Toronto hot spot where people went to be seen).
His eyes lit up and he blurted out excitedly, “ I used to work there too! We must have just missed each other!”
Shit, Shit, Shit! This can’t be happening to me in Winnipeg. Why did I have to pick the popular spot?? I knew I should have gone with the Magic Pan!
I was in the thick of it now and there was no turning back. We bantered back and forth about mutual acquaintances, him asking me how so and so was doing and me affirming that all was good with them-making sure to steer away from details of any kind.
Good news is, I got the job and Cavin and I became fast friends. When he referred to a former coworker, I nodded and laughed or rolled my eyes, careful to follow his visual cues. It was exhausting.
Several months into my gig, Cavin came into work one day bursting with news.
“Stephanie and James are coming to Winnipeg for a visit!”, he announced breathlessly.
I stared at him blankly, my mind a bit fuzzy from too many pirouettes the day before.
From Bemelmans!, he screeched. My house of cards was crashing. Okay, I had passed my 3-month probation period and Cavin and I had become buddies, going for after work drinkie poos, sharing war stories, revealing, plotting. I was standing on solid ground when I exhaled deeply and said, “ Cavin, there is something I have to tell you.”
“I knew it!! he screamed. There was always a moment of confusion on your face when I talked about the old days.”
Though I was busted, we had forged a good enough friendship to laugh about it for years to come but phew, that was a close one.
I no longer think of it as fabrication. I look at it as life affirmation. If you say it out loud, it will transpire. It’s become a natural part of my visualization process. I routinely shop with a dear friend and we entertain ourselves picking out clothes for our fantasy spouses as well as furniture and appliances for our fantasy cottages. We pass the hours holding up outfits that won’t fit us, items we can’t afford, discussing itineraries for trips we aren’t taking. After a couple hours of laughing our way through our perfect fantasy lives, I feel a hell of a lot better.
And for sure, write down your lists of wants. Can’t hurt to cover all bases.
I’ll start.
1.I want a kind hearted man who is crazy smart and funny to love me forever
2.I don’t ever want to worry about money
3.I want someone to take care of all landscaping for the rest of my life
4.I want my digital cable to stop pixelating.
5.I don’t want me or my loved ones to ever be sick. Ever!
6.I want to look like I do yoga, twelve times a week without having to do yoga twelve times a week.
7.I want our school systems to find more engaging ways to educate our kids
8.I want to bring back the crank call without call display
9.I want “Lost” and the “Sopranos” back on air
10.I want people to stop saying, “ It’s not personal, its business”
11.I always want access to good coffee, wine, chocolate and cheese
12.I want my work life to be fulfilling
13.I want good hair with no prep time
14.I want the grass to be green on both sides
15.I want my kid to be insanely happy for the rest of his life
On a recent solo shopping trip, I browsed through the men’s section of shoes. I believe you can tell a lot about a man or woman by their choice of shoes. My eyes rested on a pair of white loafers and without hesitation I said to myself,
“ My husband doesn’t wear white shoes.”
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