Facebox....Facebook...Face something

I did it. I finally signed onto Facebook. How long have my friends been pressuring me to join? Well, from the moment facebook took over the world with it's intriguing popularity, that's when. But I stood strong, my iron will firmly planted. No.

That is, until I decided it would just be a lot more easier to see my friends pictures from their travels, from their weddings, from their what-have-yous, if I just joined the bloody network. So there I am, the newest kid on the block. And I have to admit two things:

1. I can see how people are addicted to facebook, and I now have spent hours looking at other's profiles. I giggle and sigh and wistfully think about these people, some of whom are on the other side of the world, some of whom I haven't seen for a few years.

2. I need to have a flippin' tutorial in facebook because I am confused and don't get all this stuff that you can send people, and that people can send you. I look at my page and think WHAT IS THIS???? And it's not that I think "what is this" with curiosity and glee, I think it with annoyance and frustration. Because what the bloody hell is a twisted Christmas carol?? (If that is what it's called). And then I'm not sure if I even want to click on it to find out.

I've only been on it for a couple weeks now. Maybe even not that long. But it's already wearing on me. Both my brother and sister are on facebook, which is fun cause then I can see Mike's pictures of Olivia anytime, and I can send my sister smart remarks a la little sister style. But I think that what irks me is that it my sister makes attempts at conversations with me over facebook -- when really, if she wants to talk to me, then just call me!!!! I think I am from the wrong generation. All these super speedy technologically enhanced forms of communication is just too much for me. I like my sister calling me to tell me something, trivial or personal, joking or serious. (While I am at it, I like going into the bank to the teller rather than online banking or using the atm...see?? Wrong generation.)

I just don't know about this facebook business. Do I really want to connect with people who I went to elementary and high school with? No....because if I did, I would have tracked them down in the past and maintained a relationship. I would like to think the same thing back from their standpoint too. Earlier this year, my brother told me that one of my friends from high school had contacted him on facebook, and asked why I wasn't on facebook, and could she have my email? He said he'd give me hers. So he did. I didn't really want to email her. There was a reason I was not her friend anymore. But then the guilt washed over me, and I thought I'd just drop her a quick hello. And what happened? She didn't reply to me for about a month, and when she finally did, her entire email was pretty much a brag bag about what she's got. What did I do? Hit delete. Guess who is not invited to be my friend on facebook.

So....I begrudgingly have a facebook account so I can see Sophie and Emily's pictures. Let's not lie here. That's pretty much the biggest reason. And now I must rely on my own character to not feel guilty for declining invites to be other people's facebook friend when I really don't want to, because a little part of me feels it's mean to say "no, I don't want to be your friend...."

The unexpected

I made a secret plan when I moved. And that plan was to actually go on dates. To be nice to guys I meet, which would result in them asking me out.

Ok. Well it wasn't really a secret plan. I jokingly told my friends of this plan. Included was also speed dating, which I have yet to venture to. Did you notice that I just said 'which I have yet to venture to'? Which means....(Insert the Star Wars theme music -- that's the tune I sing when I am excited about telling something or showing something and I want that person to feel anticipation. Yes. I'm an 80s kid.) I went on a date!! In the life and times of Melissa, this is pretty big news, I assure you.

I met Mr. Date out at the bar. Which, in my books, is not always the best place to meet people. Why? Well because of a few things:
1. Chances are I was drinking and my judgement was impaired
2. Chances are if a guy is trying to pick me up when he's drunk, he wants one thing and that's about it
3. And well, bars are like meat markets. And that's just kind of gross.

But alas. I waived aside my usual wall of ice and gave this guy my number after he had made me laugh many times. I didn't expect him to call me. But then Tuesday night rolled around and he did. Actually, he got my voicemail, and then we played a bit of phone tag for a while. Once we actually got on the phone, talking to him was pretty easy. I agreed to go out with him for dinner on the following Monday. We didn't really make a plan of where and what, just when. A bit of flirty text messaging ensued, and voila! I was anxious for Monday to roll around! I was also anxious because I could not remember what he looked like, just that he was tall, broad and had a fair complexion. His facial features? Not a clue. Curse the gin I drank that night!

I feel I must interrupt myself here. Seeing as I just got my cell phone a couple months ago, flirting by text message was weird for me. True, I have some experience with flirty convo's over msn...but on my phone...and my texting skills are horrendous...well, it made me laugh more than I should have, and revel over this new delightful form of flirting.

Anywho back to the story. Monday night.

I am impatient by nature. I try to work through it sometimes and ease myself back to patience. It does not always work. Also, I am a fan of set plans. So true, I willing made unspecific plans for Monday, but it was driving me crazy waiting for him to call me after work to make the real plan. At about 7pm, he called (which is a reasonable time, I know this), and we agreed that he'd come and pick me up in about half an hour.

Interrupt again. As I agreed to him picking me up, all I could hear in my head was my Grandma's voice saying that's not safe!! I should have said I would meet him somewhere. What if he was an axe murdered and now I had given myself a hard escape plan!!! Foolish girl, this is the big city!!!! BEWARE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

He didn't get to my apartment until 8. My patience was wearing. There was nothing I wanted to watch on tv. I was already ready. So I pet the cat and flicked the stations. Tick tock tick tock, where the heck was he??? Ahhh...the phone rings. He's lost. Ha!!! Who is the fool now?? Just kidding. He finally gets to my apartment. I meet him out front, and the snotty saucy side of me arches her back.

He's driving an old Mazda with a severely cracked windshield. There really is nothing wrong with an old car, let's get real. I was judging poorly. Well, I was judging more over the windshield than the car itself. Hello!! Cracked windshield going into winter? It's going to crack even more!! Not very safe!!!!!!!!! And not very nice of me. I got into his car. Awkward hello. But then the awkwardness faded away and we started to chat. A quick evaluation of his casual attire, I suggested that we just go to the pub for a pint and some pub grub. He seemed pretty game for this.

In all sincerity, the evening was pretty good. We talked and laughed a lot. Lucky for me (and him) he's quite chatty, so when the conversation came to a lull, he was quick to think of something else (I usually am not). He was a nice guy. A perfect gentleman.

Yet....

I didn't feel the 'thing'. I think he'd be a really fun friend, but that's about it. If I had indeed felt the 'thing', it would have been a perfect date! But what can you do? You can't really make yourself like someone just because they are nice. Hmmm...

I'm off to a good start though!!! Next up...speed dating!!!!!!! Just kidding.

My friends are my friends because....

Lately, I've been thinking about my friends. How funny they are, how nice they are. How much I like them.

Here are just a few examples of why I like my friends.

:: Erin ::

Upon moving into a new apartment in London, Erin came over and got the grand tour. The closet in my bedroom was weird. It was deep, yet the floor of the closet only went back about a foot or two, then raised up to a crazy waist high platform that carried back a good three feet or so. We look at each other, and both say at the same time "Do you think there is a dead body in there?"

:: Jen ::

Just today, I was gushing to Jen that there was a devastatingly good looking man in our boardroom having a meeting with my boss. Her reply was "What are his shoes like?" A very important question in my books. Glad she's on the same page.

:: Chris ::

I left my office best friend Chris behind in London. In a recent email, he says:
"Are you still drinking like a fish or have you met that special man and looking forward to children now….lol." He knows me well.

:: Mary Jane ::

Well, there are too many funny things that MJ says and does. But to pick one out. We were out at a club drinking, and stumble upon a pair of boxers on the floor. We giggle some, and start to walk away, when a guy sitting on the nearby couch asks MJ to pass him his boxers. She looks at him, and with the straightest face, answers "Well, are they clean???"

:: Sophie ::

In my many emails with Sophie, now that she is living in Slovakia, you can imagine that we often say "I miss you!!!!" My favourite version of this was:
"HHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAI'm listening to "I've got friends in low places"....reminds me of you. omg, melissa i love you in a non sexual way. I'm so happy to have you :)"
I nearly peed my pants at my desk. Then I asked her if she had been drinking.

:: Charlotte ::

Well, she says things like "chuffed" and "trousers". And she does not have an English accent. I mean, how can you not smile when someone says "He was all chuffed up with himself over it"???? And because she was always an active participant in many crank calls to our friends (and several to her boyfriend).

I have many more moments I could share, but it could get a bit redundant.

Sounds of the Season

Sniff. Sniffle. Snort. Sniff sniff, wheeze.

The month of October has been quite mild and pleasant to the delight of most residents of Southern Ontario. Ever so slowly, though, the fluctuating temperature of warm-not so warm-a little chilly-back to damn near hot has brought about a case of the sniffles to many people who ride on the subway. (Including myself these past few days.)

Listening to the sniffles is like listening to the oh-so-dreaded nails on a chalk board for me. In fact, my biggest moment of high school bitch involved a girl named Kelly and her sniffling nose. (Now, I really wasn't a high school bitch. I wasn't really cool enough -- uhh, or mean enough -- to be one of those... Sometimes though my humour is mistaken for bitchiness. This situation was a neat little combo of both.) There I sat, studiously listening to my English teacher--not passing notes and giggling with Liz and Derek, I swear--about The Stud Horse Man (it's a real book, check it out. Actually, don't literally check it out. I do not recommend reading it.) My concentration had been broken for near a month due to poor Kelly's cold. Every day. Sniff sniffle sniff. Not once did she bring along tissues. Not once did she stand up to get a tissue from the teacher's desk.

Her sniffling grated on my nerves. Finally I could take it no longer. Derek, Liz and I had joked around many-a-lunchtimes that one of us should just get up and put the box of tissues on her desk. Drop the big hint, you know. We thought it was a pretty funny idea, but did not think any of us would actually do it.

Until......I was about to scream.

I understand we all get colds, we all get the flu. We all get a case of the sniffles and sometimes do not have a tissue handy, so the only thing to do is sniff that snot back up. What I do not understand is why you would purposely not wipe your nose, why you would not use the tissues available to you for that specific purpose.

I did it. I stood up, and with the stealth of a cat, I moved to the front desk and picked up the tissues. Kelly sat one row over, and one seat back from my desk. So I was not going out of my way to put the tissues on her desk. I was not walking around the room to a desk on the opposite side of the class. While now, I am sure it was obvious what I was doing, I felt at the time, I was not.

She looked up at me with big glassy eyes, and quickly averted her gaze. Embarrassment, shame. I don't know. But thank the good lord the sniffling stopped and she used the tissues. I suspect a handful of my classmates were happy I did it.

Surprisingly, I did not get in trouble for this. Was it mean? Can I count this as my official 'high school bitch move'? Should I track down Kelly and give her my apologies?

I keep a travel pack of tissue in my purse. I suffer from a rather regularly stuffy and/or sniffley nose myself, so I always want them handy. I'm sure that someone out there is grossed out by me, wiping away at my nose in public, and wants to rant about it too. I send my apologies good sir--or good lady. But I'd rather you be able to look away and not see me wiping than you not being able to block out the sound of the sniffles.

Do you know how tempted I am to hand out tissues around town? To record the sound of someone sniffling and play it back to them and ask them how they like it? Oh dear, now that is mean. I would not do that. At all, ever. But hand out a tissue. Yes.

So if you ever happen to be on the subway in Toronto, and some girl hands you a tissue because you are sniffling away...chances are it might be me.

It's Monday

Ms. Claassen,

It's Monday. I'm sitting at my laptop stumped of what to blog about. Trying to think of something funny for your benefit....

I have not put any new holes in the walls (well, not any serious ones) nor have I spilt any grainy substance all over the floor lately. (Please note, that I am still sweeping up the damn rice.)

Let's see.......

I went home for the weekend, to take care of my stepdad, as my mom had to go away, and he's just had shoulder surgery. I'm a good daughter. I decided to take advantage of being back home and catch up with some friends.

Saturday night found us at the local bar, drinking overpriced pints (HELLO!!! $6.50 for a bloody pint of Keith's!!! I don't even pay that in the city!!!) (Ranting is now done). Charlotte saw a couple guys she knows from Hamilton, and they joined our table. Chit chatting, joking, awkward silences...you know the regular kind of evening with people you don't know.

The Bruce was spruced for Halloween. Buddy in his white shirt decided it would be a good idea to steal some of the decorations. In particular, the mummy hanging from the ceiling. It's about as long as a foot. Maybe two. I don't know. But he shoved the mummy down his pants.

Enter the dirty joke.

"Wow, I was ready to call you daddy....but I guess now it's mummy..." I even winked when I said it.

He did not laugh.

Inappropriate joke, yes. Unexpected joke, yes. Funny joke, YES!!!!

Gah! Why are these people not laughing at my jokes these days???

I'd say I'm beginning to doubt my wit and humour, but honestly, I'm just doubting these people.

One and Two

::

A noise of downtown I am getting accustomed to is the fire engine and police sirens. Who knew there were so many dire situations in a day?

My boss said one day, when there was an excessive volume of sirens, "I've been here for 5 years and I've never read about any actual fires. I think they just put the sirens on to get attention."

I said "Well, you know, it's because all the fires are on the 13th floor."

He didn't get my joke. C'mon...it was funny.

::

Does it make me weird somehow that I find glee in seeing the mice at the subway station??

To see them running along the tracks before the train comes, their coats so surprisingly shiny, puts a smile on my face. I like to know that even along the grit and grime of the subway tracks, where people carelessly throw their trash, where people get whisked away every 5 to 8 minutes, little creatures are living their own little world.

Granted, I'd be happier for these little mice if they were running free in a field of grass, or borrowing in a barn. But it's the city.

Yeah, I like mice.
::

Last week I....

1. ...Suffered from mis-matching my clothes and not really caring too much about it. Woops. Not very sleek or stylish in my new city flair. Sometimes I enjoy mis-matching though. It makes me feel cool and unique. I think I do it more often than I should.

2. ...Spilt rice all over the kitchen and dining room floor. I have inherited a giant bag of rice from my old roomie Erin. Seriously, five pounds of rice for me, that comes in a cloth zip up bag. I am coveting that rice bag right now and want it for my lunch bag, since I lost mine in the move. Thursday morning I made my move on the bag, which is currently sitting atop the dishes cupboard. I mounted myself on the stool, reached up, unzipped....and suddenly it was raining rice. Who knew the rice would not be in a secure plastic bag inside the cloth bag?? Not me.... I think my roomie is going to kick me out. First the hole in the wall, and now rice. I told her as I was cleaning up, "No remember, if you see something small and white, it's not a maggot..."

3. ...Was phone-flirted with at work on Friday. A supplier and I had set a meeting up for training on our internet site where suppliers submit pricing for approval. I had thought it was a telephone training session, he had thought it was an in-person training session. He called over in the morning to ask about parking, and a very flustered me said that we can do it on the phone, it will only take about 20 minutes or a half hour. He said he was going to be downtown for lunch anyways, so he can just pop around. Still flustered, I put him on hold to find out about the parking. There is none available. I reiterate to him that it's just as good on the phone, and then that way he's at his desk with his computer in front of him etc. He accede's to the phone training instead. We reschedule for Monday, to which I say I'm open all day, so whatever suits him is just fine. And he says..."I'm flexible. Well, not really my body. Just my schedule..." How could I not laugh at that?? Then he stumbles on his words and says that came out wrong, I carry on laughing and say that's ok, and then he starts laughing too. Phone-flirt?? I think so.