sing-sing

[note: this post will pain some people, mostly in the way that i humanize a really fucking big, sexy hunk of metal with moving parts.]

it's been obvious for a long, long time that i've got an undenyably unhealthy attachment to my car. she's a 1993 nissan pathfinder: emerald black, with faux-wood accents on the dash, a grill guard, a sunroof, 4WD, a V6 engine, and a deflector protector (which is way cooler than saying "she wears a bra"). she's my girl... but i like to call her my weapon... :) infact, i have such an affinity for her that my close friends and family frequently refer to her by name... :) i've had her since '99, so there's a solid 7 years of scars inside and out of her tough frame, all of which serve as reminders of times past.

there's the minor dent and scuff on the rear passenger door, from it being kicked in by one of my ex's neighbours (who, apparently, didn't want me parking on that street overnight). there's the broken front headlight (just the small one !) from running into a post, leaving set like an idiot at CL ranch. there's the jagged crack that runs all the way across the windshield from the roadtrip to nelson, coupled with a painfully cold winter... but i think the reason i feel so tied to her is because of the night i did a 360 on the highway coming into calgary from a shoot in drumheller. i spun around once (maybe twice) before she righted herself, pointed in the correct direction. and i guess i feel like somehow i owe her for that...

she lives in my garage in calgary, and friends sometime inquire why i don't drive her out to toronto when i'm here. the truth is that i miss her, but the transit system in the "big smoke" is such that i really don't need a vehicle, and parking is such a drag... but often i think about how nice it will be when i get to see her, and we can go for a little cruise... :)

last night i had a dream that i returned home to calgary to find that my parents had sold her and bought me a brand new jeep YJ. i was absolutely DEVASTATED. in my dream i pleaded to my dad to find the buyer, hoping that we could go to them and try to get my baby back --at whatever cost. but it was a fruitless search. i was gutted... i honestly think this storyline recurred through the night, and when i finally woke in the morning, i had to reassure myself it was all just a dream.

i'm not really sure what my parents did to make me subconsciously imagine they'd do such a horrible horrible thing. but mum [if you still read this ever]: let's pretend that spinning-around-on-deerfoot story never happened, k ?... it wasn't my fault (and hey, now i know, i'm an AWESOME driver !!)...

3 more days till i get to see you, baby sing !!
x

office space

it's been awhile since i worked in a real office. like, one where the higher-ups go for power lunches in their pristinely pressed suits and lunch is strictly 12:00 to 1:00. like the one in "waydowntown" (if you haven't seen it, seek it out. shot in calgary, it's my favorite of gary burns' low budget flicks). but here i am, workin' in production like the studded-cuff-and-skull wearin' girl that i am. and i can assure you i don't exactly fit right in...

i have often bitched about rush hour traffic when i'm driving, but i have never IN MY LIFE noticed that rush hour also applies to elevators. i worked for my dad for about 4 summers and never had to wait more than a minute for a lift. here doesn't work that way. especially on or about the EXACT hours of 9:00, 12:00, 1:00, and 5:00. and if i AM lucky enough that the doors open to let me on, i am surely cursed to stop at each and every floor on the way down/up...

then there's the bitchy people. i guess i can't blame 'em. if i was stuck here every day, indefinitely, i'd walk around like a fucking asshole too. first was the guy that shot me the cut-eye cause i was using the latte machine. then there was the guy that told me i was to copy "large print jobs" in the mail room (and after i apologized, and pointed out i that there's no way i could have known, this loser POSTED A SIGN).

so, today, i stopped to actually listen in on a few conversations going on around my cubicle. hey, i'm not suggesting that i'm beyond ridiculous dialogue on a day-to-day basis. but these struck me as amusing, mostly based on the fact that the dudes are wearing ties, and the chicks are in heels...:


GUY BEHIND ME: "You look really good today, not that you don’t normally…You just have a real glow to you today”
GIRL BEHIND ME: “it’s aveda toner”

GIRL BEHIND ME'S BOSS (re: company picnic... TRUE !): "Those clowns were alright, though. Some clowns are really scary"

CRAZY LADY TO MY LEFT: "And it’s really funny because I made her cry on Friday"

GUY ACROSS MY CUBICLE WALL (on the phone): "Ooooooooooh !!!! I think he was flirting with you !!!"

GUY IN FINANCE: "Yes, so we’ll put that into the data integrity report"

GUY BEHIND ME : "I’m kinda playing hard to get with him right now"

LADY TO THE CLARK KENT-ALIKE IN OFFICE TO MY LEFT: "y'know, you kinda look like clark kent"

GIRL BEHIND ME: "Is that a man-purse ?"
GUY BEHIND ME: "no it’s a graphic artists attache !!"

i actually don't mind the guy behind me. he's kinda funny. it says his name is DREW on his little name plaque on his cubicle. i won't say his last name in case somebody knows him. where my name should be on my cubicle it says "menus" cause production likes to eat. and on my wall it says "i choo-choo choose you, happy valentines" cause pauly thought it would be nice to test our new printer with something amusing. i will eventually post something calgary flames-ish. but i probably won't get around to it...

i think i can go home now.

the end (or thereabouts)

even after an incredibly humid and painfully hot work day, i was super revved to hit the mod club with my two besties to catch my favorite band of the last decade [suck it up, beastie boys. you've been scooped].

having never really looked at the tickets, i didn't realize it was an all ages show. i also sortof overlooked that the doors opened at 7:00... so it was a good thing i was so hyped, cause the three of us had pretty much agreed to get there 'early' for 9:00. D and i caught the last song by the second band. Miss M, who arrived about 6 minutes later, missed the support bands in their entireties.

i must say that, for me, there is nothing quite like a feel-good-punkabilly-rock-up on the hottest day of the year. y'know... when the boys in the band are absolutely dripping with sweat halfway through the first track, and the entire crowd emits a... certain... uhhh... (stench ?) four songs later [wait... that was the part that sucked...]. it was a veritable checklist of 'good concert-hood' :

- All the key tunes from the last 4 albums and all the potential singles from the latest release ? check.

- Brilliant onstage antics including the guitarist peelin' off a mad solo whilst two-footed on the bass player's standup rig (that, i might add, was being frantically strummed at the time) ? check.

- Cover song ? like, say, a six-string finessing of "mr. sandman" --where the melody and bass parts are all strummed on one instrument ? check.

- Amusing between-song banter & introduction to the next song ? ex: "alright. second solution. fuckit" ? check.

- Beer ? as long as we stood in the proper cordonned-off area, which happened to be prime standing room ? check.

- Tremendously talented sound-guy ? allowing people like us to stand far, far too close to the stacks and still be able to have some semblance of a conversation ? check.

- Faux depression as my favorite song doesn't get played.... until the encore ? HUGE check. [how did they KNOW ?!]

Midway through what was sure to be the final tune, i thought to myself "i am so incredibly happy right now, i wish this could go on forever." but then, of course, it was over, and we walked outside into the incredibly humid and painfully hot night.


the (living) end.
'course.